 
THE FALL OF AL'BER QUE

By

Joshua S. Friedman

SMASHWORDS EDITION

****

PUBLISHED BY:

Joshua S. Friedman on Smashwords.com

The Chronicles of Dog and Troll: The Fall of Al'ber Que

Copyright © 2014 by Joshua S. Friedman

Thank you for downloading this book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. If you enjoyed this book, then please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are a production of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

WHERE IS KRIN?

D.C. al CODA

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

AFTERWORD

ABOUT

****

For all those dwelling in the darkness,

The dawn is fast approaching

****

" _Maybe I sacrifice to feel like I'm alive,_

Penniless... it's all the same,

At least I'll die with a name."

Middle Class Rut

****

WHERE IS KRIN?

A fair enough question indeed, and one I'm asked quite frequently, that or, where in the world does the events surrounding Troll take place. Very little is known about what caused the end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it, or the year in which it happened, but the old ones make several references to the sky turning to fire, and the decades of poisonous winter that followed. These are descriptions that come to mind when we think of nuclear winter. But what the old ones don't know, are the string of catastrophes that followed suit. Temblors. Volcanoes. Tsunamis. Earth's topography changed so much over the thousand years or so that came after, were we with Troll, we wouldn't even recognize the continent on which we stood.

We begin our tale with Troll and the Dog wandering through the middle of Nevada; following the Humboldt River. Of course, as I said, the scenery of Troll's time looks nothing at all like how we might picture Nevada.

Silverdale is located near the southern end of the Shoshone Mountains, and west of Big Smoke Valley, neither of which exist in Troll's time. From there, our trinity ventured west into what we know as the Great Basin Desert. But, Troll's world isn't divided by state lines and imaginary borders. And so, the Great Basin, Mojave, and Sonoran Deserts are simply known as the Mo'tave Desert.

Pyramid Lake, Lake Tahoe, and all surrounding rivers are dried up, faded away, like the memories of them ever being there.

The empire of Al'ber Que, at the foot of the Sie (or, Sierra Nevada), Mountains, is better known as Carson City in our time.

An enormous earthquake broke-off most everything west of the San Andreas fault-line. Massive tidal waves spread in-land, washing away Central America and parts of Mexico and South America (North and South America are no longer "connected"). As a result, survivors journeyed northwest, toward the mountains.

Carson City lay in ruins, but there were still people possessing the skills and know-how of the old world. They built and fortified a settlement known as, New Albuquerque. After the failure of their fathers nearly destroyed the world, slowly but surely, New Albuquerque became a matriarchal society.

Outlanders came to the walls, pleading for supplication. But the people of New Albuquerque were weary of strangers, as most folken were no matter where they hailed from. But they needed to trade with other surviving settlements. So the people developed their own language (based on Spanish), which they taught to their allies. Language changes over time, as it often does, and New Albuquerque became Al'ber Que.

Around the same time that New Albuquerque rose, came about the Prusserians, like Comchee (warrior/chief) Shadeem Okuric Ossawa. The Prusserians were a group of hundreds of refugees fleeing the radioactive-war-torn-remains of Russia, who, like some of their ancestors, crossed the Bering Strait (this time on boats), into the Seward Peninsula, through the Kuskokwim Mountains, past the Alaska Range, where they later occupied the forests of modern-day British Columbia. Nuclear winter settled in, and the refugees faced a great schism. The Northern Hemisphere became too frigid; nearly half the tribe wanted to travel south into a foreign (also war-torn) country, and the others (who'd endured bitter cold most, if not all, their lives), decided to brave it in the north. The ones that stayed died. The rest became well-known ramblers. See, Prusseria is not a place; not really, it's more like a region of land currently occupied by the Prusserians. Despite the years of winter, the exiles had never been to a country so...warm. The surviving Americans were fighters, sure. But the Prusserians had been fighting all their lives. They knew how to live in a pseudo-stone-age-world. Curious, the Prusserians drifted from place to place, offering crafts, services, and often soldiers, to surviving colonies. When weary, the moved on; always matriculating south, seeking warmer climates. Prusserian culture, slang speech, and even cuisine were forever beveled upon those they met. In fact, a few generations before Star's birth, the Prusserians happened to stumble upon Krin; aiding mostly in farming, but sometimes protection from outsiders. Pity they moseyed on before the siege of Krin. But, as with most colonies, Krin fell in love with Prusserian culture. That's why many Krinian names are spelt as if Russian, but pronounced English/American.

Shadeem was an assassin of the king, and gotten to at a very young age. Generally, the Prusserians were beloved by all they encountered.

Let's jump back to the-end-of-the-world-as-we-knew-it. After "The Big One", sea levels in California ran up the base of the western face of the Sie Mountains. After a time, the water receded as far back as Oakland in the north, where the tallest parts of the Coastal Mountain range poked out of the ocean, creating the legendary bluffs of Krin, (though southern California's coastline stayed as far in-land as King's Canyon). When the tides receded, the mineral rich sea water rejuvenated the land that man had spoiled. A great, lush valley sprang forth right in the heart of the Sacramento Valley, which became Sac Krin, and later Krin. The California sunshine changed the people; generation-after-generation born with darker-and-darker skin pigments, while their hair turned blond and curly; farer eyes.

Now that you know where our heroes have been and where they're headed, let us return to where they _are_. Where were we...? Oh, yes, the battle.

****

D.C. al CODA

THE FALL

Something felt wrong. No not the painfully arrhythmic beating of Troll's heart or the dull throbbing in his left shoulder. Nor was it the Dog's death, nor Star going off on her own, nor the retreating army. But, something was definitely wrong.

Troll glanced at those standing beside him.

Montalvo's deer-skin shirt and pantaloons appeared soiled rags. Strands of long, silvery hair plastered to the sides of his wrinkled, sweaty face. His narrow brown-gaze remained calm and steady; ever vigilant.

Sirii wore pantaloons and a plain cotton shirt 'neath Al'ber Quearian armor. Her long, jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail. Splayed blood coagulated upon her chest and shoulder plates, though her blade glistened in the dim light.

Barely past noon and the skies clotted with heavy, black smoke clouds and swirling sand.

'Ro watched the retreating legions through his binoculars. He still donned king's men's armor.

Sirii frowned. Pencil-drawn eyebrows arched, she said, "Something is wrong, _easta_. I can feel it."

Troll never saw her wear anything but a robe and shawl. Now, she appeared every bit the warrior, 'though a worried one at that.

"She's right," Montalvo said to Troll. "I feel it too."

"What about you?" Troll asked 'Ro.

Binoculars in hand, 'Ro turned toward Troll, and replied, "Well, I don't _see_ nothing. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling fairly jittery, myself."

Sirii sheathed her sword into the scabbard of her back-plate, and said, "I'm telling you, we must go to the safe-zone with the others."

Montalvo pointed his spear toward the citadel, and said, "It's on the opposite end of the empire, we should hurry."

"No!" Troll slammed his fist on what remained of the ledge of the great wall. He whirled toward them, and said, "I will not leave. I _won't_. Not without Star. She is still out there."

"And what about your dog?" asked Montalvo. "Is he not out there, as well?"

Troll averted his gaze.

_Go!_ God commanded.

Troll's heart ached. Literally.

Montalvo grabbed Troll's arm, and said, "Come, my friend, we must go."

"No," he replied.

Sirii gripped Troll's other arm. Frowning, slender lips trembling, she pleaded, " _Easta_ , _por favorii_."

"No." Troll pulled away from them.

'Ro strode toward Troll and slapped him across the face. He stared into Troll's eyes, and said, "Look, something's about to happen here and if we don't get out now, then we're all gonna die. And we _need_ you." He pointed toward the safe-zone at the other end of the empire, and said, "Those people down there need you. You can't sacrifice all of 'em for just one person. Star wouldn't do that."

Troll's heart beat painfully wild, shoulder throbbing. A cold shiver coursed up and down his spine. He felt dizzy and weak. He gazed off into the desert, in the direction Star had gone. Would he ever see her again?

****

Star held the Dog's corpse in her arms and cried until her soul felt empty, numb. Until she felt nothing at all. She failed. She couldn't save the Dog any more than she could anyone else. And now that the beast in the form of a man was dead, they were doomed. No hope remained. On top of all that, Furion had called her out, and instead of facing him, she ran. Like a coward, she fired at him from afar while'st riding away on horseback. And she missed. She _never_ missed. What the hell happened?

She rested the Dog's body upon the sand and stood, completely forgetting the arrow wound in her thigh until an arch of pain coursed through her leg. She waffled to the ground in a yelp. No destination in mind, she pressed a palm to the gash in her leg and crawled through the sand.

Her hand brushed across something hot and glimmering.

A bullet casing made from silver.

Why silver?

She pocketed it.

Up ahead, something glinted in the sand.

Grunting, she crawled toward it.

The object appeared a sword. Semi-coagulated blood bubbled and hissed upon the blade.

She picked it up and rotated the cutlass as she examined it. It also appeared made out of silver. But why? She glanced at the Dog's body.

Small tendrils of black smoke still rose from his wounds.

Before the Dog died, Star remembered the trio's first night after the trials of Silverdale. She recalled Troll telling her that the Dog drank blood to heal. But, that didn't work. He said something else, too; something about mythical monsters of lore. But, what was it? She couldn't remember. Then, as if sitting right beside her, she heard Troll's voice say, "All monsters, creatures, and heroes in the stories of old, while seemingly invincible, all have some sort of weakness. Something that can hurt and possibly even kill them when nothing else seems to faze them. Something elemental."

She found another silver bullet casing and tossed it around in her palm.

Silver was an element, wasn't it?

She glanced back at the blood (no-doubt the Dogs'), sizzling on the silver blade, and then at the Dog.

That's it! That had to be it. Silver was the Dog's weakness. It made his blood burn. And as long as the bullets were still in his body, then he couldn't heal himself. He couldn't drink blood, because that too would conflagrate. That's why the Dog had been clawing at his wounds. He was trying to get the bullets out.

She hurriedly hobbled toward the Dog and pulled a knife from her boot. There might still be time.

The Dog had been shot six times.

She knew that because she felt each one.

Out of the six, only the shot through the Dog's throat went out the other side. That meant five bullets she needed to carve out: one in the shoulder, three in the torso, and one in the hip. Luckily, she had dug obstructions from the Dog's flesh before.

Hands slick with gore, she removed the projectiles as fast as she could. The process seemed fairly simple, especially since the flesh around the bullets cindered to nothing more than char and ash that flaked away at her touch. But when she finished, nothing happened. The Dog was still dead.

"Blood," said the voice that sounded like Troll's.

She clenched her fist, squeezing the blood from the gash on her palm into the Dog's mouth again. Nothing.

"More blood," said the voice.

Wincing and grunting, she dug her nails into the wound.

Still nothing.

"More," the voice replied.

She hissed through her teeth as she squashed her hand like juicing a lemon. Roaring, she pounded her fist on the Dog's chest-plate. She worked his chest up and down, forcing him to breathe.

" _More_!" The voice sounded less like Troll's.

Pumping faster, she snarled, "I ain't got no more."

" _More_!"

"Fuck it!" Star slit a wrist in a swift, downward motion. Blood spurted. She covered the Dog's fanged, open mouth with her gushing wound.

" _More_!" Star said, feeling faint, dizzy. " _More_!" She slammed her fist on the Dog's chest again.

The Dog sat, bolt-right, eyes blazing in golden fire, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Dark splotches formed in Star's vision. Light-headed, she swooned, and collapsed to the sand in a heap.

Dog's screams abated. Hands feverishly searched his healing body, he glanced around.

She had done it. It would cost her life, but she saved the Dog.

Dog stared at her, and gasped, "No." He rushed to her side, grabbed the knife, and slit his own wrist. "Drink."

Mouth shut, she craned her head to the side.

Dog brought his bleeding wrist toward her mouth, and reiterated, "Drink."

She did. His blood tasted metallic, not salty. A warm buzzing rushed through her veins. Her wounds itched. Her head cleared and she could sense for miles.

****

Shroud lay twitching in the sands when the Wraith appeared before him.

The Wraith bent impossibly backward, and snickered, "Oh, what's this? Has my dear, brother forsaken one of his play-things? Tsk, tsk."

Shroud appeared sickly, pallid. His once fiery red-hair now plastered tight around his cranium, exposing the features of his skull. His tongue protruded through the gash in his throat and waggled in the wind. A fair amount of sand piled over the quivering king's man, swallowing him alive.

The Wraith loomed over Shroud, and said, "Tell me, my poor boy, what have you done to incur such wrath?"

Jaws working back and forth, Shroud trembled and croaked something. His tongue wagged. Blood spurted from the wound.

The Wraith chuckled, "I'm sorry, I can't understand you like that. Perhaps, if your tongue were in your head." With a long, taloned finger, the Wraith pushed Shroud's tongue back up through his jaw and into his mouth.

Shroud arched back, muscles tensed, eyes bulged. He clutched at his throat and writhed in the swirling sands.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" The Wraith rubbed its talons.

Coughing blood and sand, Shroud rolled to his knees.

The Wraith loomed over him, and said, "Now, while my brother was so eager to leave you, I believe I might still be able to find some use for you. I _could_ do that. I could heal you, as well. All you have to do is forsake my brother, and declare me as your God. And look at that, you're already on your knees. How perfect. Do we have an accord?"

Trembling, Shroud gazed up at the living shadow and nodded.

The Wraith clapped, "Excellent! Now, let's see if we can't fix you up." The Wraith grasped Shroud by his fiery red-hair, and pulled back his head.

Shroud quivered and squirmed but did not struggle against his new master.

The Wraith pricked a taloned-finger, a single drop of black, tar-like blood trickled into Shroud's mouth.

Shroud shuddered violently. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, he fell to the sands. Muffled screams slipped through his clenched jaw. His skin flaked and greyed like necrotic flesh.

Rubbing its talons, the Wraith chirped, "Now, I believe it's time we left. We wouldn't want to get caught in the blast-radius now, would we?"

Writhing, Shroud moaned in agony.

The Wraith wafted a hand through the air.

A piercing blue-light flashed and a doorway opened in space and time.

And then the two were gone.

****

" _Your Dog is dead, and Star will be before ever you reach her."_

Troll just couldn't get the words out of his head.

Staff in one hand, his other arm around Montalvo's lean shoulders, Troll hobbled through the nearly deserted streets as fast as he could.

Sirii trotted on ahead, yelling at those still loitering about.

Judging by ratty hair, ragged clothes, and emaciated bodies, the only ones not to retreat to the safe-zone were ex-slaves. But why?

'Ro shuffled behind, armor weighing him down. Squinting and panting, he held his side, and said, "Man, I need to take this shit off."

Ravaged bodies lay in the open area between what remained of the great wall and eastern end of the empire. Catapult-fodder crushed the cobblestone streets into a quagmire of pits and chasms. The western-most parts of the boroughs were leveled; completely decimated, as was the wall there (where the soldiers broke into Al'ber Que). Other than the deathly silence and ex-slaves wandering the empty streets like living-corpses, the rest of the empire appeared unscathed.

_Hurry_! God said.

"Come, my friends," Sirii called over her shoulder. Her long, jet-black ponytail flapped in the wind. "We must hurry!"

Did she hear it too? What about Montalvo?

Plodding behind, 'Ro grumbled, "Yeah, yeah."

They kept to the main street, by-passing the _bazaar_ and citadel, and headed straight for the opening in the western wall.

The refugees still lingered in the mechanical room that operated the heavy, stone door.

"What are ye doing?" Troll asked in the loudest voice he could muster. "We need to get deeper underground and we need to do it now!"

Gawks. Wide gazes. Slack jaws. Random chattering.

Franz, Diego, and Lamar approached in a trot.

Licking his chapped lips, Franz asked, "What is it, _easta_?" His beady brown-gape darted beneath caterpillar-like eyebrows. "Is the army coming?"

Troll replied, "No, something dreadfully worse." He whirled toward Diego, and said, "Rally a dozen _d'el guardii_ and have them help us close the door."

Tawny, wrinkled face awash with worry, Diego nodded and hurried away.

Troll turned to Franz and Lamar, and said, "Have the rest of ye'r men get everyone as deeply underground as they can."

Franz asked, "And then?"

"Prepare thy selves."

Eyes bulged, mouths agape, faces pale, they hesitated a moment before scurrying away.

Panting, 'Ro leaned against a wall and swept the sweaty, dirty-blond hair plastered to his brow.

Troll called, "Help us get the door down, my good man."

'Ro rolled his eyes, and groaned, "Can't a scoundrel ever get a break."

Six men grabbed the giant peg-wheel in the center of the room and spun it counter-clockwise.

Troll and the others unhooked the latches suspending the portcullis, and carefully lowered it into place.

There, outside, stood a stranger in odd, garish clothing made from the whitest of fabrics. His shirt was as black as sack-cloth. A gold chain looped into an inside pocket. His feet smattered with tar. The stranger rubbed impossibly clean hands. The tips of long, dirty nails raked together. The man's hat looked like a ranger's hat, but different, also white.

The stranger's face was concealed entirely in shadow, but Troll knew he was smiling at them.

The stranger waved, as if saying goodbye.

Troll's heart skipped a beat. A stabbing sensation radiated from within the hollows of his chest. "Ah!" He clutched his shoulder and let go of the chain.

"No, no!" cried a _d'el guardii_.

The door dropped and the men (who didn't release the chains), were pulled forward a few feet.

Luckily, the portcullis hadn't far to fall.

"What the hell was that all about?" 'Ro yelled at no one in particular.

Montalvo rested a hand on Troll's shoulder, and said, "My friend, I saw him too."

****

The Dog and Star sprinted back toward Al'ber Que.

The Dog guessed they ran at a rate of about ten miles an hour. Impressive, especially considering they were racing through sand. Star kept stride, as if possessing inhuman strength. They still had a little more than ten miles to go.

Star sprinted alongside. Arms swinging, hair flowing in the breeze, only a fine layer of perspiration beaded her grit-smeared brow. Her eyes glowed with a burning emerald fire.

But, at least her irises hadn't turned gold, and as long as the Dog _never_ fed her his blood again, hopefully, they never would.

She prattled, "Wow, it's crazy how good I feel. How _strong_ I feel. I can hear for miles. I can sense for miles. I can smell gun-powder and things burning. Is this what it's like to be you?"

The Dog grunted lowly.

"Hold on Troll, I'm coming."

The two bounded over a dune.

"Whoa!" Star's cheeks flushed red. She hit the ground sprinting.

Dog sat crouched in the sand. When he landed on all fours, his palm struck something solid. He brushed the sand away.

Train tracks.

Dog wrapped his hand around the metal. Something else raced toward Al'ber Que. A train. The Dog stood, closed his eyes, and funneled his senses. The train he stopped now barreled toward the empire at an impossible speed. He furthered his senses, following the vibrations until they seemingly dead-ended into the mountainside. But, the Dog had been on the other side of that rock-wall. He knew it an interior base, a place where the soldiers posted in the mines took quarters. The last time the Dog was there (nearly an hour ago), the door had been open. Who closed it and why? Dog's senses drew back to the train. The last car contained a weapon of mass destruction. He turned it off, but now the timer was on, beeping down to the final tick. Troll, Anne, Al'ber Que, he needed to warn them. Five seconds. No time. With a four mega-ton yield and a blast radius of six miles, there was only one person he could _actually_ save. He hoped.

The Dog started. He raced after Star, who still sprinted toward the empire. Dog leapt, landed on her back, and drove her face-first into the sand.

Spitting sand, she snarled, "Dog! What the--?"

A blinding white flash blossomed.

Dog forced Star to the ground and covered her.

Then an ear-shattering, earth-rattling explosion rocketed across the land.

****

People screamed and scrambled.

Troll, 'Ro, and the _d'el guardii_ entered the mines moments before the tunnel behind them caved in. A few unlucky _d'el guardii_ didn't make it.

The ground shook and the cavernous ceiling fell; smashing people.

Dust filled the unvented air.

Troll didn't see Anne, Sarah, or Byron. He'd lost Sirii, as well.

He prayed they made it into deeper caves before...whatever was going on outside began.

Hands covering his head, 'Ro yelled, "Can't a guy get a damn break?"

Troll grabbed 'Ro by his armored collar and dashed after the people fleeing into a nearby tunnel.

The ground quaked and split.

Troll held tight to 'Ro and leapt. The two crashed hard on the earthen ground. They rolled into the tunnel. The ground behind them collapsed. The people still attempting to flee the main chamber fell skirling into the abyss. The tunnel entrance caved-in. The work-lights strung along the chamber walls went out. All dark. The mines trembled for another few minutes before settling. Dust filled the stagnant air. Heavy hard to breath. Troll draped his cloak over his mouth.

Rock and shifting dirt trickled down the cavernous walls in eerie echoes.

After the initial shockwaves wore off, people scurried about, checking on each other, blindly searching for loved ones. Cries. Moans. The muttering of Al'ber Quearian prayers.

From somewhere amidst the darkness, an unfamiliar voice said, "A bitter winter is fast upon us, for that surely was the fall."

****

1

Someone asked, "What do we do now?"

Troll couldn't tell who.

Too dark down here. The air too thick.

With some effort, Troll tore a swatch from his cloak, wrapped it along an end of his staff, and used a pinch of flash-powder to create a "magic" torch; one that burned evenly, but not very bright.

Out of the thousands to survive the fall of Al'ber Que, he found himself in a large chamber with about two hundred assorted natives, _teran-oht,_ and turn-coat king's men. Troll recognized Sirii, Khariiff, Franz, Montalvo, and 'Ro. The rest appeared as strangers covered in sooty earth.

What happened to Sarah, Anne, and Byron? Alas, he didn't know.

The men, women, and children huddled around Troll and his magic torch. The chamber had caved-in at both ends. Now, they were trying to figure a way out.

Troll asked Franz, "Where is this passage that leads out the other side of the mountains?"

Franz ran his thumb and index-finger down his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, and said, "I don't know, _easta._ "

"How can ye not? T'was it not thee who informed me of such a passage?"

Franz replied, " _Si, easta_ , but the passage has been sealed for many years before my birth, I only know of it through legend."

'Ro drawled, "So, you're saying you've never been down here before?" He brushed away his dirty, sweaty hair. After the chaos subsided, 'Ro finally found the opportunity to strip off the king's heavy armor. The rangers clothes beneath were soaked with sweat. Now, he hugged himself, shivering, teeth chattering _rickity-scrackity-scrippity-scrappity._

"No," Franz replied, "I have not." He scratched his short, curly ashy-hair, dust and dirt swirled like falling dandruff.

Troll asked Khariiff, "Have ye learned any more from the texts?"

Khariiff shook his head and mumbled something.

Sirii translated, "He says, he hasn't even glanced at the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ in a few days. Too much has happened."

Troll stroked his scar and beard, and replied, "Aye, never-the-less, somehow we must find a way out of this chamber and deeper under the mountains."

Arms crossed, stoic as ever, Montalvo added, "We'll need supplies first."

"And gear," chimed 'Ro.

"Aye, but first we'll need to get out of this room." Troll scratched his beard, and asked, "Any suggestions?"

A soot-covered king's man raised a hand, and said, "I've still got a couple grenades. We could use 'em to get out."

"Or, the explosion could bury us all," said another.

Franz said, "Even if we got out of here, we'd still need a guide to lead us to supplies and to the passage under the mountains."

Troll asked, "Can anyone do that?"

Silence.

Scanning the mob, Troll asked, "No one at all? Is there none here who can step forth and guide us?"

From out of the darkness, a voice croaked, "It knows a name." It startled several women and children.

Troll waved his magic torch, but saw nothing but _d'el guardii_ and king's men recoiling in fear.

A slender silhouette emerged from the gloom and shambled toward Troll.

Troll hailed, "Is that ye, Byron?"

"Oh, it _does_ know a name. It does, it does." Byron cackled. Pupils shinning in the dark, his eyes appeared sunken. Bearded, emaciated cheeks covered in some black, tar-like substance. A wide, menacing grin spread across his face.

'Ro drew and trained a pistol on Byron's temple.

A few _d'el guardii_ and king's men stood behind him.

Byron shrieked in laughter.

The echo hurt Troll's ears.

'Ro asked Byron, "What do ya think you're doing."

Grinning, Byron replied, "I'm here to lead all ye off the cliff like lemmings."

'Ro glanced at Troll, and asked, "Like what?"

Troll shrugged. He hobbled toward Byron, and said, "Obviously this man is speaking in tongues. I believe I can remedy that." Exhausted and shoulder throbbing, his heart beat arrhythmically.

In his mind, he heard Sarah say, "Ye have many wrinkles now. And the hair around ye'r ears has begun to grey. No offense, but ye look like an old man."

Aye, he felt old indeed.

Dancing in place Byron cackled and clapped.

Troll ambled toward Byron and fetched the medallion around his neck. He rolled the chain between his thumb and index-finger, and the golden trinket spun. "Can ye hear me Byron? I want ye to listen to the sound of my voice."

Byron snarled, "No, no." He reared back, hunched over, hands clawed. His eyes shimmered in the dark. "I only hear _him_."

'Ro strode forward and slugged Byron in the face.

Byron waffled to his ass.

Women and children gasped, ( _Madiriis_ stood stoic and statuesque, as did Montalvo).

_D'el guardii_ and king's men murmured amongst each other. Apparently the two parties were coming along sweetly despite their vast differences.

But then again, were any of them so different?

Byron rubbed his crooked, bleeding nose. Glaring, he leapt at 'Ro. Ragged, dirty claws spread.

'Ro and Montalvo tackled him.

Others watched in awe.

Where was Anne, Sarah, the _hermanii_ , the rest of the Jessips? Had they not made it?

Growling, Byron gnashed black-tarry teeth.

Troll's heart ached again, weakening him. He stamped his torch/staff thrice, and bellowed, "Byron Herder of Silverdale, regard me now, I command ye!"

" _You_ , command, _me_?" Greenish ooze drizzled from already swarthy, rotting teeth.

Troll knelt. Kneecaps popped. He planted a palm on Byron's forehead. Byron's skin felt squamous and flakey; feverish and frigid at the same time. Troll restrained Byron as he bit, gnashed, and thrashed around, yet his muscles felt slack and dead. "In the name of God, I command thee out, low spirit! Depart Wraith! With thine own name I drive thee out!"

"There is no Wraith here, only I, Byron Herder of Silverdale, as thee so have dubbed me. It knows a name. Aye, so it does, and so it appears--"

"Silence thy drivel, demon!" Troll pounded his torch/staff. He nodded toward Montalvo and 'Ro, and bade, "Release him."

Montalvo nodded back.

Scowling, 'Ro asked, "Are you fucking crazy?"

Montalvo leaned toward 'Ro, and said, "If all else fails, you can still shoot him."

Byron fought and fidgeted.

Troll prayed, Lord, grant me strength.

'Ro nodded and they released Byron. Byron lunged at Troll. Troll grabbed him by the neck, mid-air. Black gore dripping from rotting teeth, Byron slashed and kicked at Troll's face. But, Troll's long reach kept Byron safely at bay.

Troll shook Byron, and roared, "Out, damn spot! Out, I say!"

Kicking frantically, Byron choked in laughter.

"In the name of the Lord, our Father, I command thee out!"

'Ro said, "Mayhap he ain't possessed. Mayhap he's just gone bat-shit crazy."

Byron's neck went slack. Head leaning to the side, his eyes rolled up into the hollows of his skull. Tar-smeared tongue slightly protruded.

Spear readied, Montalvo asked, "Did you kill him?"

Troll released Byron.

Byron landed squarely on his bare feet. He stared up at Troll, smiled, and said, "Oh, dear me, I do believe I've gone dreadfully mad."

Troll spun his medallion again. The golden glint bounced in the weak torchlight. "Byron, look at this."

Byron's beady gaze narrowed on the glimmering object.

Troll's heart beat wildly, short of breath, he said, "Listen to me, Byron. Listen to the sound of my voice. You're getting sleepy, Byron. Very sleepy."

Eyelids dropping, Byron staggered.

Troll continued, "I want ye to go to sleep Byron."

Byron's head bobbed.

"Can ye hear me, Byron?"

"Aye," Byron slurred. "I can hear ye."

"Do ye know who I am?" Troll returned the medallion, and clutched at his throbbing chest. "Do ye remember me?"

"Aye, t'is my good friend, Troll."

Sigh. "Aye, that's right, Byron. Do ye know where ye are?"

Byron quavered, "Aye, I'm down here in the dark again. I've always been down here--"

"No Byron. Y'er out here on the reverend's porch with me. Star and Sarah are folding the linens. And Anne and the Dog are frolicking out in the tall-grass behind Tooker's barn. Ol' Roger Wilcox is in the kitchen, making mushroom stew and biscuits. Can ye not smell it?"

Byron sniffed. Smiling, he said, "Aye, I can smell it."

Troll's heart raced faster. He felt cold, clammy, and weak. His shoulder ached. "Where are ye Byron?"

"I'm home with my friends."

He clutched at his tightening chest, and said, "That's right, Byron. Ye'r home. Ye'r safe.

Byron parroted, "I'm home."

Breath short, Troll uttered, "Stay there, Byron. Stay there." And then he collapsed.

****

Outstretched palm to the sky, Star marveled, "Look, Dog, it's snowing." She leaned her head back and stuck out her tongue.

Dog growled, "No, not snow. Ash."

He wrestled with the notion of telling her it was probably radioactive ash. But with his blood in her veins, as long as they got upwind, there would be no need. He hoped.

Al'ber Que had been completely decimated to cinder and rubble. Part of the mountain around the empire collapsed, burying the great Mother. A seven-mile-high, pillowy mushroom-cloud loomed over the entombed empire.

Star patted the Dog's shoulder. Her eyes still glimmered with an emerald fire. "Don't worry, Troll and the others made it somewhere safe. I can feel it. I can _sense_ it." She ran a hand through her curly hair. The shackle rattled. Gazing off into the distance, she said, "It's amazing, but I can."

The Dog glanced at the billowing mushroom-cloud and whined lowly. Like her, he also sensed Troll and the others were safe. No-doubt, Troll managed directing the people into the mines to take shelter from the blast. But, what would he and Star do now?

As if sensing his thoughts, she turned to him, and said, "We gotta keep going west. Over the mountains and toward Krin."

Dog furrowed his brow and tilted his head.

She said, "Look, I know it sounds stupid. But think about it. When I first met you and Troll, our destination was to return to Krin and hunt down Furion. Then Furion came to Silverdale. We left and found Al'ber Que. Once again, Furion found us. It seems like now, there's no reason to go to Krin, but Troll and the others are probably under the mountains somewhere. It's the only place they _could_ go. But now they can't get out, at least, not from this end. And the only thing on the other side of this mountain range beside the ocean is Krin." She paced around in the sand and twirled her compass chain. "Now, I don't know if there is a way under the mountains and through to the other side, but if there is, Troll _will_ find it. I know it. What we gotta do is go over the mountains and meet them on the other side."

Dog glanced back toward Al'ber Que. Was going to Krin _really_ the obvious choice, or was Star simply obsessed with returning home?

"Supplies?" asked the Dog.

She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then replied, "I got an idea."

From there, the two sprinted back toward the caboose. All the while, the Dog felt a gnawing sensation rooting at the pit of his gullet. He'd made a mistake. A _very_ big mistake.

Once again, as if sensing his thoughts, Star said, "Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay. I know it."

Unfortunately, the fate of Troll and Al'ber Que wasn't what bedeviled him.

They slowed to a jog when nearing the caboose. By the time they returned, the car nearly swallowed by sand. Only a mound of desert with an opening that led into the cabin remained. In time, that too would be inurned. In time, no one would ever know it there.

The Dog sensed something _off_. He knew Star did too. But, all was silent and still except for the desert cross-winds and ever-shifting landscape. Wearily they entered the cabin as sand trickled down from above. The acrid aroma of smoke still hung prevalent in the dingy air. Luckily the caboose was chock full of supplies, and they were able to load up on weapons, ammo, and armor. Star also found cloaks, blankets, camping gear, and a few MREs.

The Dog went back outside and collected his knives and the top half of his discus-like buckle. They were buried, of course. But, the Dog hunted them down easily enough by the acerbic scent of his own blood. He picked up Shadeem's silver blade and inspected the dark crimson blood congealed upon it. He turned the weapon over. It appeared made entirely of pure silver, but that couldn't be. Silver was too soft. The weapon would bend and break after the first blow. But _this_ blade was strong enough to penetrate Al'ber Quearian armor.

He should be dead. He _was_ dead. After all the years of hoping for the sweet embrace of the eternal abyss, it finally came for him. He had been at peace. And then Star brought him back. He _should_ be mad, but he knew his work far from over.

The Dog forcefully swatted the sword upon a stack of cinderblocks and the foible warbled audibly. Impossible. The dog batted the blade repeatedly, and yet the cutlass only echoed its reverberating siren song. Frustrated, the Dog bashed the blade so hard the blood-caked foible finally snapped, reducing the weapon to a large dagger. He inspected the break. The sword appeared one hammered piece, not coated or finished. That didn't make sense. Did someone find a way to weaponize pure silver? Perhaps, he should hang on to this peculiar artifact. He slid it into the sheath built into the back-plate of his Al'ber Quearian armor.

Wearing a hooded and wooly cloak, Star sashayed toward the Dog. She checked her compass. Frowning, she asked, "Ready?"

"We need to stay up-wind."

Brow arched, she asked, "Why?"

"Trust me," he replied.

She tossed the Dog a satchel full of provisions, and said, "All right then, lead away."

The two ambled back toward Al'ber Que and the Sie Mountains.

The giant, grey mushroom-cloud still stood tall in the sky.

Would they get clear of the contamination zone before his blood wore off on her?

He certainly hoped so.

****

Anne dug through rubble and darkness.

She couldn't be angrier with Sarah.

Before the work-lights went out, Anne, Sarah and the surviving _hermanii_ were caught in a tunnel that caved-in at both ends.

There had been others in their group. Most were crushed by falling rock. Now, all that remained were Anne, Sarah, and the three _hermanii_ , who'd been hovering around Anne not long after her return to the mines.

Sarah asked Anne, "What are ye doing?" Of course, she couldn't see her. No way she could. No-doubt, Sarah heard her scratching away at the blockade of debris.

Clawing blindly at another pile of rubble, Anne replied, "Trust me, this is what ye do down here -- dig."

Sarah shuffled toward her. She tripped, and released a small screech.

Anne cringed, tensing up, but not in fear. It was hard to explain. Like a sick amalgamation of anger and disgust. Aye, _they_ were doomed down here, but not her. Oh, no, she would survive this, yet again. After all, _he_ was dead. Right? Anne suddenly felt Sarah's presence huddling next to her, aiding in their self-excavation.

Sarah whispered, "Let me help ye."

"Don't bother," Anne grumbled.

Silence.

Sarah asked, "Are ye mad at me?"

Right then, Anne detested Sarah's very presence. It was Sarah's fault they were down here. If only she had listened to her. But she hadn't. And now they would all die down here.

"No," Anne replied, "just disappointed."

The Earth trembled. Dust and rock crumbled from the cavernous ceiling.

"What was that?" A _hermanii_ cried.

Anne couldn't tell which. It had been too long since she'd heard their voices; another life entirely.

The rock wall moldered away slightly and a pale, orangish light seeped into the chamber; outlining silhouettes.

Face still swollen and bruised, Sarah pawed at the wreckage, and muttered, "Well, it's about time."

Who did that to her?

Anne gripped Sarah's wrist, and said, "Wait! Ye don't know what's on the other side."

"What's wrong with ye?" Sarah's battered features twisted into a puffy, quizzical frown.

"Please, Sarah, ye have to stop treating me as a child and _listen_ to me."

Sarah reared back and folded her arms.

The _hermanii_ sat in the shadows, vigilantly at prayer.

"Okay," Sarah said. "I'm listening."

"Just sit there a minute." Anne cleared away more rock and exposed a small rabbit-like-hole from which a faint orangish-glow emanated. She poked her head inside and peered into the adjoining chamber. The main chamber. Work-lights flickered weakly, some out all-together. The ground collapsed, leaving a gaping, brachiating chasm in its wake. The earthen walls sealed off tunnels.

"What do ye see?" Sarah asked. The _hermanii_ gathered around her.

"Nothing," Anne replied. "It's the way we came. Completely caved-in. No exits. No bodies. Nothing. No way we can go through there, the ground's too unstable."

Natiis asked, "What do you suggest young empress?" The heart-shaped birthmark riding her cheek bobbed and jived in the diminutive, lambent light.

Anne cringed at being called an empress. She glanced back at the other end of the tunnel but she couldn't see it. Too dark. She didn't know exactly which tunnel they were in. But tunnels only ran in two directions. And if the opposite end, the way they came, was up, then the other end led...

Anne shook those thoughts away. No! _He_ was dead. The Dog killed him. And when things died, they stayed dead -- right?

Byron declared that the Sweet... _he_ was still alive. But, Byron had gone mad by the mystery and malice of the mines, hadn't he?

Anne only knew one thing -- they had to get out of there.

"Ye guys stay here," she said. "I'll come back with help."

Round cheeks quavering, N'Dora cried, " _Madirii_ , you can't!"

Sarah gently clasped Anne's shoulders, and said, "She's right, ye can't go out there by ye'r self, t'is not--"

Anne snarled, "Oh, I humbly cry ye'r pardon. I forgot it _ye_ that was down here."

Sarah's gape glittered with an angry fire. Her good eye narrowed. Swollen, blistered lips curled. "How dare ye say such things to me. Ye've no idea what I suffered through to find ye."

"Ye didn't find me, Dog did."

Sarah scoffed, "Don't ye mean, ye'r puppy?"

"Everyone grows up, Sarah. So should ye."

Collective mouths covered, the _hermanii_ gasped.

Natiis said, " _Madirii_ , you must respect another _Madirii_."

Anne replied, "If there be anyone here who has ever been down here before, raise ye'r hand."

None did.

"And if there be anyone small enough to crawl through that hole, and agile enough to tread along what little ground remains on the other side, please, by all means, raise ye'r hands."

Jaws slack, they all stared at her with beady eyes glistening in the dark.

Aye, _they_ would certainly all die down here, and it was all Sarah's fault. But not Anne. Oh, no. She had survived the mines before, and by-God, she would do so again.

Sarah asked, "What are ye going to do?"

Anne rolled her eyes, sighed, and said, "I told ye, I'm gonna try and save us."

She squirmed through the narrow interstice and out into the main chamber. Most of the ground had completely caved-in. A few work-lights flickered weakly. It wouldn't be long before they went out completely and Anne, along with anyone with her, would be left in the dark. Inexplicably, her thoughts turned toward Maddy and her dreams about chasing him down here in the pitch-black. She shivered.

N'Dora whispered, "Be careful, _Madirii_."

Clinging to the side of the wall, Anne carefully shimmied her way toward the closest tunnel. Caved-in. She glanced around. All exits appeared blocked. Where to go? What to do?

Coughing. Echoing whispers.

"You can't save them, you know," Quinn said, emerging from the shadows at the other end of the large chamber. She wore a tattered, soiled nightgown. Her stringy hair concealed her no-doubt grinning face.

"What are ye doing here?"

Sarah called, "Who are ye talking to?"

"Same as you," replied Quinn. "I was freed, then brought back in."

"Where are all the other slaves?" asked Anne.

"They were too scared to come back. But people like you, me, and Byron aren't afraid, are we? No, we love it down here. We _belong_ down here, don't we?"

Anne quavered, "What do ye want?"

"The same as you, to get out of here, and I think I know a way."

"Oh, show me--" a bit of ledge broke away. Anne released a shrill, " _Eep_!" The echo reverberated throughout the chamber.

" _Madirii_ , are you all right?" Natiis called. "What happened?"

Shivering, Anne shrank against the wall. She feared the rest of the ledge about to give way and she plummet to the abyss below. But that happened not. She cursorily scanned the area. Quinn was gone. Had she been there at all? Was she going mad like Byron?

She inched across the crumbling shelf. Her heart galloped as fast as Dasher navigated the night. The ledge narrowed. Anne pressed her back firmly against the wall. Right hand feeling along, her palm brushed against a small boulder. The boulder gave way. A small rockslide. Anne screamed. Her shrieks echoed. Then voices. Were _those_ real?

The landslide carved a small hole in the wall where a tunnel _used_ to be, one just wide enough for her to wriggle through. On the other side, she found a long, narrow tunnel lit by stringed work-lights. The echoes materialized and she could actually make out what they were saying.

"He's not looking too good."

Moaning, wailing.

"How'd you look if you got shot through-and-through?"

Anne followed the chamber until it dead-ended into a darkened corridor. She slunk into the shadows and crept silently along the wall.

It had been months since she'd seen any of them. But there, huddled in the gloom were Ally, Sandy, Hickey, and Diego Sr.

Ally sat leaning against a wall, hands on his abdomen. He appeared pale and sweaty.

Sandy knelt over him, kissing his forehead, and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Meaty thumbs hooked into his buckle, Hickey stood along the far wall, chewing (probably), on a plug of tobacco.

Donning Al'ber Quearian armor, Diego paced in feverish circles; pulling at what remained of his thinning, curly black-hair.

They couldn't see her. And for a moment she entertained the idea of waiting there in the shadows until they fell asleep. Then, she would sneak up on each and every one and... She shook those thoughts away and stepped out into the light.

Mouth agape, Hickey said, "Holy hell!"

Sandy's blue-gape bulged from behind the stringy, dirty-blonde strands dangling in front of her tan, slender face.

Holding his belly, Ally groaned, "How ya doin', sweet pea?" His once princely features camouflaged beneath scruff, grime, and the folds distorting his squinting, grimacing mug.

Diego just stared at her with a wide, gawking gaze. He asked, "Have you seen my family?"

Anne replied, "No, me and Sarah got separated from many of the others."

Sandy swept the strands from her face, and asked, "Is Sarah still alive?"

"Last I saw. She's trapped with a few others. I was able to squirm out."

"Where's Troll and everyone else?"

"I think the ones who got out of the main chamber before it collapsed are stuck in tunnels. This chamber was blocked, and then a small landslide made an opening for me to wriggle through. Ye are the first ones I've found." She nodded toward Ally, and asked, "What happened?"

Ally wheezed, "Got shot during the battle. Don't worry 'bout me, sweat-pea, I'll be fine."

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and grumbled, "Not unless we can get that wound cleaned and bandaged up proper."

Anne asked, "Where's 'Ro and the rest of the gang?"

Sandy replied, "Last time I saw 'Ro, he was with Troll. The others didn't make it."

Diego ceased pacing, and said, "We've got to find the others."

Sandy cupped her chin, and said, "We can go back into the main chamber, but after that, I don't know."

Hickey said to Anne, "There used to be soldiers down here, right? If these were slave mines, than there's gotta be a soldier's quarters, or something."

Anne replied, "Sure, there's a soldier out-post somewhere among the top chambers of the mines, but I've never been there."

"What about ex-slaves?" Sandy asked. "There's gotta be someone down here who's been there."

Anne said, "None of the freed slaves came back down here during the evacuation."

Pacing and pulling at his hair, Diego muttered, "There's got to be someone, there just has to be."

"There is," she replied. "But, he's gone mad."

****

'Ro asked Troll, "Ya all right, there?"

Troll panted, "Aye." He waved dismissively. Braids and strands of hair plastered his pale, sweaty face. He sat leaning against a cavern wall, his staff propped next to him.

'Ro sat on his haunches before Troll. "'Cause ya look like shit," he said. Of course, 'Ro wasn't feeling all that peachy, either. Roy, Paulie, Zeke, the ol' man, they were all gone. Ally was shot. 'Ro promised Sandy they wouldn't lose any more of their party, but now all that remained of the gang was Hickey, Mia, Xaza, and one of the twins; he didn't know which. His posse now comprised of people he barely knew. _If_ they survived the initial collapse of the mines, that is.

Montalvo (standing beside Troll), asked 'Ro, "Did you find the rest of your group?"

'Ro shook his head.

Breathing in rattled gasps, Troll said, "I'm sure they made it into another tunnel."

'Ro combed his fingers through greasy hair, and said, "We're ready to try and blow one of the barricades. The only question is which one?"

Troll replied, "The ground in the chamber we came from completely collapsed. There is no turning back, we must go deeper underground."

"Okay, sure, but who's gonna lead the way?"

Troll asked, "How is Byron?"

'Ro nodded, and said, "He's sittin' over there in the dark, talkin' to imaginary people."

Gaze narrowed, Montalvo asked, "Does he seem violent?"

'Ro replied, "No, I think he's still hypnotized."

Montalvo asked Troll, "How long do you plan to keep him like that? It is not good for his mind to be kept under."

"I know." Troll ran a hand down his scar, and sighed. "And to answer ye'r question, I only intend on keeping him under as long as necessary, not a moment more."

'Ro glanced at Khariiff and Sirii sitting in the torchlight's glow, pawing through the pages of the mysterious _Nou'heim-Du' Tawa._ He asked, "They find anything?"

Troll replied, "If they had, I presume I would be the very first to know."

A few king's men and _d'el guardii_ trotted toward Troll.

"We're ready to move," said a king's man with a shaved head and fresh burns blotting his adolescent features.

Montalvo helped Troll to his feet, and Troll dusted off his cloak and kilt. He retrieved his torch/staff.

Khariiff and Sirii scurried to a stance.

Amazing how Troll could amble about after just suffering a rather nasty heart-attack. No-doubt, he felt weak and in pain, but Troll hid it well.

'Ro's thoughts turned to his brother and the rest of the gang. Were they still alive? Was anyone other than Ally injured? They needed to find Ally and get him some medical attention as soon as possible, or he would definitely bleed-out.

Troll took the _d'el guardii_ and turn-coat-king's men aside, and said, "Get everyone on the other side of the cavern. Then plant one, and only one grenade within the middle of the rubble of the barricade. If my calculations are correct, the blast won't clear the passage, but it should loosen the rubble enough for us to dig through."

Troll's soldiers nodded, and then hurried off to complete their orders.

'Ro scratched his chin, and asked, "Do ya think this is really gonna work?"

"No," he replied. "I _know_ it will."

****

Furion stood in his invisible silken tent, staring at the mirror Star broke. _His_ mirror.

After ordering his troops to retreat, the soldiers bore down in other magic tents. They weren't mystical because they invisible (although they were), but because the thin, gossamer fabric would shield his men from the lingering radiation.

The Wraith materialized out of the shadows, and said, "Greetings, brother."

Pivoting, Furion roared, "Skrit-ratta-crack!

Where is Star! You promised she would be mine!

"And she shall," the Wraith replied. Chuckling, it rubbed its long, taloned hands. "But still, everything is going exactly as I planned."

We were supposed to crush them.

"And so we have. We have crushed their spirits. Soon, you will have Star. Soon, the king shall have the one he wants. It is almost over, I assure you."

Furion growled, "Scrip-racka-tack."

I don't think the king is interested in any of them. I think it's you who wants one of them.

Chuckling, the Wraith replied, "One and the same, dear brother, either way, our objective remains unchanged. The interlopers and their friends are caught underneath the Sie Mountains. There is only one way for them to get out."

On the other side, toward Krin.

"Precisely. Let your men rest up. At dawn, begin marching over the mountains and meet the interlopers on the other side. Then we shall have the one we want, and you can have Star."

I will require a new general.

"No need," the Wraith wafted a talon in a gesture of grandeur, "For, I have brought you a gift. I call him, the Drauger."

The tent flap peeled back, a seven-foot monster crawled inside, and stood at attention.

The Drauger wore heavy, black armor. Necrotic hands clawed and hairy. The Drauger's face looked like the flat snout (pierced through with knuckle-bone-jewelry), of a large cat. Long, black fur-like hair stood up in wisps. Elongated ears adorned the sides of its large, grey head. Fangs protruded from beneath thick, leathery lips.

What is this perversion?

The Wraith chuckled, "Why, my dear, brother, do you not recognize your own right arm?"

He was left on purpose! He failed his master, so he was abandoned to die. How dare you bring this thing before me?

"I assure you, he shall prove far more useful this way than he _ever_ could as a man." The Wraith rubbed its talons. "Isn't that right?" it asked the Drauger.

The Drauger released a gargled purring.

"See," the Wraith giggled. "They have their beast. Now we have ours."

I thought you wanted that abomination dead?

"Patience brother," the Wraith cooed. "I assure you, all is _still_ precisely as planned."

****

Barely late afternoon, yet the skies grew dark and cloudy. The mushroom-cloud cleared. No wind. Ash fell steadily, creating silted grey mounds. The explosion did not hit Al'ber Que directly, but about two miles south. A blast crater a mile-wide lay at the foot of the mountains. The sand within the epicenter scorched to gritty shards of glass. The base of the mountain had melted and forged into a hose-shoe-like structure of stone and steel. Whatever remained of the empire lay immured beneath a massive rockslide.

Star thought of the fields and shuddered. She and the Dog hiked up the steep mountainous slope a few miles north of Al'ber Que. Her adrenaline wearing off, she felt cold despite the hooded, woolen cloak and armor she wore.

They climbed onward and upward. The wind shifted upon them.

Exhaustion racked at her bones, like a sculptor chipping away at a block of marble.

The Dog bounded upward. Star lagged behind. He would stop and wait for her with his head tilted, gazing at her with curious hazel-eyes.

What was he thinking?

She shivered and pulled her cloak tightly around her.

The Dog donned the pants and boots Sarah made for him, Al'ber Quearian armor, a wool cloak, and his hat; attire representing a little piece of everyplace he'd visited while'st in Star's company. Except now the Dog only wore one gauntlet.

She stumbled and fell.

The Dog leapt to her side and rested his hand on her shoulder. He whined lowly.

"It's okay," she said. "Just tripped is all."

The Dog searched her face and whined again.

"Don't but such a worry-wart. Everything's gonna be jus' fine." But, deep down, she knew that wasn't true. Nothing was right. Nothing was gonna be right, okay, or fine. And it was her fault.

_Screee-scra_ \--

For the first time in a long time, she struggled to block _him_ out.

Wind whipping his braided beard about, the Dog whined lowly. Head tilted, his golden gaze examined every contour of her face.

She didn't know why. But, she suddenly felt awkward and angry. Suddenly, she was back in a dank, gloomy, vomit-smelling, motel room; standing in her knickers.

_Rickity-scr_ \--

The Dog barked.

She meant to force a chuckle, but coughed wetly. She glanced toward the desert. She couldn't see Furion or the army. But, she knew they'd come. She knew it without having to sense it.

She still didn't know why she missed. Furion wasn't in her head, and well within range. He _should_ be dead meat.

The Dog nudged her.

Oh, why was she dwelling. She knew Troll wasn't. He was probably already concocting his next move against the king.

Dog nudged her again.

She grumbled, "Yeah, you're right."

Dog helped Star to her feet.

She hitched at her pack, and said, "Come on, we should probably get over the ridge before nightfall. I got a feeling it's gonna get dark early tonight."

They continued on, clambering up the incline of the eastern ridge of the Sie Mountains.

Star was going back to Krin. She was returning home. But, she'd rather be with Troll.

****

"We are ready," Montalvo said to Troll.

Troll hadn't the strength to lead, so from now on, Montalvo relayed his commands to whomever. Similarly, any questions or concerns from the others were given to Montalvo. If deemed worthy of Troll's attention, Montalvo would reiterate such problems.

Troll waved his torch/staff.

At the other end of the chamber, a turn-coat king's man clad head-to-toe in armor, pulled the pin from the planted grenade, and ran for cover.

Boom

The chamber tremored. Dust and rock sifted down the already heavy air from above.

Women, children, and even a few kings' men cried out in horror.

Flushed and weak, a stabbing pain attacked Troll's chest.

Montalvo called, "Steady everyone!" He pressed the bottom of his deer-skin shirt over his face.

Many others covered their mouths and noses, as well.

Montalvo nodded and a few _d'el guardii_ rushed to clear the debris.

Troll felt a small wrinkle of pride for Montalvo. No-doubt, if something happened to him, Montalvo could take over as leader of the group.

No. He mustn't think like that. As long as Star still lived, he'd hold on until he saw her again. Forever, if that's what it took.

After a few minutes, the men completely opened the passage. The tunnel appeared wide enough for five men to walk-abreast (or two Troll's). All dark.

Troll envisioned beady-red eyes and needle-like teeth. Hand pressed to his chest, he hailed, "Byron!"

Byron danced toward him, and asked, "Ye called, my friend?"

A hand on his holstered hip, 'Ro followed closely behind Byron.

Troll asked, "Are ye still home, Byron?"

"Why, of course I am," he replied. He smiled. Black tar drizzled down his bottom lip.

"I need ye to come away from there, I need thee to come toward me, toward the sound of my voice."

Byron squirmed, and quavered, "No, no, I don't want to go there, it's dreadfully dark down there. All alone. Down in the dark. No, no, no--"

"But, ye are not in the dark, Byron. There is a light." Troll waved his torch/staff in front of Byron, and asked, "Can ye see it?"

Smiling wanly, Byron replied, "Aye, I can see it."

"And ye are not alone. I am here with thee." He stepped toward Byron and brought the torch close to his face. "Can ye see me, Byron?"

"Aye," he replied. "I can see ye."

"And we're not _really_ down here. We're still out here sitting on the porch of Reverend Lowell's. Ye are hypnotized. Ye are asleep."

Montalvo's gaze grew wide, jaw slack. He leaned toward Troll, and whispered, "My friend, what you are doing is unwise--"

Troll hushed Montalvo and returned his attention to Byron.

Byron blinked, glanced around, and asked, "Is this a dream?"

"Aye."

"But, I've been here before, I remember it."

"Good. Now tell me, my good man, is there a place down here we can get something to eat?"

Byron peered into the darkened tunnel, nodded, and whispered, "Down there."

"Take me."

Byron trembled, "No, I don't want to."

"T'is all right, Byron. Take my hand. Remember, this is only a dream, and as long as I am with thee, no harm can come to ye."

Byron took Troll's hand and stared into the abyss.

"Take me somewhere nice and cozy, where we can get a spot to eat and perhaps a comfy bed to lie upon. A place where the king's men go. Do ye know the place I speak of?"

Black-eyes bulging, Byron nodded.

"Take me there, Byron. Take ye'r ol' pal Troll to get some tasty vitals."

"So, sweet," Byron croaked. His gaze glazed over. Mouth agape, saliva and black-tar trickled down his long, shabby beard. "Savory spider stew," he whispered.

Troll's thoughts whisked back to a dark and stormy night filled with demon arachnids that chirped, _scrippity-crack-crickity-rack._ He shuddered and his chest tightened.

****

Round cheeks trembling, N'Dora quavered, "Do you think _Madirii_ Anne is all right?"

Birthmark bouncing, Natiis replied, " _Si_ , she is very strong willed."

Sarah didn't share her optimism. Anne had been gone for too long.

A few minutes after Anne left, someone released a shrill scream. It sounded like Anne. Then nothing.

What if something happened to her? What if she fell? How far into the depths had she descended? What if she were still alive?

Sarah pictured Anne lying in a twisted heap at the bottom of the chasm. Broken. Bleeding. Crying out for help. Creatures stirred in the darkness. Circling Anne.

Zashiirii, the quietest of _d'el hermanii_ , gently rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder, and whispered, "Do not worry, _Madirii_. I'm certain she is fine."

Even in darkness and smeared with dirt (and her lazy-eye), Zashiirii's beauty rivaled Sarah's (before her looks warped by the sultan's bludgeoning fists). A swelter of anger and envy swirled within her.

Sarah peered through the hole Anne crawled through. The work-lights flickered dimly, growing steadily weaker. She hoped Anne would return before the lights went out and the darkness descended.

Feet shuffled, dirt crumbled. Anne inched along the wall, back pressed against the rock, arms out. A lasso tied around her followed by a length of rope.

Joy and hope flooded into Sarah's heart. But she said, "Anne, what are ye doing!"

Anne jumped in a start. Arms out, she tottered to keep her balance. A bit of ground crumbled from beneath her feet. She pressed her back against the wall, glared at Sarah, and snarled, "Don't _do_ _that!_ "

The _hermanii_ jittered nervously and crowded around Sarah.

Sarah felt confined, claustrophobia crept over her. She wanted to shove the _hermanii_ out of the way and shout at them. But she didn't. Mostly, she just felt angered by Anne's unwavering hostility toward her.

Anne inched along the wall toward the opening of the chamber before she faded out of view. Rope still trailed her. The rope didn't appear taught, or entirely slack.

Was she tethered?

Darkness filled the hole Sarah peered through, more crumbling noises.

Had those strange stringed-lights gone out? Another cave in?

"Make way," Anne grunted. "Coming through."

Rope trailing her, Anne clambered into the chamber.

Sarah hugged Anne. Anne tensed up and pulled away from her.

Why?

The _hermanii_ giggled and clapped, surrounding Anne, patting her back, and bestowing their praises upon her.

Sarah forced a chuckle, and said, "I thought ye might have left us."

Anne snorted. She brushed the stringy hair from her face, untied the rope around her waist, and held it out to Sarah.

Sarah glanced at the rope, and asked, "What am I to do with that?"

"Tie it around ye'r waist," Anne replied. "Here, I'll help ye."

"What? Why?"

"I told ye I'd get us out of here. Come on, ye'r going first."

Sarah fidgeted nervously as Anne wrapped the rope around her hips, tying it into a knot. "What...what...?"

Anne took her hand and ushered her toward the small interstice.

Would she even fit?

"Go on," Anne said, "it's okay." She reared back, head slightly tilted, lip curled. "What, don't ye trust me?"

Sarah knelt, and placed her palms along the sides of the hole. She leaned toward the opening before lurching back in hesitance.

But no, if Anne could do this, then so could she.

Sarah squirmed inside, pushing forward with her feet. A sharp arch of pain coursed through her swollen ankle. The rope tugged at her torso, as if someone pulled her from the other side. The work-lights flickered. She wormed onward but gained no ground. Stuck. The strange stringed-lights dimmed. A wave of claustrophobia surged over her. Perhaps, she'd never get out of this hole. She would die and her bloated corpse would block the exit. And Anne and the _hermanii_ would die as well. Another tug. Sarah was pried loose. She frantically wriggled onward until her head emerged into the outer chamber. Then she stopped. No ground. Only a gigantic earthen well. What sort of rescue was this? The rope tugged again. Sarah's gaze followed the rope to the other end of the chamber, where it wrapped around Hickey. Sandy and Diego helped hold the line.

"You comin' or what?" Hickey called. His echo caused rocks to crumble from the edge of the well.

"How?" asked Sarah.

Anne replied, "Just carefully crawl out of the hole, there's a small ledge there. Go on now, it's all right. Ye'r doing great."

Sarah squirmed out of the interstice. Sure enough, she clung to moldering ground. "Now what?" she asked.

Anne replied, "Sit down on the ledge, and push ye'r self off."

"What do ye mean, push myself off?"

"Go on, just hold on to the rope and swing off. It's okay, the others will hold ye. Just remember to keep ye'r feet out."

Trembling, Sarah carefully positioned into a sit. Back pressed against the wall, legs dangling over oblivion, she clung to the rope. The ledge crumbled a bit. Terrified, she pushed off and plummeted into darkness. She screamed, belly fully of butterflies, heart racing. The rope grew taught, squeezing her stomach. She swung. Her heart fluttered as she raced toward the other side of the well.

"Keep ye'r legs out!" Anne cried from behind.

Sarah got her feet up just in time to avoid smacking face-first into the rock wall. Her swollen ankle blossomed in pain, and she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Hold on, _Madirii_ ," Diego called from above.

Then Sarah was being hauled upward in short awkward jolts.

Panting, Sandy grunted, "Reach for the ledge."

But, she didn't want to let go of the rope.

"Reach for the ledge!" Anne cried from behind. Her echo bounced around the gigantic well.

Sarah slowly raised a trembling arm, feeling along the wall until her fingers slid onto rocky terrain. The ledge crumbled and Sarah lost her hold. She screamed but she didn't fall.

"We got ya," Hickey said, groaning. "Come on now, easy does it."

Sarah reached up with both arms and clambered onto the shelf. Gasping in gales of relief, she coiled on the ground and shuddered.

"Good to see ya, hon," Sandy said, untying the rope from Sarah's waist.

The ledge they stood on led into another lambently lit tunnel.

Ally sat with his back pressed against a wall, hand over his bleeding wound.

Hickey cupped a hand over his mouth, and hollered, "Okay, we're ready for the next one."

Sandy handed the end of the rope to Diego.

Diego tied it around an arrow, and drew.

Hickey called, "Clear?"

"Clear," Anne hollered back.

Diego fired. _Twang._ The arrow zipped across the chamber, striking true on the small ledge beneath the hole Sarah crawled through.

One by one the _hermanii_ (and then Anne), were rescued in the same fashion as Sarah.

The group took a few minutes to gather their collective breaths.

Sandy asked, "What now?"

Sarah nodded toward the tunnel, and asked, "Aren't we going down there?"

Hickey pinched a plug of tobacco under his fat lips, and said, "This tunnel dead-ends a little on down the road."

Of all the Jessips that perished, why did Hickey survive? Now, he'd rescued her. She should be grateful, but she didn't know if she could ever get past the way Hickey treated her. The way the sultan treated her. Troll. She was beginning to wonder if she could ever truly trust a man, or anyone else, for that matter.

Anne ambled toward the edge of the shelf and tossed a few pebbles into the abyss. "We go down," she replied.

Birthmark bounding, chin quivering, Natiis asked, "Down there? How, _Madirii_?"

"The same way ye were rescued," she replied, "With the rope, and one at a time."

****

Hand-in-hand, Troll and Byron led the exodus through dark, tortuous tunnels.

All remained silent except the shuffling of feet and the occasional cough or sneeze.

After a while, they entered into the bottom level of another huge chamber lit with stringed-lights. Earthen shelves had been carved into the rock every eight-feet or so, creating the illusion that they stood inside some up-side-down pyramid. The stalactite riddled roof of the cave was a good couple hundred feet from where they now stood.

Small train tracks webbed through various tunnels and pathways all throughout the massive chamber. Carts filled with rock and dirt sat waiting for transport. Hoes and mattocks lie abandoned on the ground.

Arms crossed, Montalvo said, "Some sort of central labor area."

Troll nodded.

Byron held his hand. His mouth hung agape, gaze distant, as if someplace else entirely.

Gazing upward, 'Ro said, "Must be deep underground considering how high the ceiling is."

"Troll, Troll!" Anne's voice.

Troll and many of the others glanced around the mining chamber.

Tracks. Carts. Adzes. Mattocks. Pickaxes. The orangish-glow of flickering work-lights.

A voice Troll didn't recognize yelled, "'Ro! Oh, my God, is that you?"

Anne cried, "Troll, up here!"

There, standing in the archway of a random tunnel upon the second floor, were Anne, Sarah, Diego, three _hermanii_ , and a few of the Jessips.

More exiles filed into the main mining chamber.

Diego's family rejoiced when they spotted him, as did he in turn.

Anne sprinted down the circular, dirt decline and leapt into Troll's awaiting arms.

He caught her and for the first time ever, felt winded from holding the wee, emaciated lass.

Anne said, "I'm so glad to see ye."

Smiling, he replied, "And I thee."

"Where is Star and Dog?" she asked.

"All in good time."

Anne reared back and gazed at him. Her brow furrowed, bottom lip curled.

"Troll!" Sarah said, shambling toward them.

Troll shifted Anne, holding her one-armed. His shoulder throbbed and ached, but he refused to convey it. Sarah hobbled into Troll's (other), outstretched arm, and he embraced her.

She would've collapsed had he not been holding her. She snorted, wept, and hyperventilated.

Anne rolled her eyes, and scoffed, "Jeez, get a hold of ye'r self, Sarah."

"I'm sorry," Sarah sobbed. "It's just, so much has happened. So much loss."

"Indeed," Troll replied, pulling her close. "Never fear, all is well."

Anne asked, "Troll?"

"Hmm?"

She stared sternly at him, and asked, "Where's Star and the Dog?"

Troll opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Aye," Sarah said, sniffling. She wiped the tears from her bruised and bloated face, and asked, "Where are Star and the Dog?"

Troll forced a smile, and said, "Patience my friends, all in good time. Right now, Byron is leading us to some sort of storage area or something."

Anne asked, "Ye mean the soldiers' base of operations?"

"Indeed," he replied.

Sarah added, "We were searching for that, as well."

Troll asked Anne, "Do ye know where it is?"

"No, but I thought Byron might. We were actually looking for him."

"Well look no further." He set Anne down and pointed to the tunnel were exiles were entering into the chamber. There, standing next to the tunnel mouth was Byron. He weaved forth-and-sway, as if besotted. Gaze glassy and distant. Saliva and black-tar oozed down the corners of his mouth.

Frowning, Sarah quavered, "What happened to him?"

Troll forced a chuckle, and said, "All in good time. First, we need to find this operations base and tend to the injured. Then we can rest and divulge to each other all that we have learned during our time apart."

Shrugging, Anne asked, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

****

'Ro trotted toward his brother, who was being helped as he hobbled along.

Doctor raced alongside 'Ro.

'Ro said, "Holy shit, man, I didn't think you made it. Where've you been?"

Doctor wiped the sweat from his narrow, wrinkled brow, and replied, "With your friends, Xaza, Mia, and Seth. He's been inconsolable since his brother died. We've been keeping an eye on him."

"But, you've been here with the rest of us this whole time?"

"Like I said, we've been tending to Seth. And you looked like you had your hands full."

Sandy, Hickey, and Ally hobbled toward 'Ro.

"You still alive, bro?" 'Ro asked.

Smiling wanly, Ally replied, "Looks that way for now." Greasy strands of hair clung to the sides of his pallid, sweaty face. Clothes drenched in perspiration, he shivered.

Doctor rubbed his sinuous, veiny hands on a cloth stuffed in his belt, and said, "Let me have a look at him." He gently unwrapped the bloody scrap of cloth tied around the wound.

Cringing, teeth chattering, Ally said, "Good to see ya, Doc."

Sandy nodded at 'Ro, and asked, "You okay?"

'Ro nodded back.

She asked, "Where's Mia and the others?"

Scanning the gloomy ocean of exiles, 'Ro replied, "There here somewhere. Mia and Xaza are fine but the kid's taking shit pretty hard."

Doctor said, "We need to get this cleaned as soon as possible, followed by a serious dose of antibiotics."

Hickey expectorated tobacco juice, wiped the spittle from his square-shaped chin, and asked, "Antsy-what-now?"

"Medication," Doctor replied. "And if we don't get some soon he _will_ die."

Sandy quavered, "No, he's not gonna die." She placed her hands on Ally's cheeks and pulled his face close to hers. "You're not gonna die. You hear me? You are _not_ gonna die."

"Course I ain't sugar-pie," he replied.

She kissed him and then whispered something into his ear that caused Ally's face to flush. Brow cocked, mouth agape, he stared at her. Sandy smiled. She nodded and a tear rolled down her long, slender face.

What did she tell him?

Troll and Byron ambled toward them.

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro asked, "What's up?"

Troll said, "We must proceed."

****

Montalvo rested a hand on Troll's shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry, my friend, but we cannot help them."

Forehead and palms pressed against a giant boulder, Troll asked, "What am I to do then? Leave them to die? I can't do that." He whirled toward Montalvo, and said, "I _won't_ do that."

Byron escorted Troll and the exodus up the spiraled flights to the top level, and into a large work-light lit tunnel. The tunnel winded and forked but Byron led the procession seemingly without looking.

Montalvo followed closely behind, examining Byron's every move.

They came across a huge stone archway blocked by a giant boulder. Muted screams and the pounding of fists against stone emanated from the other side.

Troll halted Byron.

Montalvo raised his hand and the exiles ceased their slogging.

Troll stared at the cave-in. Running a hand down his scarred face, and scratching at his beard, he uttered, "There must be some way we can help them."

Franz, 'Ro, Doctor, and another soldier (whom Troll didn't recognize), approached them.

Franz asked, "What happened? Why have we stopped?"

Troll pressed his palms against the boulder again, and said, "There are people trapped in there. We must get them out before they run out of air."

"How we gonna do that?" asked the ex-king's man. His bald, oblong features resembled some sort of snub-nosed canine.

Franz ran trembling fingers down his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, and said, "I think some of the soldiers still have a few grenades."

"And there's plenty of tools just lying around down here," the king's man chimed.

Sucking on his teeth, Doctor sighed, and said, "I don't think we have the time or man power it would take to break a boulder that size. Plus, there's no guarantee we wouldn't cause another rockslide or cave-in."

Troll said, "We can't just leave them!" He pounded his torch/staff. His heart ached, chest tight, shoulder throbbing. He felt faint, weak.

Montalvo asked, "My friend, are you all right?"

Rubbing his shoulder, Troll gasped, "Aye, I'm fine."

"Is it your heart?"

Spittle flying, Troll snapped, "No, t'is not my heart."

A terse moment elapsed.

Montalvo rested a hand on Troll's shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry my friend, but I'm not sure we can save them without risking harm to others."

Troll grasped Montalvo by the shoulders, gazed into his eyes, and said, "But, I can't leave them to die. I _won't_!" He peered upward, and said, "Lord, tell me, what am I to do. I will adhere to any command no matter what. Please tell me, Lord, be this my only choice? To abandon ye'r children? If that be the case, then why save any of us at all?"

Nothing.

That's right. He vowed not to question God's commands.

Emerging from the throng, Anne said, "Ye can't save them. Ye can't save any of them. All ye can do down here is save ye'r self and hope that others can do the same."

Troll said, "I do not hope. I pray."

Smirking, she sneered, "Ye'r prayers won't save ye down here."

Had Anne lost the faith during her tenure in the darkness? Had she gone mad? Were they all destined the same fate?

A hex had ensconced the town of Silverdale, one that made one's thoughts muddy and fragmented the longer one stayed in that cursed hamlet. Were these mines no different? Perhaps, the longer one lingered down here in the dark, the more one grew mad, until they were...

Troll glanced at Byron, who stood in the shadows, rocking forth and sway, and giggling.

"Look," Doctor said, wringing his hands, "maybe when we get to the base we can find something we can use to help those people," he nodded toward the boulder, "Then we can come back."

Muted screams and wails seeped through from the other side.

Troll sighed. He swept a hand through his hair. Beads and braids shucked and jived. He said, "I fear those on the other side don't have that much time."

Doctor replied, "Maybe not, but every minute we stand here is every minute we'll have to make up. And the longer it takes to get to the base, the more we're putting our injured at risk." He nodded toward 'Ro, and said, "His brother needs some serious attention -- _now_!"

'Ro said, "Ya'll can stand here bickering all day, but I'm gonna get my bro some help even if I have to carry his ass the whole way."

"They're right," Anne said to Troll, "We gotta keep moving and take care of our own. That's what Star and Dog would do."

Troll said, "Aye, perhaps thee right."

With heavy a heart and dragging feet, Troll pressed on and the exiles followed.

Byron held Troll's hand and led them down a long tunnel with cart tracks.

After an immeasurable time, a small light grew in the distance; the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. And after another length of time they finally reached it.

Byron giggled and danced in place. He swept his arm out in a gesture of grandeur, and said, "Ta-da!"

The soldiers' base of operations was held in a large, well lit chamber. Cargo trains and rudimentary buildings dotted the interior of the cavernous room. Brachiated cart-tracks led into numerous tunnels. On the far end stood a huge, metal, overhang door.

Troll said to Montalvo, "Inform everyone to gather as much of anything as they can."

Montalvo nodded and reiterated Troll's orders as more exiles filed into the chamber.

Doctor turned to Ally and the gang, and said, "Come on, it shouldn't be too difficult to find the medical supplies."

Troll (with Byron ever at his side), 'Ro, Doctor, Ally, Hickey, and Sandy shuffled toward the make-shift buildings. They rounded a corner and a tawny soldier in his late twenties, with a jet-black ponytail (the sides of his head were shaven clean, like a mohawk), exited one of the small tenements. MRE in one hand, obliviously chewing, he ambled toward them a few steps before realizing he wasn't alone.

'Ro drew, cocked a shooter, and grumbled, "Well, if it ain't my ol' pal, Futnick."

He dropped his meal and reached for the sky. Shaking in his heavy, black armor, his grey eyes trembled in the flickering orange work-lights.

Troll ran his suspicious gaze over the soldier, and asked, "Who?"

Gape narrowed, thin lips scrunched tight, Sandy snarled, "Fedic."

Hickey said to Troll, "This guy's a traitor."

"No, wait," Fedic stammered. "I can explain--"

Troll called over Fedic, "Byron, Doctor, come, let us find these medical supplies." He asked 'Ro, "I trust ye can handle this."

'Ro licked his lips, and said, "Oh, yeah. Been looking forward to it for quite some time."

****

Early evening, though dusk arrived prematurely.

Star shivered and wrapped her cloak tightly around her. Her thoughts turned toward Troll holding her in his arms.

They set up camp upon a stony ridge. They hadn't even gotten into the _real_ mountains.

Star scanned the desert horizon below with her viewing monocle. No sign of Furion or the army. But, she _knew_ they were close.

The Dog pitched a tent and built a small campfire. Then the two sat quietly around the fire, sharing MREs.

A cold breeze sent Star shivering again. Teeth chattered _a-clickity-scrappity-scrickity-scrackity._ The air was much cooler up here. And the higher they got, the more frigid it would get. She opened her compass and stared at the instrument's face. As per usual, the needle bounced indecisively to-and-fro. The metal felt cold to the touch, numbing her fingers. Earlier that day she felt like she had sharpened to a razor-fine edge. Now exhaustion blanketed her like a heavy veil.

She stared at the Dog, crouched on his haunches, his back to her. He gazed off into the night, keeping sentry.

"I'm sorry," she said.

The Dog turned his head toward her. His golden gaze narrowed, brow furrowed.

She sighed, ran a hand through her hair (still tied back), the shackle rattled. "This is all my fault. I had a chance to kill Furion. I could have ended it. But...but..."

"You saved me."

"Yeah," she replied. "I felt your pain and I came to you. I don't want you to think I'm trying to make this out to be your fault. The only one I blame is me. I could have ended this, but I had to save you. I _had_ to."

The Dog tilted his head like when he _pretended_ not to understand.

She continued, "I had Furion dead in my sights, but I couldn't kill him. At first, I didn't know why I missed. At least, that's what I thought. But I know why I missed, I've always known. I just couldn't admit it to myself."

The Dog's elongated ears twitched.

"I missed because, after all the pain Furion caused me, I just couldn't bear to shoot him in the head from afar as I rode away. It wasn't enough. It wasn't _fair._ Now I realize that the only thing that wasn't fair was my selfish thirst for revenge. Troll was right. I could never admit it before. But, I can't face Furion. Not on my own."

She wanted the Dog to say something meaningful, profound. But, he just sat there peering at her.

She longed for Troll and her heart ached because of it. Would she ever see him again? She reflected on the dance they shared, making love, finally letting Troll into her heart. And now he was gone.

Dog met her gaze, and said, "Killing Furion wouldn't have saved Al'ber Que. If you had stayed, we'd both be dead."

"I know. But, that doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like...I dunno--"

"Like we walked right into this."

"Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair again, and said, "The night before the battle, Shroud came to me and told me that Furion knew what I was doing. I don't know if he knew what you and Troll were up to, but I suspect they did. He told me to continue on with my mission. That if I didn't everyone would die. I thought we could win. I trusted in Troll. But so many have died, and for what? Shroud said they wanted to snuff out the rebellion entirely, but they didn't. It's like they're herding us somewhere. Like they want us to advance. Like they're playing some kinda game where they're moving us around like pieces on a game board until they've finally got us where they want us."

The Dog muttered, "Checkmate."

She didn't know what that meant, but if felt more than accurate.

The trinity was fractured. Troll and the survivors of Al'ber Que were buried beneath an empire's worth of rubble. Furion still lived. They had failed. _She_ had failed. All seemed lost. Checkmate.

****

Arms crossed, 'Ro said, "Ya know, I was truly hoping I'd run into you again someday." Strands of greasy hair fell across his handsome, smirking face. He drawled, "Guess this is my lucky day."

After the exiles entered the operations chamber, Anne slipped away from the protective veil of Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_.

She hadn't felt this smothered since Silverdale.

Anne wandered through the river of refugees and trotted after Troll and his group. Then they found the traitor, this Futnick, or Fedic, or whatever.

Troll, Byron, and Doctor ambled off in search of medical supplies. After a moment's hesitation, Sandy jaunted after them.

Anne glanced around the corner of a small building.

Refugees reunited, rested, and pilfered through crates, boxes, carts, and cargo; picking through anything and everything the soldiers left behind. The stuff they didn't want.

Scanning the sea of people, Anne snorted. She didn't see Sarah or the _hermanii_ anywhere. Good.

'Ro and Hickey grabbed Fedic and hauled him back into the small building he'd just exited, like soldiers dragging a dead slave.

A memory materialized in her mind's eye, but she pushed it away before she recalled the reverie. She didn't have time for such things. Besides, whatever 'Ro and Hickey were going to do to the traitor (still clad in heavy, black armor), seemed far more interesting.

Hickey slammed the door shut behind them.

Anne glanced around the narrow aisle of small buildings. All clear.

She crept around the back of the tenement, finding a stack of crates piled up against the wall, and climbed onto the slat-roof. The vented ceilings let stringed work-light filter down from above. Within the structure sat a cot, a few boxes of supplies, and a lantern.

She'd heard of this Fedic, but only once, and ever so briefly. She didn't know a thing about him. But, apparently he'd been holding up here for a while. And if 'Ro and the gang said he was a traitor then that was good enough for her.

She crawled further out onto the slat-work roof. The slender strips of wood popped and creaked. Those below didn't seem to notice. She peered down at them from a side angle. Everyone's faces clearly visible. The perfect view.

'Ro and Hickey threw Fedic on the cot.

'Ro barked, "Sit."

Fedic perched upon the edge of the canvased bed, gripping the frame so tight his hands turned red; head downcast.

'Ro and Hickey stood before him. Arms crossed, backs straight, chests puffed out.

'Ro asked, "So, what happened to you back there?"

Fedic's thin, tawny lips quivered. Grey-gaze dithering between 'Ro and Hickey, he stammered, "What? Back where? What are you guys talking about?"

"You know," Hickey calmly replied, "You helping us change from messenger armor to regular and then dipping out right before the battle."

"Oh, that." Fedic chuckled nervously, and rubbed the back of his neck. He gazed up at them, gape wide, mouth open, vocal chords a twitter. "I...uh..."

_Pop_. _Creak_. _Snap_.

The slat-work broke beneath her, and she crashed through the roof in a heap.

"What the fuck?" Hickey said gazing up at the hole in the ceiling as dust and splinters sifted down.

Fedic sprang to his feet.

'Ro and Hickey pivoted, driving him back to the cot.

Anne rose and dusted off Al'ber Quearian armor, along with the Dog's jacket and tattered dress she wore beneath.

'Ro exclaimed, "Holy hell, sweet pea, you all right?"

She grumbled, "Yeah, fine."

Fedic stared at her and started. Eyes bulged. Mouth drawn tight. Tan cheeks trembled.

'Ro and Hickey's brows furrowed, lips curled. They're gazes darted from Fedic, to Anne, back to Fedic.

"Wait a minute," 'Ro scratched his head with the barrel of his shooter, and asked, "Do you know her?"

Fedic opened his mouth.

Anne said, "'Course he knows me. They all know me. That's why they keep trying to take me." She marched toward them, and said, "Kill him. If he's really a traitor, then kill him. Kill all who serve the king."

Palms conceded, Hickey advanced toward her, and said, "Whoa, there, take it easy--"

With one swift motion Anne pulled the sword from her back-plate. Al'ber Quearian steel rang over the sudden silence. She pointed the blade at Hickey, and snarled, "Don't ye touch me. After what ye did to Sarah. Don't ye _dare_ touch me."

Hickey slowly back-peddled, an awkward grin plastered his face.

The door opened.

" _Madirii_ , is that you?" Natiis asked. "I thought I heard your voice." Natiis popped her head inside. As soon as her gaze fell upon Anne brandishing a sword at Hickey's throat her gape grew wide, mouth ajar. She swung the door open and stormed inside. " _Easta,_ what do you think you are doing?"

Hickey replied, " _Me_? I ain't done nothing. She drew on me."

Zashiirii and N'Dora marched inside and yelled at Hickey in their foreign tongue.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah-blah-blah, "Hickey hollered. "I keep telling ya I ain't done nothing wrong."

Sarah shuffled in, and asked "What's going on? Anne, what are ye doing here? We've been looking all over for ye."

Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_ formed a tight perimeter around her.

Fedic smiled at her in a way that reminded her of Constable Withers, but she didn't shudder. She welcomed the uneasiness bubbling within her.

"Would ya just get them outa here," 'Ro roared to Hickey over the clucking _hermanii_.

"What d'ya think I'm trying to do?" Hickey called back.

'Ro glanced at Anne and then at Fedic. "What do ya think you're looking at?"

The smiled wiped from his face, Fedic stammered, "What...uh...nothing."

"C'mon ladies, leave us to our work," Hickey said, ushering the women (and thusly, Anne), toward the exit.

Birthmark bouncing, Natiis growled, "Do not lay your hands on us, _easta_. We are _Madiriis_ , you have no right."

Palms out, Hickey replied, "I'm not, look, see. I'm not touching nobody, but ya'll need to leave."

'Ro marched toward Fedic, and said, "What, you like smiling at little girls? No women in the army huh?"

"What? No, I uh..."

"Out ya go, that's it," Hickey said, shooing them out.

Disappointment and frustration flushed through Anne as _d'el_ _hermanii_ and Sarah protectively whisked her outside.

'Ro gripped Fedic by the back of his long, black-ponytail and repeatedly slammed his fist into Fedic's face. 'Ro yelled, "Tell me what you know, you little shit. I wanna know everything."

Blood sprayed, Fedic wailed.

'Ro decked him again, and said, "Tell me or I'll fucking kill you."

Then Hickey closed the door.

****

Troll sat in an empty boxcar, immersed in shadow (his torch/staff had burned out some time ago). His thoughts drifted to his tenure _en carcilii._

Surprisingly cool in the empty car. Had it been stripped by the soldiers, or had the refugees plucked and plundered everything onboard? That was how he thought of them. Refugees. Exiles. Survivors. For now.

He didn't pray. He didn't write in his journal. He didn't think nor did he sleep. He simply sat there. Shut down. Empty. Lost.

Plodding footsteps echoed.

Montalvo appeared, drowning out the flickering work-light. "May I have a word with you, my friend?"

"Is it about my hypnotizing Byron?"

Montalvo smiled, his face folded into leathery creases. His beady gaze brightened. He said, "Well--"

"Then no."

Head bent, Montalvo soughed. He turned to go before whirling toward Troll. He pressed his hands against the doorway.

Once more, darkness loomed over him like heavy, storm clouds. His chest throbbed.

Montalvo said, "I don't think it wise what you are doing to Byron."

"Noted," he replied. He shooed Montalvo away, and said, "Now off with thee, I need to rest."

"Yes, of course, your heart," Montalvo replied. He bowed and took his leave.

Once more, the work-light's flickering glow cast through the car's portal.

Troll sat there, not thinking, not praying, not writing. He closed his eyes, and suddenly saw Micah lying on the ground, blood seeping from every orifice in his cranium. Micah was dead because of him. Out of the members of parliament, only two fought for the glorious empire: Micah and Franz. Troll told Franz to go back and guard the safe-zone. He chose to keep Micah by his side because Micah was also Buckets. Had it turned out Franz was Buckets, Troll would have bade him to stay. Because he trusted Micah just a teensy bit more than Franz, Micah was dead. From now on, every time Troll told someone to do something he would have to ask himself, is this the person I want for this particular job, or the person I need? Every single time, he'd need to ask himself if he sending that person off to die.

Elongated shadows obfuscated the lambent orangish light.

Troll thought of bats and shivered.

Your Dog is dead, and Star will be ever before you can reach her.

His heart beat an arrhythmic tempo. What if the vital organ suffered another attack? Who would take command? What would happen to the exiles? Refugees? Whatever?

"Are ye awake?" Anne's voice.

His head cleared a bit.

Anne stood in the doorway, still in Al'ber Quearian armor and tattered rags (plus the Dog's jacket). _D'el hermanii_ stood behind her. Sarah lingered behind them, her shoulders slouched, hands kneading hem.

Marching into the car, Anne iterated, "I _said_ , are ye awake?" She strode so close she became nothing more than a silhouette haloed by an ebbing orangish-glow.

The faint light burned Troll's vision. He shielded his eyes with a hand. Peering through spread fingers, he replied, "Aye."

"Can we talk about Star and the Dog?"

"Not now, can ye not see I busy."

She stepped combatively forward. Faint, plodding footfalls echoed. She leaned over him. Her face hidden behind long, gnarly hair, she said, "Ye promised ye'd tell me what happened to them."

"I don't recall promising anything, let alone, that."

"Ye know what I mean. Why won't you tell me what happened to them?"

Pulse racing, he wheezed, "In a bit. Just let me rest a spell and then I'll tell ye everything. I swear."

Face concealed by gloom, she stood there a moment.

Troll thought of the Wraith, and his heart galloped.

She snorted and stormed out of the boxcar. Her pounding feet shook the giant, metal freight. _D'el hermanii_ left with her; quickly forming a tight protective perimeter around her.

Sarah hung back to gaze at Troll, but he had not the strength to meet her stare. She stood there for what felt like an eternity, but still, he couldn't look into her eyes. For, she would see the failure and heartbreak lurking within. No-doubt, it would destroy her. All of them. After a time she left.

He sat there, _trying_ not to think. _Trying_ not to pray. _Trying_ not to write. But the horrific images of the battle of Al'ber Que bedeviled him every time he dare shut his eyes.

Once more shadows descended upon him. He could not be free, even for a moment. But he had chosen this path \-- the leader. Now it remained his to walk.

'Ro, Doctor, and Sandy appeared in the doorway.

Troll asked 'Ro, "How's ye'r brother?"

Wiping his sinuous, veiny hands on a rag, Doctor replied, "He's been stabilized. But, he's not out of the woods yet, I'll have to keep him under constant surveillance for the next day or so."

'Ro added, "Luckily, we found enough medical supplies to treat a party twice our size."

Sandy asked 'Ro, "So, what'd ya find out about Fedic?"

"Aye," Troll chimed. "Do tell."

'Ro ran a hand through his hair, cleared his throat, and said, "Ol' Futnick said after he got rid of our messenger armor, he chickened out. He said he knew we'd all die, so he fled for the mountains. A bunch of soldiers and a four-car train evacuated through this chamber hidden along the mountains south of the empire. He snuck in and waited till everyone left."

Sandy snarled, "So, that's it? He just _left_ us?"

"That's about the short and skinny of it," 'Ro replied.

Sandy's gaze spangled with rage. Teeth grinding, she uttered, "That little cock-sucker. That chicken-shit coward!"

Troll asked 'Ro, "Where is he now? This, Futnick, as ye call him."

"Seems he's been holding up down here since right before the battle. We got him tied up in his own quarters."

"And ye'r intentions?" Troll asked.

'Ro reared back, gaze distant, jaw slack.

Sandy elbowed him in the ribs, and said, "Well?"

'Ro coughed into his hand, cleared his throat, and said, "Well, me and Hick was thinking about killing him."

"So, do it," Sandy wailed. "He's a traitor."

'Ro sighed, held up a hand, and said, "Well, now, I don't think so. Me and Hick beat the molasses out of that little shit and his story don't change. Way I see it, he's a coward, but he ain't no traitor."

Sandy leaned toward 'Ro, and said, "You know, there was a time, not too long ago when you wanted to kill Futnick just on principle. And now ya got him tied up, hostage, for God knows how long. And for what?"

"She's right," Troll said. "What is ye'r end game?"

'Ro asked, "What d'ya mean?"

Troll replied, "I mean, what do ye intend to do with ye'r prisoner while we struggle to survive down here?"

"Well, I don't know, I guess I didn't think about--"

Chest throbbing, Troll snarled, "That's right, ye did not think."

Squinting, 'Ro drawled, "Hey, now, I think we're getting a little carried away here. Don't ya think?"

"Very well." Troll labored to stand. His bones felt heavy, burdensome, elongated, and too large for his flesh. But, with the aid of his ever-vigilant-staff he managed to hold his footing. He dusted off his cloak and kilt, gazed heavenward, and said, "I wanted to rest a wee while longer. Perhaps, I've rested enough, aye, Lord?"

'Ro glanced up and asked (to everyone), "Uh, who's he talking to?"

The others exchanged a round of blank stares and slack jaws.

Troll sighed, ran a hand through his hair and down his scar, and said, "I am sorry for my poor temper, I am...under quite a bit a strain."

"No worries," 'Ro replied, hooking his thumbs in his buckle.

Troll ripped a swatch from his cloak and fashioned another torch/staff. He had to. The ubiquitous gloom was just too much to bear.

Hobbling out of the boxcar, Troll asked, "What about the ones we passed? The ones trapped behind the boulder?"

Doctor sighed, and said, "We found food, water, clothes, armor, medical supplies, and camping equipment, but no weapons."

'Ro added, "Like they took 'em all with 'em."

A terse moment of silence elapsed.

Sandy said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think we can help them."

Troll replied, "Then truly they are lost." Sigh. "God be with those poor, unfortunate souls."

Franz, Montalvo, and Anne (followed closely by the _hermanii_ ), approached.

Montalvo asked Troll, "Have Khariiff and Sirii learned anything from the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

"If they have, then they have yet to report it," he replied.

Franz stroked his mustache and goatee, and asked, "So, then how are we supposed to find this passage under the mountains?"

Anne proffered, "Why not ask Byron?"

Montalvo chuckled, "Young one, I do not think you realize--"

Trembling, fists clenched, Anne blurted, "Don't realize what? That he's been bewitched? That he's mad? That at this very moment, he thinks he's someplace else entirely thanks to _him_?" she nodded at Troll.

His heart skipped a heavy beat.

How did she know he'd hypnotized Byron? She wasn't there when that happened, and after that, no one but Montalvo really mentioned it. Were the exiles whispering execrations about his massive failures? No. He couldn't think like that. No-doubt, Anne (the bright, shining star she was), arrived upon that conclusion on her own. But, did Sarah know what he did to Byron? Troll glanced around, but didn't see her.

Anne continued, "I don't think _ye_ realize that Byron knows these mines better than anyone."

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and said, "Bring Byron before me."

'Ro and Montalvo trotted off and soon returned with Byron.

Troll asked, "Byron, where are ye?"

Byron giggled, "I'm down here in the dark with ye and all my friends, but we're also home on Hansel Warwick's porch."

"Don't ye mean Reverend Lowell's porch?"

"Nope." Byron shook his head, and black-tar splayed like droplets of dew.

Anne strode forward, and asked, "Byron, can ye see me?"

"Aye!" Byron clapped and danced in place.

Anne continued, "Take me to the deep, deep dark. Take me to _him_."

Chest tight, Troll shuddered.

"Okay," Byron said. He took Troll's hand, and led the exodus onward.

They passed the chamber full of people blocked by a huge boulder.

No more muted screams. No more muffled thuds.

No-doubt, those on the other side had run out of air. No longer did Troll's heart feel the conflicting weight for those trapped behind. Now, he felt the heavy burden of their deaths upon his soul. _He_ led them down here.

Byron merrily escorted the exodus onward.

Now, Troll and many others stood before a huge, decorative stone-carved door.

Byron stood by Troll's side. He hunched, grinning, black-tar drizzling down his bearded, emaciated face like saliva. Methodically rubbing his hands, he giggled, "This is it. The way out is under."

Scratching his bearded chin, Troll asked Byron, "Are ye certain?"

Dancing in place, Byron nodded.

Troll said to Montalvo, "Open the door."

Montalvo reiterated Troll's command.

A handful of _d'el guardii_ presented themselves and pressed their shoulders into the obstruction. Nothing. They clawed their fingers around the edge of the portal and pulled. Still nothing.

Byron chirped, "That's not the way to do it."

Troll cupped his hand, as if pleading for alms, and said, "Then please, brother, show us how."

Byron skipped toward the door, rapped his knuckles upon it, and called, "Come now, open up. Hurry, hurry."

Silence.

Nervous chattering.

A ground shaking rumbling. The door slid open. Inside, darkness. Nothing more.

Troll's torch/staff fluttered and then went out.

Darkness. And nothing more.

****

2

Troll asked Anne, "May I have a word with thee?"

Anne sat next to Diego Jr. and a few other children. All bore armor and swords. All sat with their backs to the rocky wall, arms around their knees.

Sarah, the _hermanii_ , Diego and his family sat close by, keeping a keen watch on their children.

The children didn't speak. They just sat there, heads downcast, as if disciplined for some puerile act of disobedience.

Perhaps, they were _all_ being punished.

Troll and Byron led the exodus for many leagues and many hours. He knew not whether it day or night. Down here, all seemed dark and void, abysmal. The only illumination was the faint glow of his torch/staff.

Two dozen battery operated lanterns (which the soldiers called flashy-lights), had been pilfered from the soldiers' quarters, but the light did not shine far and had to be doled out evenly among the two hundred or so refugees.

Weariness still wracked at his bones, but his chest loosened and the throbbing in his shoulder abated.

After what seemed like an eternity, Troll and Byron emerged into a huge cavernous chamber. Stalactites and stalagmites riddled the roof and ground. Arched sedimentary formations vaulted the vast chamber in rocky waves.

Troll (holding Byron's hand), stood by the portal until all evacuees entered the room.

'Ro and another turn-coat (one Troll didn't know), escorted the prisoner Fedic in chains.

'Ro nodded to the turn-coat, and said, "Take him somewhere away from the others and watch him till I come back."

The turn-coat ushered a bludgeoned and battered Fedic away.

Troll didn't care. Fedic was 'Ro's problem.

'Ro stood next to Troll and waited until Hickey, Sandy, and two turn-coats hauled Ally in on a portable framework and canvas (something the turn-coats called, a stretcher). Then 'Ro trotted off to rest with his group.

Sarah entered along with the _hermanii_ and Anne. The _hermanii_ surrounded Anne in a tight protective circle.

Scowling, arms swinging, Anne plodded along, as if enraged.

But why? What did she have to be so upset about?

Next came Montalvo, Franz, Diego and his family.

He watched Khariiff, Sirii, Franz, and many others he'd met enter until all present and accounted for.

But, could he really be sure?

"What now?" Montalvo asked, wiping the sweat from his wrinkled brow.

"It is time we rested," he replied. "Go around and check on people, see if anyone needs anything. Ye are in charge until further notice." He clasped Montalvo's trim shoulder, and amended, "I am not to be disturbed with anything until I come to _ye_ , is that understood?"

Montalvo's brow furrowed quizzically, but he abstained from his inquires.

Probably to ask how much longer he intended on keeping Byron under hypnosis.

Byron stood there, eyes glazed over, drooling black sludge, slightly wavering, as if drunk. He seemed fine. For now.

Troll called to Montalvo, "One more thing. Make sure no one is missing."

Montalvo glanced back and nodded.

Troll hobbled toward isolation. Standing in the shadows with his back pressed against a vaulted formation, exhaustion draped over him like a heavy blanket, but he feared if he sat or (heaven forfend), lie down he would never get up again.

Chattering sounds and the fluttering of leathery wings echoed from above.

He peered up. Bats roosted and swooped about the stalactite riddled darkness. In his mind's eye he saw the Wraith, bending impossibly backward, rubbing talon-like hands. Cackling at Troll. Taunting him. Within the darkness of his mind he saw the stranger in white moments before they barricaded themselves within the passage under the mountains. The stranger was waving goodbye.

Troll prayed, dear, Lord, grant me the strength to help these people out of here and back into the light. Please watch over my friends and protect them with thy shield. Please allow all those poor souls, no matter what side they stood on, who perished in the tri-battle of Al'ber Que granted access to ye'r kingdom. In ye'r name we _all_ pray -- Amen.

His prayers felt hollow, unsatisfactory. He felt he should pray for each individual in turn. But, he possessed neither the time nor the strength for that.

The bats circling above made his skin crawl, yet the whispering echoes of the refugees filled the chamber like the babbling of a brook, heavying his eyelids like cumbersome curtains being pulled down. He dozed in and out for an immeasurable amount of time, until he felt the rest sufficient enough. His heart was still recovering from his attack, but he still had one last bit of nasty business to attend to. And when he regained some small semblance of strength, he hobbled off to do just that.

The light of his torch/staff dimmed but he found Anne easily enough.

"Hmm, what?" she asked, blinking, and gazing up at him, as if she'd dozed off.

"I asked if I might have a word with ye. In private, that is."

Diego Jr. glanced at her.

She nodded.

Diego Jr. stood, dusted off his clothes and armor, turned to the other children, and whispered, " _Ca-mangii_ , _compatriotiis_."

The children stretched, yawned, and groaned, but _did_ leave Anne and Troll to hold conclave. They shambled toward Sarah, the _hermanii_ , and the Diegos'. That wasn't the family name. Troll couldn't remember Diego's last name. Perhaps, when finished with this last bit of business he could meet them properly, and learn each child's name in turn. Or, perchance he could postpone his chore and make their introductions now. But, no. He had to do this.

Watching Anne's relationship to Diego Jr. and their relationship to the other children was much like Troll to Montalvo, and Montalvo to the others.

Good. He needed strong people he could trust to lead should something happen to him.

He leaned against a pillar-like formation and sighed.

Anne said, "I trust ye'r going to tell me what happened to Star and the Dog."

"Aye." He patted her knee, and said, "But first, I would like ye to tell me what happened down here? To you? To Byron? Is there something I should know?"

Gaze dithering, she drew her knees tighter to her chest, and whispered, "I don't know. I _thought_ the Dog killed him, but..."

"Killed whom?"

She nodded upward, and said, "Up above, in Al'ber Que, they called him the Harvester. But, down here in the dark..." she shuddered.

He pawed at his medallion, instantly his thoughts drifted toward Star and the hypnotized Byron. He asked, "Who?"

She leaned in close, cupped a hand over her mouth, and whispered, "Ye don't say his name down here. Even if he's dead. We don't want to chance bringing him back. Only me and Byron know his name. Ye'd do well to keep it that way and make sure Byron don't go singing that cursed song, 'cause he almost did."

"What song?"

"It's good ye got him under-spell. I know ye'r friend Montalvo doesn't like it. And I agree, I think it's bad for ye to keep Byron under. But, it'll be so much worse if ye wake him and he sings the song or starts telling people _his_ name."

"Anne, what are ye talking about--?"

"That's why the others didn't come back down here. 'Cause they were afraid. But, not of the mines or the soldiers. They were afraid of _him_ coming back. I tried to tell Sarah, but she wouldn't listen. She forced me back down here. And Byron just came 'cause he's gone mad."

"So, ye'd not have come back down here had ye not been made too?"

"No," she replied.

He stroked his scar and beard, and asked, "Are ye still afraid to be down here? Even with me here with thee?"

She gazed into his eyes, and said, "I'm _always_ afraid. It's the only thing keeping me alive."

"Had ye stayed above, ye'd be dead. Al'ber Que was completely destroyed, ye know that, right?"

"Aye, I know. Now tell me, what happened to Star and the Dog."

He sighed, scratched his beard, and said, "That's what I wanted to talk to ye about. Star and the Dog, they didn't make it down here. They..."

She took his hand, and said, "I'm sure they survived. If anyone could, t'would be them."

"Star perhaps, but I fear the Dog has made the ultimate sacrifice."

She stared at him, eyes void of emotion, face unreadable. "What do ye mean?"

He sighed again, and swiped the beads and strands of hair from his face. Truly, this was the hardest thing he ever had to do. "Anne, my friend, I'm sorry. But the Dog is dead."

Snorting, she patted his leg, and said, "No, silly. Dog's not dead. He can't die. He's been shot, stabbed, burned, tortured, and hung. Shoot, he even slit his own wrists once. And that was _before_ we left Silverdale."

"I know, I know, but somehow he has died."

Her brow furrowed. Bottom lip curled, she asked, "Why would ye make up such travesties? And to me?"

He scoffed, "Ye know me Anne. Have I ever lied to _anyone_?"

She wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them close to her body. Head lowered, sweaty strands veiled her face.

"Well?" he asked. "I asked thee a question. Have I--"

Teeth barred, she snarled, "No! Ye've never lied to anyone." She muttered, "That I know of."

He rested his hand upon her shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry Anne. But, our oldest and dearest friend is dead. I actually felt it. Star did too. As if someone or something wanted us to. That's why Star did not retreat with the others. She went after the Dog. But t'was too late."

"No. I don't believe that."

"T'is true. I wouldn't be telling ye if I didn't feel it an absolute certainty."

"But, ye don't _know_ , do ye?"

He held out his arms, and asked, "How can we?"

She popped to her feet and marched off. Arms swinging, she pivoted, and said, "Ye'r wrong. Dog didn't die. And ye'r wrong to order us all down here. And ye'r wrong for bringing Byron along with us."

His heart beat steadily faster. Chest tight. A cold sweat beaded his brow.

Glowering, Anne continued, "And on one dark, dark day very soon down here, ye'll see how wrong ye've been. And then ye'll be sorry."

But alas, he already was.

****

Peering through her viewing monocle, Star said, "Well, they're coming."

But, she knew they would. She could feel _him_ coming after her.

Early morning. The sun held captive behind a heavy veil of stone-colored clouds. The rushing winds held frigid teeth that bit and stung exposed skin. The rocky terrain was dull and lifeless; foreboding a dreary, depressing day.

After Star awoke in a start (and after the usual moment to gather her bearings), she crawled out of the tent. The campfire had been stamped out to keep the flames from spreading.

Dog sat on his haunches, eyes closed, ears twitching.

She shivered and pulled her thick, wool cloak tightly around her lithe body.

The Dog opened hazel-green eyes and stared at her.

Shuddering, teeth chattering, she greeted, "Morning."

The jagged mountainous ridges that once bore a sandy-hue, now donned a stone-colored pigment as grey as the overcast skies.

Dog tipped his hat to her.

She munched on a bit of MRE, stuffed the rest back in the foil packaging, and packed it in her satchel. She needed to conserve. Who knew how long it would be before she partook of a real meal again.

She went into the bushes for her morning constitutional, and by the time she came back, the Dog had packed up camp. He sat on his haunches, ready to go.

He squinted, brows furrowed. He tilted his head and stared at her in a way he'd never done before.

It made her skin crawl.

"What?" she asked.

The Dog shrugged.

He'd been gawking at her all morning. Reminding her of when she first met Troll and the Dog. How the Dog kept a constant, curious vigil over her.

She fetched her monocle and scanned the desert horizon below.

Legions of armored soldiers marched toward the mountains like black ants. She scanned the ranks. She didn't see Furion anywhere. But she _felt_ him. For a moment she expected to see Shroud leading the army. But she'd left him dying in the sand. He was probably vulture-bait by now.

She smiled and chuckled.

At least she had avenged Krin that much.

Now the army was led by a larger ant. Who could it be? Who would have been appointed Furion's new right-hand so quickly. Had she met that person? Her thoughts turned to Coffin Nail; searching a crowd of human faces as she stood on the sidelines, moments before her match. Which one would it be? No matter. She'd take 'em all on.

Odd. The soldiers weren't marching headlong at Al'ber Que like before, but in a strange, serpentine pattern.

A lonesome breeze blew, batting frigid air into her face. Then she realized something even stranger. The soldiers peregrinated in such a fashion as to remain up-wind at all times. Why?

The Dog had also suggested they stay up-wind.

What did the Dog and the armies know that she didn't?

The Dog sniffed the wind. Head tilted, he gazed at her and whined.

Exasperated, she huffed, "What? Why the hell do you keep looking at me like that?"

The Dog whimpered, hung his head, and shuffled on his haunches.

She sashayed toward him. One hand on a hip, the other waving her finger at him, she said, "Oh, no. You don't get to do _that_. You've said far too much to me to start acting like you can't talk again."

The Dog cast his gaze downward.

"Listen, Dog, you can't keep things from me like Troll did in Silverdale. We've come too far for that. You're all I've got now and I need you."

The Dog stood, wrapped their bags around his shoulders, and said, "We should go."

"Up-wind?"

Silence.

Foot tapping, hands on hips, she asked, "Why, Dog? Why do we need to stay up-wind?"

The keening wind fluttered his braided beard about like a fish desperately trying to wriggle off a hook, yet for some reason, he seemed incapable of meeting her gaze. The Dog pivoted and hiked onward.

Anger bubbled within her, but she steadied it.

Why wouldn't the Dog tell her what he knew? Maybe he didn't know why they needed to stay ahead of the wind either. Maybe he just sensed they had to. But, she didn't think so.

She followed the Dog for several hours up jagged rock and crumbling stone. Her legs ached. Thighs burned. Short of breath. She forgot how arduous her initial journey over the Sie Mountains was. Perhaps, she didn't notice because she'd been too occupied keeping Mikhail alive.

She pushed those thoughts away. No time for them now. She needed to keep moving. The desert was nothing compared to the mountains. Here, losing one's footing could prove fatal.

They marched up the mountains' gradual incline for several hours until thick, stony clouds blotted the afternoon sky.

Up ahead, large pine trees stood sentry like a living gate. Beyond that, snow-covered, diademic peaks foreshadowed the precarious trek to come.

The entered the tree line and into a misty coniferous maze.

The Dog unslung his pack and rooted through it.

What was he looking for? It better not be another damnable MRE. If he so hungry, we didn't the Dog go hunting? Why was he so hesitant? Was he waiting for something?

She reconstructed the events of the Dog's re-purification back in Silverdale. Back then, it seemed like Troll presciently knew what would come. Was the Dog currently burdened by foresight? Why? If a travesty about to occur, wouldn't it behoove her to know about it? Back in Silverdale, Troll needed to keep his cards concealed. She knew that now. But what did the Dog have to gain by not disclosing something germane to their survival? Or, more to the point, their reuniting with Troll and the others?

She tippled from her canteen and wiped the spittle away. Her stomach churned and for a moment she wrestled with a sudden bout of nausea. Plumes of steam escaped her thin lips. The sweat on her body chilled. She asked, "What're ya doing? We need to keep moving." She leaned against a pine tree and tried to catch her breath. Harder to breathe up here. The air too thin. Her bones so fatigued they felt like they vibrated to the resonance they'd shatter.

The Dog produced a bandolier of grenades, slung it over his shoulder, and began sniffing about the ground.

What the hell was he doing?

She sighed in exasperation and ran a hand through her hair. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she said, "Look, we got a sizeable lead on 'em, but we'll need to stay as far ahead of them as possible. We're traveling light and there's only two of us, but you'd be surprised how fast them sons-of-bitches can cross over these mountains. They do it all the time. Won't be long before they start catching up to us. And it will take them even less time if we stand around here with our thumbs up our butts."

No response. The Dog continued crawling and sniffing, as if searching for something.

"Are you listening to me? They're coming. And we _can't_ hide because Furion can find me."

Nothing.

"Damnit, Dog! They're _gonna_ catch up to us!"

The Dog peered up at her with golden, glittering eyes. He smiled, exposing elongated fangs, and said, "But, that's when we get to play with them." He lifted a moss-covered stone, placed a grenade underneath it, and pulled the pin.

The stone's weight was enough to hold the hammer down, but if someone were to come along and nudge it with their foot -- _Boom._

****

Mia brushed back jet-black bangs, and as plain-faced as ol' gents converse about the weather, proffered, "I say we kill that little shit now."

'Ro could not agree more. At least, he wanted to.

Mia nodded toward Fedic, who sat enfettered, and guarded by a couple of his fellow turn-coats. Most kings' men still wore armor. Others had stripped down to black hauberks and stockings; the perfect camouflage down here.

'Ro would have to keep a keen eye on them. He shook that thought away. The king's men fought beside him and the others both at the camp and on the battlefield. The only one he didn't trust was Fedic.

Apparently neither did the other men.

Fedic's chains rattled as he nibbled at an MRE. He turned to a turn-coat. Mouth-full, he said, "Heck of a battle, wasn't it?"

The turn-coat snorted.

Fedic blushed, head bowed, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Mia said, "See that shit. _Everyone_ hates that guy. I say one of us walk right over there and gut him like a fish. He'll never see it coming. And no one will even care." Thin brow cocked, she smirked, and said, "The look on his face will be priceless."

Hickey cracked his burly knuckles, and said, "I'll do it."

Doctor said, "I wouldn't advise that." He knelt next to Ally (propped up along the wall), inspecting his wound. "You don't want to start something that could divide the group." The wrinkles on his stark, slender face were so deep and dark they resembled canyons on some alien satellite.

Sandy sat beside Ally, holding his hand. She constantly grimaced, yet a concrete optimism spangled her rheumy, blue-gape.

Seth and Xaza crouched on their haunches. They now wore their rangers' clothes, as did Mia, who stood beside 'Ro.

This was the new gang.

Expectorating tobacco juice, Hickey said, "I agree with Mia." He wiped the brownish spittle from his square-shaped chin, and grumbled, "This is all Futnick's fault."

Sandy scoffed, "How? You think if he hadn't run away, Ally wouldn't have gotten shot? You think Roy wouldn't be dead? What about Kayle? Do you really think _anything_ would have been different if Fedic hadn't chickened out?"

Arms crossed, Mia asked, "What the fuck does that matter?"

Ally chimed, "'Cause it's not like he actually betrayed us or anything."

'Ro agreed, but held his tongue. After first meeting Fedic in the cargo train, 'Ro and Ally got into a rather nasty argument; one about learning lessons, and how he kept repeating the same old mistakes. This remark stung 'Ro at the time. But now, he knew it true. For all the ol' man taught him, none of it _really_ sank in until after the battle of Al'ber Que. And now, most his gang, his family, were dead. He'd not make that mistake again.

Things were tenebrous right now, unsteady. In the past, such discord led 'Ro down drastic paths. But, he couldn't do that. Not anymore. So, he asked himself what Ally and the ol' man would do. They would be quiet and attentive. Listen and learn.

Toying with a hooped earing, Seth (the remaining twin), sighed, and said, "It would be if we were still in the army. If he deserted and then was found later, oh, yeah, he'd be deemed a traitor, and then, dismembered."

Nodding, Xaza replied, "D'ah." A dour frown painted his large face.

Audibly masticating a plug of tobacco, Hickey drawled, "Well all right then, it's settled."

Sandy's slender, elongated features scrunched in rage. She feverishly whispered, "This isn't the army. We're better than that."

Hands in his pockets, Hickey shrugged, and said, "Face it, Futnick's a liability. One we don't need."

Sandy asked, "So, what're you saying? I mean, Troll was right. We can't trust him, and we can't keep him prisoner. So, what are we supposed to do?"

Smirking, Mia chimed, "Kill him."

Ally chuckled, "Yeah, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Doctor said, "I concur"

This was going nowhere. 'Ro needed to do something. Not anything drastic, but still, he had to do _something_. Sure, Ally and the ol' man would no-doubt, watch and wait. But, he wasn't them. He couldn't do that. He needed to stir the pot.

'Ro snorted, "What the fuck is this shit? Just the other day, or whatever, ya'll got on my ass for this very same thing. _You_ wanted Futnick dead 'cause ya thought somehow it would justify Ally gettin' shot."

Sandy sprang to her feet. Long arms trembling, fists clenched, she said, "Yeah, well I changed my mind."

'Ro replied, "So, have I. Now, I think taking him prisoner was a total mistake. He don't know nothing. Like Ally said, he never did. He's a coward and a total liability. Now I think we should just eliminate him. One less burden to bear is one less potential threat."

Teeth exposed, Sandy reared back, and snarled, "How can you say that? He's a just a kid for cryin' out-loud--"

Pointing at her, 'Ro roared, "Don't ya fuckin' do that!"

Bats squeaked and swirled above.

Sandy covered her head.

Startled, Hickey's gaze dithered about the darkness.

Something inside 'Ro broke open like a floodgate. So many emotions unleased, he was more than aware of his incoherent blathering, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop. There was just too much bottled up. In a rushed whisper, he continued, "You, all of you pressured me to take out the 'ol man 'cause y'all was afraid he'd slow us down and get us caught. But Ally couldn't do it, could he? No, it was me. The one ya'll regretted coming back for in Silvertown, or whatever. The one ya'll looked to for answers when the shit got thick. The one _you_ made take out my own father 'cause ya'll was terrified of the army catching up to us. Lo and behold, what did we come to find out? That they got invisible tents, and were around us the entire time. Toying with us. Am I the only one who caught that or ya'll just too chicken-shit to admit that we got our asses royally kicked."

The others (Doctor included), gawked at him with slack jaws and wide gapes.

Frustrated by his own emotions he snorted, rolled his eyes, and shuffled away.

Sandy called, "Where ya going?"

He replied, "For a walk." He precariously waltzed over the jagged, rocky ground.

"Stay away from Futnick," she added.

Across the way, Fedic peered over at them. His gaze narrowed, mouth curled in a slight snarl.

'Ro waved behind him.

"Hey, wait up!" Mia said, trotting after. "Mind if I join you?"

"Whatever tips your hat," he replied.

She ambled alongside him, and mumbled, "So, I don't care what the others think. I'm gonna kill Fedic. You in?"

He halted mid-stride and really pondered it. Was he? He hadn't been the first couple of times she suggested murdering Fedic. But, that was before Fedic had shown his true colors and left them. But, was that really enough to warrant a death sentence? Then again, 'Ro had been dealt death sentences for far less. Still, this was not his initial intent. It was supposed to be a surreptitious move at gaining intel. Now, he was back at square-one; weighing the options of eradicating someone who may or may not be a traitor. And the hell of it was, for once in his life, he was dithering between two paths instead of just walking one and seeing it through to the end.

He hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and whispered, "If you're going to do this, ya gotta do it right. We can't just go up to him and gut him in front of peering eyes, even though I'd be lying if I said I didn't entertain the notion."

"I know, like I said before, no one would think twice about him leaving if he just went missing."

"That might have worked before, but Troll's been keeping a keen eye on things."

"Has he, really? Look around, I don't see him anywhere." She leaned toward him, and uttered, "I'll admit, making Fedic disappear won't be as easy as talking about it. We'll have to pick our moment carefully. So, are you in?"

"Have you ever killed someone before?"

"Have you?"

He snorted, "Please, you know who you're talking to?"

Smirking, she brushed back her bangs, and asked, "Do you? I mean, really?"

"Fair enough."

An elderly Al'ber Quearian couple shambled past them.

'Ro feigned coughing into his hand. Once the couple passed, he whispered, "But I'm not talking about in battle, I'm talking about planning a cold-blooded murder and then actually following through with it when the time comes."

Brow cocked, she asked, "Are you suggesting I'd chicken out? 'Cause I wouldn't. I swear."

"I ain't talking 'bout that. All I'm saying is that creeping up behind someone knife-in-hand is a whole different deck of cards then actually slitting their throat. If you're serious about this then--"

"I am."

He scanned the slew of exiles. All minded their own. He still wasn't sure about this. But, somehow he just knew, this is exactly what the ol' man would've done. He whispered, "Then I'm gonna call the shots. And you don't make a move on Fedic without first consulting me."

She snorted a chuckle. Shaking her head, she brushed back her bangs, and said, "That seems fair, seeing how this was _my_ idea."

"Actually, killing Futnick was originally _my_ idea. You hadn't even met us yet."

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "What's to stop me from doing this without you?"

"'Cause ya didn't actually stroll over there and gut Futnick, did ya?"

"No."

They quieted as a few more natives passed them.

He inched closer, and whispered, "But, you wanted to, didn't ya?"

She brushed back her bangs again, and said, "Yeah."

"And you didn't care what me or the others thought, did ya?"

Blushing, she shrugged, and said, "No, I didn't."

"That's why. Your hesitation wasn't out of fear or respect for the others, it's 'cause you ain't a killer, simple as that."

She lurched back. Face scrunched, she snarled, "Okay, oh, wise and noble, master, so why haven't you killed him yet?"

He opened his mouth to say something cleverly contrived, but hesitated. Why hadn't he killed Fedic? He wanted to ever since first meeting him upon the cargo train, and then again at the king's camp, and then _again_ when the coward mysteriously reappeared in the mines.

"Well?" she asked.

But he had no answers; only a lot of suspicions and a _really_ ominous feeling brooding within his gullet.

"Well? Are we gonna kill--?"

He shushed her and ushered her into a darkened alcove. For someone trying to plan a murder, she wasn't very discreet.

The nook was smaller than it appeared and their bodies pressed against each other.

He thought of Sarah, Clair, Wilma, Emily, those random whores, all the women who'd thrown themselves at him. Why would Mia be so different? How old was she anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen? So she claimed, anyway. But, her hazel-eyes appeared older. Whatever the case, he knew trouble when he saw it. And Mia was one big heap of it.

She pressed her body tighter against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his lips toward hers. She tilted her head and whispered in his ear, "You say you're a killer and I'm not. So teach me. Teach me to be a killer, so that when the time comes, I can be the one to do it."

Why this sudden bloodlust? Had battle stirred something within her? Should he trust her? _Could_ he trust her?

He slowly drawled, "D'ya know what you're asking for? Once you kill a man in cold-blood, it changes you. You ain't the same person you used to be." She pulled him closer. He thought she was about to kiss him, but she whispered, "I haven't been the person I used to be for a long, long time."

The shuffling of stumbling feet.

She clutched tighter to him.

It had been a long time since he'd embraced a woman. And it felt good. He sensed the beating of her heart, the heaving of her breast against his chest.

Smirking, chewing a plug of tobacco, Hickey appeared in the opening of the alcove. He held the sides of the sedimentary nook, leaned in, and said, "Well ain't this cozy--"

Screeee

Hickey ducked as a bat swooped from over-head. Grin swiped from his face, he scanned the cavernous ceiling, and asked, "Holy-hell, d'y'all see the size of that fucking bat?" He glared at 'Ro and Mia, and asked, "What cha'll doin' in there?"

"Trying to enjoy the simple things," 'Ro replied.

Mia blushed and pulled him tighter.

Hickey snorted. Chewing audibly, he said, "Really? 'Cause I think ya'll was talking about murdering Fedic."

She sneered, "So, what if we were?"

Hickey replied, "Count me in."

****

Byron stood in the shadows, facing a wall, and murmuring to himself.

His soft echoes bounced off the rocks but Sarah couldn't make out what he said.

"Byron," she softly called. "Be thee well?"

He giggled, "Oh, everything's right as rain."

Grinning widely, he turned toward her. Black-ooze dribbled from his lips and down his scraggily beard. His eyes appeared black as coal.

"I thought ye were off picking wild flowers with Anne and Star?" he asked.

"Why would ye think that?"

Head tilted, brow cocked, he said, "I...I don't understand?"

"Byron, where do ye think ye are?"

"Why, I'm right here standing in front of ye upon Reverend Warwick's front porch, silly."

What? Why did he think that?

Smile fading, he asked, "Is that not right?"

"No, Byron, that's not right," she quavered. "That's not right at all."

"Why? Where are we?"

"Ye don't know where ye are? Byron, look around ye. Can ye not see where we are?"

"I...uh..."

Montalvo asked, "What are you doing?" Arms crossed, his gaze narrowed upon her.

Heart racing, Sarah jumped. Her thoughts turned to when Shadeem cornered her within the cylindrical staircase outside the sultan's chambers. Anger flushed within her. Her skin felt hot and prickly.

Montalvo nodded toward Byron, and said, "Troll wants people to stay away from him. He's dangerous."

Frowning, Byron asked, "I am?"

Sarah snarled, "Listen, Troll's _friend_ , I don't know who ye think ye are. But, this man is my friend. I've known him my whole life. He wouldn't harm a fly."

"I wouldn't?" asked Byron. A frantic pitch lurked within his voice.

She gently touched his shoulder, and soothed, "No, ye wouldn't."

Byron clapped, and said, "Well, that's wonderful news! I feared I had gone dreadfully mad. Perchance that just a dream. Tell me, has Roger prepared the stew yet?" He giggled, and then returned to conversing with the cavern walls.

"Please," Montalvo said, offering his hand.

She took it and allowed him to lead her away. She asked, "What has happened to him? Why does he think he's somewhere else? Do ye know?"

Montalvo grumbled, "Ask Troll."

"Why?"

"Because your friend's condition is Troll's doing."

"I don't understand. What are ye saying?"

Silence.

Why wouldn't he tell her what was wrong with Byron, or what it had to do with Troll? How come Troll refused to tell Anne the fate of Star and the Dog? Why all these secrets?

Montalvo said, "Your bruises are healing nicely."

She felt her face. The swelling had gone down.

"How is Anne?" he asked.

She sighed, thrust out her arms, and said, "Oh, who can tell? She seems so distant, like a completely different person."

"Everyone changes," he replied. "I'm certain she has endured many trials down here, and on her own, no less."

"And I'm sure ye know of the things Troll sent me to do."

"I do."

"I did those things for Anne, because I believed we could find out what happened to her. But, Anne doesn't know of those things. She can't possibly understand what _I've_ suffered. She doesn't even want to understand. She thinks her only savior is her puppy."

Brow cocked, rubbing his wrinkled chin, he asked, "Who?"

"The Dog," she replied.

Nodding, he said, "Have you told Anne about these things you have done for her? Have you _tried_ to make her understand?"

"Like I said, she won't hear it." She soughed, kneaded her hands, and added, "Sometimes I think her as stubborn as Troll."

Montalvo laughed.

A soft squishing and her footing slid.

Montalvo caught her.

His flesh may have appeared crumpled and flabby, but his coiled muscles felt as solid as stone.

"What happened?" she asked.

He smiled, and his face creased into tawny, leathery folds. He replied, "I think you just stepped in bat shit."

****

Star groaned, "I don't feel so good." She appeared sweaty and pale, constantly shivering, and clutching at the cloak draped around her. Her face tensed up in an awkward grimace, as if about to vomit and shit at the same time.

The Dog whined lowly and she glared at him.

The Dog planted all his _presents_ for the king's men around the forest entrance. When he returned, he found her leaning next to a tall pine tree and holding her belly. He heard the gargling of her stomach before actually spotting her.

"Just a few more miles," the Dog said. "Then we'll camp."

They carefully trekked through twisted bramble and fallen branches veiled in heavy mist.

Star plodded along, head down, hood up. She clutched at her stomach the entire time. At one point she doubled over and retched, but very little came out. She dry heaved for a few long minutes before she righted, wiped the perspiration beaded to her brow, and continued on.

Night came swiftly under the forest canopy, providing some shelter from the wind and cold.

Dog built a small fire and the two sat before it in silence.

After a time, Star began moaning. And then she puked again.

She ceased retching and wiped the vomit from her lips.

Was it too late? Had she gotten sick? If so there was nothing the Dog could do. He had no idea where to get medicines to combat the king's disease. Well, there _was_ one thing he could do. But, he'd save that as a last resort.

Star groaned, "Man, I don't know what's wrong with me."

The Dog offered her an MRE.

"No thanks. Not hungry."

"You should eat something. Keep your strength up."

"I know," she replied. "Just not right now. I think those damn MREs are making me sick. Tomorrow, do you think you could go hunting? Get us some real eats?"

The Dog nodded. But, he knew it wasn't the lack of a proper meal that made her feel poorly. But what could he do? How could he tell her that she was dying?

She cuddled up with her cloak and furs, and soughed. "I miss Troll."

"Me too," the Dog replied.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Dog and Star started.

A cacophonous roaring echoed through the mountainous valley and forest.

Men screamed off in the distance.

Birds took flight, squawking in terror.

She asked, "What the hell was that?"

A toothy Cheshire grin spread across the Dog's furry face.

"Oh, right," she replied. She tried to smile but her lips quavered.

Boom.

More explosions and shrieks rattled the still night air for several minutes until all twelve of the Dog's _presents_ had been opened.

Gape wide, Star bit her lower lip. She asked, "What happened? Are they still advancing?"

The Dog closed his eyes and let his senses take over. "No," he replied. "I don't think they'll go any further until daylight."

She doubled over and dry-heaved again. Nothing came out. "Damn," she gasped. Spittle drizzled from her chin. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

The Dog whined.

He _had_ to do something.

****

Diego Jr. asked, "Are you sure you want to do this, _Madirii_?"

"I'm sure," Anne replied. She sat on the rocky ground in a shadowy alcove away from others.

Diego Jr. stood behind her, holding her long jet-black hair in one hand and a dagger in the other.

After her bitter discourse with Troll, she had slunk away to be by herself.

Of course, Diego Jr. went with her.

That was the problem. She could never truly be alone. Too many people knew who she was. Add to that the fact that Sarah and the _hermanii_ kept constant vigil over her. Anne felt suffocated. She just needed to get away from them for a while. But, as long as she remained out of sight, the more Sarah and the _hermanii_ would look for her. But, that was the point of cutting her hair. They couldn't find her if she looked like a boy. Jr. had already given her a fresh pair of duds. Now all that remained was a new do.

Jr. exhaled a heavy sigh and proceeded sawing through her hair with short, abrupt jerks.

She hissed through clenched teeth.

In her mind she was back in Silverdale, bathing in the pond. Sarah stood behind her, pulling at the knots in her wild, ratty hair.

She couldn't remember what it felt like to be immersed in water. To bathe. To be clean.

Diego Jr. said, "Remind me again the point of this."

Wincing, she replied, "I just need to be able to hide out and be by myself once in a while."

"You are welcome to stay with me and my family."

She turned, gazed into his deep brown-eyes, and said, "Thanks. But, I don't think that will work. Not when your family is bunking next to our group."

"I would suggest passing you off as one of our own. Especially since _Easta_ Troll has not yet met all of my family. But, I think he's a bit smarter than that."

"Aye, so he is."

They smiled.

Cheeks dimpled upon his round face, he nodded, and said, "Turn."

She did.

He sliced through her hair with a few, quick slashes.

Her head jerked back but she restrained from shouting out.

"I'm sorry _Madirii_ , I did not mean to hurt--"

"No," she said. She faced him once more, and rested her hand on his clenched fist filled with strands of her hair. They gazed into the gleam of each other's gape. Jr. lurched forward and quickly pecked her on the lips.

She giggled. Skin flushed, her heart all a-flutter.

Smirking, he leaned back.

Even in the gloom, she could tell he was blushing.

She patted at her hair, feeling the length of it. Just above the shoulder. That would not do.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Shorter," she replied.

" _Madirii_ , I don't know how much closer I can safely--"

"I trust ye."

Jr. resumed sawing off her hair, and asked, "Who will you camp with, _Madirii_?"

"I don't know," she replied. But, that was a lie. She had no intention of camping with any group. Troll wanted Byron kept in isolation, away from the others. But, she knew that was a mistake. Byron had known isolation for _way_ too long. He needed to be watched. But, she couldn't do that with Sarah, _d'el_ _hermanii_ , Troll, and everyone else hovering over her. She said, "One more thing, my friend."

Jr. ceased hewing her hair.

"Are ye my friend?"

" _Si_ ," he replied.

She turned to him, met his gaze, and asked, "And do ye trust me?"

" _Si_."

"Then don't _ever_ call me _Madirii_ again. As far as anyone knows, I'm a boy now."

"Then what shall I call you, _easta_?"

Rubbing a frayed sleeve of the Dog's olive-green jacket, she ran through every boy's name she ever met. Byron. Baylon. Roger. Otis. Diego. So on and so forth. But, one name stuck out. Smiling, she said, "Call me, William."

"William what?"

Once again, she thought long and hard before a name just suddenly dawned upon her, as if fate. "Mather," she said. "William Mather. Yeah, I like the sound of that."

****

For the first time in her entire life, Star awoke slowly. Her head felt foggy. The salty aroma of cooked meat amalgamated with the hefty stench of wet dog sent her innards into cartwheels.

Morning. Cold, grey, and foggy.

She sat up. Nauseated. Dizzy. Head light. She retched. Nothing came out. "Oh, God," she groaned. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Cold and sweaty, she hadn't felt this shitty since waking in the bleeding-house and draining Shale's flask. She shivered. Teeth chattered.

Dog scuttled toward her.

Apparently, it _was_ as cold as it felt. The Dog wore his cloak. The bill of his hat poked out from underneath the heavy salt-and-pepper-colored hood.

He held the back of her head and brought something up to her mouth. The scent of grease and salt invaded her sinuses. Steam clung to her chin and the bottom of her nose. Stomach churning, she asked, "What is this?"

Exposing fangs, the Dog smiled, and said, "Real eats."

She leaned her head back further. The touch of a stone bowl caressed her lips. She sipped at the broth. The warmth ran down her throat and into her stomach in slow, tingling waves. She felt nauseated again. About to retch. "No, Dog," she said, pushing the bowl away, "I can't."

Head swimming, she reclined against a tree. Her bowels rumbled and churned. She felt like she was about to vomit again. But when she opened her mouth, she only belched.

Her head cleared, and now the only discomfort brooding in her belly was hunger. She snatched the bowl away, slurping broth and swallowing rabbit chunks whole.

She burped, wiped her mouth with her cloak, and said, "Thanks, I needed that."

The Dog nodded. His yellow gaze glued to her every motion.

She stood and stretched. No tightness in her muscles. No more nausea. The misty morning chill no longer concerned her. She strolled about the camp, one hand on her hip, the other twirling her compass chain. She chuckled, and said, "Wow! I feel great. Told ya them damn MREs were making me sick."

The Dog growled, but she didn't sense whatever it was he could. She said, "We should get going."

The Dog hiked behind as she jaunted toward home. She didn't even need her compass. She could _feel_ Krin.

Around late afternoon they emerged from the misty forests into the foot of the _real_ mountains. Before them stood tall, stony snow-capped peaks. The wind blew, batting their cloaks about them. Once again, her thoughts turned to Troll and a much simpler time traveling together; before Silverdale and all this mess.

God, would she ever see him again?

Nausea settled in the pit of her stomach once more.

She gasped, "I need to rest. Is it safe to camp?"

Dog closed his eyes and craned his head. His long braided beard wagged in the wind. "Yes," he said. "We've still got a good lead on them."

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she gasped, "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. That rabbit stew did me some good, but I guess I over did it. Probably shouldn't have skipped lunch." She doubled over and retched. Once again she produced no vomit. Her body trembled, skin breaking out in a febrile sweat. Her head throbbed. She felt weak. Her muscles ached. Bones seemed like fragile glass. She leaned back and moaned, "Oh, my God, what the fuck is wrong with me?" She panted, spittle flew from her lips. Shivering, teeth chattering, she glared at the Dog, and asked, "Dog, what's wrong with me? Do you know? _Would_ you tell me even if you knew there was nothing you could do?"

The Dog lowered his head and whimpered.

"Stop that!" She stood. Dizzy. No, her anger would guide her. She kicked at a stick. It flew at the Dog, but he leaned out of the way, and whined. A loud buzzing rang within the hollows of her eardrums. Her head felt light, distant. Dark splotches filled her vision. "Sorry," she said. "Just not myself right now." Her insides curdled. "Oh, damn. I got the squirts." She fumbled at her pantaloons; fidgeting with the fly but couldn't seem to get her pants off. "Help me, Dog. I gotta shit. Now!"

The Dog picked her up and carried her away from the fire and toward a tall standing ash tree."

Star's insides roared, "Hurry."

The Dog planted her on her feet and began digging a hole in the ground.

"No time for that," she hissed through clenched teeth, holding her crotch, and dancing in place. Her cumbersome digits managed to undo her pants but she couldn't pull them down. "What the hell!"

With the flick of a finger, the Dog unbuckled her belt.

Her pantaloons dropped not a moment too soon.

"Oh, thank God," she said, squatting.

Her stomach knotted and her temples throbbed as she voided what little she had to void. The frigid wind cooled the sweat pouring out of her. The buzzing in her ears returned with a vengeance. Her vision faded. The last thing she thought of before all went black was Troll, and the desert.

****

Troll felt better when he awoke from his nap, but still very weak. He said his prayers then hobbled toward the others. He had no wish to engage in these little "council meetings". In fact, after their crushing defeat at Al'ber Que, he didn't feel he deserved to be the leader anymore. He certainly didn't want to, anyway. Right now, his main objection was to find a small band of strong individuals to inevitably take his place.

The soft chattering of elongated teeth and the fluttering of leathery wings echoed above; like the Wraith's laughter.

He peered up into the darkness. Bats flurried about the stalactite-riddled ceiling. Just over yonder, one of the vermin swooped low and defecated. Its gooey, white scat hit the cavernous flooring with an audible _plop_.

"Vile creatures," he spat.

He found the others, and settled upon a small, sedimentary formation while Montalvo, Franz, 'Ro, and Sandy stood before him. Troll asked Montalvo, "What have ye to report?"

Montalvo cleared his throat, unfolded his arms, and said, "Everyone seems okay, 'though a few are still shaken up about all that has transpired."

"And what of Byron?"

"The same," he replied.

Troll asked Sandy, "How is ye'r man?"

"He's doing fine. Doctor says he should stay off his feet for a few days."

'Ro chimed, "Me and a few of the boys have already worked out a shift-schedule to carry him until then."

Franz sighed, gazed heavenward, opened his arms in a gesture of hopelessness, and asked, "How are we to know how long a day is down here?"

'Ro sneered, "I reckon when Ally _can_ walk, it'll have been a couple of days."

Troll asked, "And what of this, Fedic? Do ye intend on keeping him in chains?"

"Well, me and the gang have been talking 'bout that," he replied.

"And what have ye decided?"

'Ro combed his fingers through his greasy dirty-blond hair, hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and drawled, "Well, that's the problem, we didn't come to an agreement on the matter."

Sandy snipped, "That's 'cause me and Ally didn't want his blood on our hands."

Troll asked 'Ro, "Ye wanted to kill him?"

"Well, that was _one_ option."

Montalvo asked, "What was the other?"

Sandy said, "There weren't any other options."

Troll stroked his scar and beard, and murmured, "So, it is kill him or keep him in chains?"

'Ro sighed, and said, "Well, yeah, for now, I guess that's all I got."

Montalvo said, "I strongly suggest you _find_ another option."

'Ro scoffed, "Or what?"

Palms out, Troll said, "Gentlemen, please, let us not turn on one another."

Face scrunched in leathery creases, Montalvo asked Troll, "Are you really going to let them kill an innocent man?"

"None of us our innocent," he replied.

Montalvo whirled, and asked Franz, "What about you? Would you allow this?"

Franz ran his fingers down his goatee, and said, "Back in Al'ber Que, no. But down here...I don't know." He asked 'Ro," Is he dangerous?"

'Ro shrugged, and said, "Not really. By all-accounts, he's kind of a pussy."

Troll asked, "But, is he a traitor as ye previously claimed?"

"I don't think so," he replied.

"He's not," Sandy chimed. She turned to 'Ro, and said, "As you put it, he's a coward and a total liability, but he ain't no traitor."

Troll asked 'Ro, "Did ye say that?"

"Yeah."

Troll asked Sandy, "And what about ye? Not long ago, ye were as eager to see Fedic's blood spilled as anyone, what happened?"

"I had a change of heart," she replied.

"Ah, I see. So, let me see if I have this right, if he's not dangerous then why keep him in chains? More to the point, why kill him?"

'Ro replied, "Like I said, he's a liability and a coward, if we get into a jam we can't count on him to watch our backs. But more than that, I don't trust him. I gotta bad feeling about him and I've learned to trust my gut."

Sandy snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Very well," Troll said. "I have heard enough."

Bottom lip protruding, Sandy asked, "What does that mean?"

Troll said, "What that means is that ye know him better than I. In fact, I've never even met the man. It is not my place to label him traitor, coward, liability, or anything else. I leave the matter to ye'r group. Do with him as ye wish."

Montalvo said, "You cannot be serious!" He pivoted toward Franz, and asked, "Are you and your people going to allow this?"

Shrugging, Franz replied, " _Easta_ Troll is right. We were not there to judge his actions. Let the people he stood beside and then abandoned decide his fate."

Montalvo whirled back toward Troll, and said, "My friend, I do not agree with this--"

Troll roared, "Nor I. But, I have neither the time nor the strength to discuss such frivolities any longer."

Sandy snorted, "Are ya callin' a man's life frivolous?"

Troll said, "I said, this discussion is over."

Sandy stormed off.

Montalvo glared at Troll. He turned his back to Troll and ambled away.

Troll asked 'Ro and Franz, "So, are we ready to carry on?"

"Where do we go from here, _easta_?" asked Franz.

Troll replied, "We continue on through this chamber and into the tunnel at the other end."

'Ro asked, "And what happens when we come to a spot where we gotta make a choice on which way to go?"

"We shall face that obstacle when it comes," he replied.

"Pardon me," Sarah said, shuffling toward them. "Has anyone seen Anne?"

The others glanced around and shrugged.

Troll asked, "When is the last time ye saw her?"

Head downcast, hands kneading hem, Sarah said, "When we first rested. She was feeling a bit salty toward me."

Troll asked Franz, "Is anyone else missing?"

"It does not appear so," he replied.

Ah, but Troll knew all about appearances. He had the scars to prove it.

Franz added, "If anyone has gone missing, they have not reported it." He turned to Sarah, and said, "I'm sure she is still mad and probably hiding out with her friends, like Diego Jr."

Approaching the party, Diego Jr. said, "No, _easta_ , she is not with me."

Troll rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder, and said, "Fret not, my twinklin's tell me she is deliberately hiding from thee so that ye _will_ worry."

Sarah grumbled, "Well, she has succeeded."

Diego Jr. gently took her hand, and said, "C'mon, I'll help you look."

Troll said to the others, "Get everyone ready to move out."

'Ro and Franz trotted off to accomplish their missions. When they left, Sirii (who lingered behind the others), strode toward Troll.

"Have ye and ye'r father learned anything from the texts yet?"

"No," she replied. "In fact, that's what I wanted to discuss with you, _easta_."

"By all means," Troll gestured for her to continue.

"I can barely read the texts, let alone begin to understand them. I'm not sure he can either." She nodded toward Khariiff, who sat next to the wall, studiously bent over the books. "But if anyone can, it would be him."

Scratching his beard, Troll asked, "What are ye trying to say?"

Sirii sighed, and said, "I know you are intent on unlocking the mysteries of the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ , but I would like to offer my services elsewhere."

"What did ye have in mind?"

"I don't know. I just want to be part of your inner circle, not just another refugee."

Aha, yet another potential leader. If only he had this kind of team in Al'ber Que things might have ended a lot differently. But alas, no use remained in dwelling on the past. Once, upon the great wall of the empire he had told Sarah to be strong and hold on. And when all was said and done, to let go.

Troll stroked his scar, and said, "Tell ye what, why don't ye take over as being Byron's primary guard."

"What about _eastas_ Montalvo and 'Ro?'

"They're fine fellows indeed," he replied. "But, they are needed elsewhere. Montalvo has his hands full dealing with the people. On the other hand, there's 'Ro, charismatic indeed. But, the former king's men look to him. That, and I fear what has happened to his brother has compromised 'Ro's emotions. Made him unfocused to the task at hand."

Smirking, she snickered, "Is that all?"

"Please, _Madirii_ , speak plainly. Little can we afford to mince words."

"Very well, I think you don't trust them around Byron."

"Really? Do tell."

She leaned close, and whispered, "Montalvo hasn't approved of what you've done to Byron from the start. Furthermore, others have begun to question his authority."

"How so?"

"The people do not much care for him as their representative to you. They do not know him."

"Nor do they know me. Not really, anyway."

"True, but you are a prophet, _easta_."

"Oh, yes, _that_."

"Not only _that_ , but your quick thinking and leadership saved a lot of lives."

Troll grumbled, "Aye, well that remains to be seen." She tilted her head; it reminded him of the Dog.

Gaze narrowed, her pencil-drawn eyebrows furrowed.

"My apologies, _Madirii_ , I'm just..."

But, what to say? So many things weighed upon his heart; squeezing upon his chest with soul-crushing force.

"Heartbroken," she proffered.

"Aye." Sigh. "But, enough about me. What do ye have against 'Ro?"

"Nothing other than the fact that he's a king's man. And he may hold esteem with the soldiers, but the people do not trust him."

"What people? The natives? The _teran-oht_? The turn-coats. My dear, _Madirii_ , we are all people down here. Never forget that. _Ever_. And just so ye know, 'Ro is many a-thing, but no king's man."

" _That_ remains to be seen."

"Listen, ye wanted a task, now ye have one. And while ye'r suspicions of two of my friends, whom, although ye've only recently met, I have known longer than ye, are dually noted. I trust them. I charge thee of this because, as I said, I believe my friends' plates full. And because I believe ye have something to prove." He grasped Sirii's shoulders, gently shook her, and said, "Battle has done something to thee, and now ye are a warrior. I know ye will not fail me."

She gazed into his eyes, and said, "No, _easta_. I will not."

****

If all according to plan, right now, Diego Jr. should be preoccupying Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_ , while Troll was off giving his orders.

Byron stood in the darkness, rocking back and forth, and muttering to himself. He appeared completely unsupervised. For now.

Anne slithered out of the shadows and crept toward him. She kicked a few pebbles with her foot and cringed.

Byron ceased rocking and mumbling. He turned around with the slow malaise of a nightmare. His face obfuscated with unkempt tufts of beard and black-tar.

She cerebrated over the shadow that whisked her away from the shelter and held her captive within the mayor's mansion. He said all he wanted was to love her properly. Shivering, she forced the reverie away.

The silhouette of Byron's beard hitched up in a smile. Eyes gleaming in the gloom, he giggled, "Oh, who have we here?"

Anne patted her head and felt the reassurance of _very_ short hair. This was it. If she could fool Byron (someone she'd known her entire life), then she could trick anyone into believing her a boy. In a deep voice she said, "My name is William." She cleared her throat and added, "William Mather."

"Jimmy? Is that ye?" Squinting, he leaned toward her.

Jimmy? Who was Jimmy? In the mirror of her mind, all she could see were narrowed, multifaceted red-eyes; rows of glittering, razor-sharp teeth avariciously gnashing. Right then, all she heard was her own skirling and a thunderous cackling that echoed not. The sound reverberated within the hollows of her head to a deafening crescendo.

Byron said, "Ye hear it too, don't ye?"

She shook her head to clear the images festering in her mind's eye, and asked, "Hear what?"

"The screams. Like the buzzing swarms of black flies." He shuffled forward, craned his head toward her, and said, "Come closer so I can have a look at ye."

She stepped toward him and crossed her arms.

Byron's dead-black gaze grew wide. He smiled, and tar dribbled from his lips. "Well, I'll be, it is ye, Jimmy. It's been a long time, indeed."

"Who do you think I am?"

"I must say, I didn't recognize ye without the beard."

For some reason, she thought of sitting in the tall-weeds beyond Tooker's barn and braiding the Dog's long, gnarly beard.

"No," she said. "My name is William. Who is Jimmy?"

Byron's voice softened to an almost inaudible level as he continued muttering; stance rocking.

Oh, well. It didn't really matter who Byron thought she was as long as he _thought_ she was a boy.

Troll and Sirii's voices rose from behind, as well as the shuffling of feet trying to navigate the chamber's rigid terrain.

Anne darted back into the shadows and squatted on her haunches. Tottering, she planted a palm on the ground for balance and something cold and gooey squelched between her fingers. Grimacing, she ripped off a piece of her tattered dress and cleaned the feces from her hand.

The two plodded into view, and Sirii asked, "What am I to do, _easta_?" She still wore Al'ber Quearian armor, hair still tied back in a ponytail, as if ready for anything.

But was she ready for the dark?

Anne found herself envying Sirii's long hair. Then a strange thought just sort of popped into her head. Perhaps, when the bleakness of eternal gloom descended, she could simply sneak up behind Sirii, chop off her pretty hair, and claim it as her own. Thankfully, Troll's steady voice shook her from such dastardly cerebrations.

Troll said, "Just walk behind Byron and I, and be prepared for anything. When we rest, just keep an eye on him. Nothing to it."

"When you say, be prepared for anything, you mean...?"

"I mean anything," he replied. "Think of it not so much as guarding him like a prisoner, but protecting him as our guide."

Sirii glanced at Byron in uncertainty.

"He is quite harmless under hypnosis, I assure thee."

"And what happens when he wakes up?" she asked. "What happens if he just suddenly snaps out of it by himself?"

"As I said before, we shall face each challenge as it presents itself." Troll turned to Byron, and in a louder voice than he employed with Sirii, asked, "Are ye ready to go, Byron?"

Clapping and dancing in place, he replied, "Oh, yes indeedy. Can Jimmy come with us?"

Sirii leaned toward Troll, and whispered, "Who's Jimmy?"

"Pay no mind," he uttered back. "Remember, he thinks he's someplace else." In a louder voice, he continued, "Come along now, Byron. Meet my friend Sirii."

Black sludge drizzled from quivering lips. Byron methodically rubbed his hands, and in a creepy tone, said, "Please to meet ye, missy."

Sirii nodded. She glanced at Troll. Her pencil-drawn eyebrows furrowed, face puckered. She didn't look scared or intimidated as Sarah might; just concerned she might have to make a tough decision in the not-too-distant-future.

Just then, Anne felt closer to Sirii than she ever did with Sarah.

Unfortunately, while'st Sirii resembled the very specimen of exuding confidence; Anne knew Sirii wasn't prepared for shit. None of them were. No one but her and Byron.

Troll said, "Very well, now that proper introductions have been made, I trust we can continue."

"Oh, yes, let's do," Byron giggled.

The three shambled off, leaving Anne there in the darkness.

Perhaps, Troll had taken her advice about keeping constant watch on Byron after all. That was fine. But, she knew Troll would underestimate what Byron had become during his time down here in the dark. And when that happened, she would be ready.

****

Night. A bitter wind blew through the mountains, promising snow. Winter arrived early in the Sie Mountains thanks to the king's nuclear arsenal.

The Dog pulled his cloak tighter about his small frame. Semi-feral and fully clothed (including his hat and the hood of his cloak), this was the coldest he'd suffered in a _long_ time.

The army camped about two vertical miles away.

The Dog and Star had set up among a group of tall standing pines, the best defense they could muster from the battering winds.

Dog built a small fire and then pitched Star's tent.

Star sat on the ground, holding her stomach and moaning. Her skin appeared a sickly green hue. She shivered and sweated profusely. She didn't say anything, but the way she rubbed her temples and the bridge of her nose with her fingertips suggested she suffered constant migraines.

"You should eat," the Dog said, squatting on his haunches before the fire.

"Oh, Dog," she groaned. "I know. But I can't right now. I just can't."

She retired to the tent and within minutes, was out cold.

The Dog went hunting but kept a constant vigil over her (and the army), via his senses. He crept across the rocky terrain until he found a burrow of rabbits. After feasting, the Dog climbed a small cliff overlooking the valley where the army camped below. Tents and campfires dotted the site but he didn't see any soldiers scurrying around.

Maybe he should just sneak down there and slay them all in the dead of night.

_Could_ he?

What about Furion?

He realized he knew very little about the Lord of Black; an enemy _not_ to be trifled with.

He closed his eyes and funneled his senses upon Star, still out cold. Maybe there was a way he could get her to Furion.

If he fed her enough of his blood she would be more than strong enough to take out Furion. Of course, that was predicated on the assumption that she actually _could_ kill him. Star had her shot and she missed it. She told Dog that now she knew she couldn't kill Furion on her own. But, that was the thing. She wasn't alone. He would be right there crouching beside her. Would that even be enough?

The Dog crawled back to Star's tent and went inside. Dark. But, he'd been in darker places before. His night vision took over and everything he saw was cast in a golden hue.

Wrapped in her cloak and furs, Star lay huddled in a fetal position.

The Dog crept toward her and pulled the hood away from her face, and felt her forehead.

Her skin burned with fever yet her breathing and heart rate seemed steady.

She was getting worse. And fast.

The Dog gently lifted her head and tilted it back.

She opened her mouth a crack and whined. The stench of vomit and sickness soured her breath.

The Dog slid a dagger from one of the many scabbards upon his belt and pricked a finger. He dribbled barely a drop within her mouth. He'd given her too much already. Even when the effects wore off her eyes still glowed with an emerald fire. But, at least they hadn't turned gold. Or any other color for that matter.

The Dog didn't like dosing her, especially like _this_ , but her condition worsened every hour. What could he do other than what he already was doing? They had just entered into the _real_ mountains. Now their travels grew incipiently arduous as they advanced.

Would Star make it?

Could he keep her alive?

What if the army caught up to them?

Worse yet, what if they made it across the mountains safe and sound, and Troll wasn't there?

****

By the time Troll finished his prayers, his torch/staff had burned out yet again. He sighed and ran a hand through his ragged hair. Beads and braids shucked and jived.

They had traveled for many hours. After exiting the huge chamber the path narrowed into a tunnel that stretched on and on. A few twists and turns aside, they came to no forks in the road.

He didn't think they would. This was supposed to be an escape route through the mountains, right? So, why would there be a maze of options? Simple answer, there wouldn't.

No need for breaks. With so many exiles in the tunnel if one got tired they simply sat down, or leaned upon the wall for a few minutes and then merged back in with the crowd. If one got hungry or thirsty they could sate such appetites while'st walking. If one had to relieve themselves, they simply did their business along the cavernous wall and then continued on.

Byron led Troll, followed by their protector, Sirii.

Byron was no more trouble than his incessant murmurings and giggles.

Worry wormed its way into the pit of Troll's stomach. He could not leave Byron under for much longer. It was detrimental to his mind. But, what might happen if he released his hypnotic hold? Byron had attacked people like a rabid dog. And that was only the stuff he _saw_ Byron do. What other atrocities had the fallen brother committed during his tenure in the dark? Surely, Byron did not enter the mines covered in (and drooling), black sludge.

Aside from the occasional cough, sneeze, or child's cry, no one talked.

Every so often a flashy-light flickered out and came back on. They were supposed to be battery operated. Troll didn't know what a battery was, but he knew they were dying.

The tunnel went on and on. And when he decided they marched far enough, he signaled for them to stop, and the order was carried down the line.

The exiles set up camp wherever they stood in the middle of the tunnel, leaving the space closest to the walls as a bathroom.

The air would become odious and toxic if the tunnel continued on this way.

No one came to pester Troll with questions during the repose. Apparently all was well. Or people were just too tuckered out to complain.

Sirii took watch over Byron, leaving Troll to as much solitude as he could muster.

He prayed for a long time before noticing his torch/staff had gone out. "Blasted thing," he snorted. He uncoiled the smoldered remains of his cloak and cast them aside. He began tearing a new strip of fabric from his trusty garb when something odd happened. A few quartz stones fell at his sandaled feet. Strange indeed. He bent over to pick one up and several other pebbles tumbled out. Diorite. Obsidian. Marble. Flint. Breccia. Opals and other small gems he'd found and pocketed over the course of his travels. Apparently he ripped a hole in one of his many bottomless pockets. And of course, over the years and months, all his ambulating would cause the stones to filter toward the bottom.

He fashioned the swatch around his staff and lit it with a sprinkle of flash-powder. He gazed at the rocks. Should he even take them? What was the point?

He remembered a time out in the desert when he told Star that part of the reason he owned so many possessions was because he could never really bring himself to get rid of anything. But if reduced to tearing strips off his cloak to make his torch, then he may soon have to part with many objects. But, he'd leap that hurdle when he came to it. He scooped up the rocks and placed them into another pocket within his cloak.

His thoughts turned to his journal. How long had it been since he'd written in it?

He fetched it and opened the page to where he last left off.

Like the rocks, what was the point of documenting his thoughts? They had failed. Trapped. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they wouldn't _all_ get out of here. Some would fall along the waste-side. Probably a lot. Possibly, Troll himself. And if that happened then there would indeed be no point.

But what of the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_? Someone had written that. Said person died and the texts were placed in a metallic box inside a cave high atop a mountain. But, the texts had been written a long time ago, several hundred years maybe. Of course, he had no way of knowing that with any degree of certainty. But, his twinklin's told him it was so. And his twinklin's seldom failed him. If that were true, then one could safely assume that the author of the tomes never lived to see their potential achieved. There had to be a point where even the author questioned the validity of spending so much time and effort on something that never saw the proverbial light of day. Of course, once again, of this he was not sure.

He sighed, rubbed the scar riding the left side of his face, and proceeded to record all that transpired since his last journal entry.

****

Anne pulled the covers tightly about her, but they held no protection from the invasive frigidness that crept over her as she slept. Her fingers searched blindly for Maddy. Nothing. She sat up in her cot. All other cots had children tucked in and slumbering away. All but one. Byron's. No, not Byron. That wasn't right. Who was it?

A cold breeze blew. Peering down the hall, she spotted an eerie, pale blue-light spilling onto the floor. The winds swirled leaves about and she knew where the frigid chill emanated from. Apparently the shelter doors were wide open, though they should've been shut.

She shivered. She desperately wanted the doors closed. But, she feared what she might find over there. She wished someone else would awaken from the invading cold, get up, and close them for her. She shut her eyes and prayed that sleep would overtake her soon.

After a few minutes, she heard a noise over by the open shelter doors, something like a muffled choking.

"Is that ye, Byron?" she whispered. Shuddering, she clutched the blanket close to her chest.

God, where was Maddy when she needed him?

The next thing she knew, she was tip-toeing down the hall and toward the open shelter doors.

Before her, stood a tall doorway of solid blue-light. From out of the doorway emanated an eerie voice like rusty nails in a glass mason jar.

"Time to wake up, Byron," said the voice. "Byron, wake up!"

Anne opened her eyes. She sat on her haunches in a darkened alcove. Her thigh muscles burned in agony. How long had she been sitting like that?

"Yes, master," Byron whispered. He sat several yards ahead of her. The lantern Troll left for Byron (a light amidst the darkness, as it were), cast eerie, elongated shadows across Byron's bearded, emaciated, sludge-covered face. He rocked back and forth; peering up into the gloom, as if someone was talking to him. "Oh, yes master, that will be most fun," he giggled. Methodically rubbing his hands, he iterated, "Most fun, indeed."

Where was Sirii? She was supposed to be watching him.

No matter.

Anne slowly slid the dagger the Dog had given her out of her boot; thumbing it so the blade wouldn't ring.

****

3

...So _, now dear journal, I have documented everything. I only pray my time doing so has not been in vain. Perhaps, just like the Nou'heim-Du'tawa, years from now, someone will find my journal. Oh, what a fantastical tale of poppy-cock they'll no-doubt think it to be. And all for what? My oldest and dearest friend is dead. And I am just as responsible for it as whoever killed him. Who did kill him? No-doubt it would have taken many men to slay the Dog._

And my beautiful, beautiful Star. We were so close to reuniting. I could almost feel thee on the tips of my fingers before ye strode away after ye'r vengeance. Will we ever see each other again? Hold each other again?

The Wraith's words upon our first encounter still bedevil me, "Dog is dead, and Star will die before ever I can reach her."

If that is true, then my heart is broken beyond repair. Already I am distancing myself from the others by walking with Byron and then seeking solitude upon our breaks. The people whom I met and came to care for, like the hermanii, Lamar, the Diego's, all seem to have faded into the background. And once again, it is all because of me.

Perhaps I should cease being the leader and...

Troll's thought were cut short by loud shouts and screams. With the aid of his torch/staff he hoisted himself up and quickly hobbled toward the source of the panic. "Excuse me. Pardon me," he said, pushing through the narrow sea of people.

Two men whom he didn't recognize were grappling, rolling around in the dirt. Both were turn-coats and appeared very similar; short, dirty hair, piercings, and brands.

People were trying to pull the combatants away from each other.

More exiles surrounded the fight. Men shouted. Women screamed. Children wept.

Montalvo appeared by Troll's side. The two pried the men apart and held the brawlers at bay.

"Enough!" Montalvo roared. His echo reverberated through the tunnel.

People directly within ear shot cringed, palms pressed against their ears.

Troll had never heard Montalvo employ such a stern and deafening voice.

Montalvo shook the man he restrained, and said, "What is the meaning of this?"

"He started it," said the man.

"Nuh-uh," replied the man Troll held. " _He_ started it!"

"Easy friend," Troll said.

Montalvo roared, "Silence! The both of you! How can you squabble with one another right now?"

Silence befell.

Montalvo's gape narrowed to the point of squinting. Lips contorted in a snarl, his wrinkled, leathery face twisted in rage and disgust. He said, "You should be helping each other. Coming together in these dark times. But look at you. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

"Here, here," Troll said.

The two brawlers hung their heads in dejection, as did the observers.

Montalvo strode toward 'Ro, who stood along the sideline with Hickey and Mia. Montalvo pointed admonishingly at 'Ro, and said, "And why are you just standing there, watching, doing nothing? You are supposed to be a leader here."

Thumbs hooked in his buckled, 'Ro drawled, "Really? 'Cause no one told me that. Besides, letting people vent their frustration keeps 'em from exploding. Ain't nothing to get in a twist about."

Worried they were on the cusp of another fight, Troll released the man in his grasp. But he did not interfere with the altercation at hand.

'Ro was right. The people were scared, lost, and angry. And they needed to express it.

Montalvo drew close to 'Ro's face, and snarled, "If it was nothing to worry about, then why were these two men at each other's' throats? Why were people screaming?"

Hands on holstered hips, 'Ro replied, "Ya best back off me 'for something happens to ya."

Montalvo growled, "Like the boy, Fedic? Murder him yet?"

Smirking, 'Ro shrewdly replied, "I don't kill no one without a hearty breakfast first, but for you I'd make an exception."

Montalvo uttered, "I am ready."

Mia tugged at 'Ro's sleeve, and said, "Come on, he ain't worth it."

'Ro swatted her away. He waltzed closer toward Montalvo, and said, "You should know I've killed older and ornerier men than you."

Troll called, "All right, that's enough. We've already broken up one fight. I have not the patience for another. T'is over and done. Now, all of thee, return to ye'r business."

The people dispersed.

Montalvo and 'Ro stood their ground, still staring off.

Hickey and Mia stood behind 'Ro, literally watching his back.

Hobbling toward them, Troll said, "Montalvo, my friend, never have I seen such an outburst of anger from you. I dare say, it gave me goose bumps."

Head back in pride, Montalvo crossed his arms and strode away.

'Ro hitched a thumb toward Montalvo, and said, "That guy's a dick."

"He's right, ye know," Troll replied. "Ye are expected to be a leader. Even now, many people look toward thee as an example. Ye'r gang. The turn-coats. They expect to see thee taking action when trials occur, not to stand idly by."

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro snorted, and tilted his head downward. "Yeah, all right," he said after a moment's thought.

"Don't worry, buddy," Hickey said, patting 'Ro's shoulder. "I don't look to ya as a leader."

They laughed.

Uneasiness settled into the pit of Troll's stomach. Apparently he was meant to be the leader for a while longer. He just preferred not to be.

Then he noticed it. The coughs. The sneezes. Rattled breathing.

He scanned those camped around him.

Children and the elderly ('though not all of them), appeared sweaty and flushed. Coughing and wheezing steadily. A child rubbed his forehead and moaned. Hissing in pain, an elderly woman massaged the back of her neck.

God, why had he not seen this sooner?

"Because you isolated yourself," said the voice in his head. "You _chose_ not to see."

He pivoted toward 'Ro, and said, "Fetch Doctor!"

'Ro groaned, "Aw, c'mon. I wasn't really gonna hurt--"

"No. This isn't about that. Can't ye see? These people are sick."

****

Who was Byron talking too?

He continuously nattered on with...well, someone.
But whom, Anne didn't know.

Perhaps Byron's new master. Or Jimmy, the boy he mistook her for. Maybe Byron made an invisible friend. Who knew? All she knew was him jabbering on with the thin air sent shivers down her spine. But that was okay. She welcomed fear. It fueled her.

She'd come so close to popping out of the shadows and slitting his throat when she'd first awoken hours earlier. But she hesitated. She had no reservations toward killing. Not after the bloody battle of Al'ber Que. But this was Byron -- sort of.

Byron scurried to his feet and shambled out of the lantern's reach.

Leg muscles sore and throbbing, she clung to the rock wall and glanced around.

Everyone appeared asleep.

Even Sirii.

She grabbed the lantern and draped a scrap piece of cloth over it, dimming the light to a more suitable degree of secrecy.

Byron continued on through the tunnel while the others slept.

When the refugees were out of sight, Anne unveiled the lantern and tossed the cloth aside.

Byron didn't seem to notice the light, let alone her following him.

After what felt like a _long_ time, Byron stopped along the tunnel wall and squatted on his haunches. For a moment, it seemed he was about to relieve his bowels. He pried a small boulder away from the tunnel wall, exposing a man-sized hole. Laughing, legs kicking, he crawled inside.

She trotted toward the hole, knelt, and peered inside.

Darkness. Byron's gleeful ranting.

Where was he going?

If she wanted to find out she'd have to keep up.

She easily squirmed through the hole and entered in a small chamber much like the one they had spent their first rest in. Stalactites. Stalagmites. Sedimentary vaults. The trickling of water echoed. She waved the lantern about. The light seeped through formations of rock and minerals and outlined Byron's shambling silhouette.

She followed him deeper underground through a labyrinth of chambers and tunnels.

Would she be able to find her way back? What if there was no going back?

That last thought unearthed something. A reverie buried deep in her subconscious. She didn't remember much about first entering the mines. She just kind of woke up one day, chained to a work group. But that wasn't true. There were memories from when she first came here locked within the furthest recesses of her mind. She simply chose to forget them.

She was in the main work chamber, slinging a mattock into rock. There were five in her group at the time. An elderly woman lay dead on the ground. She'd been worked to death. A young boy a little older than Anne sat weeping in the dirt.

Two soldiers strode toward the boy.

"What's going on here?" one asked. "Why aren't you working, slave?"

"Please," the boy blubbered. "I just wanna go home. I want my mommy."

"You wanna go back home?" the other asked in a mocking tone. "There's only one way you're going back." The soldier swatted the boy in the head with a baton. The cracking of bone echoed. The boy's skull cracked open. Blood poured profusely from the wound. The boy slumped to the ground and the soldiers stomped his brains in with their boots. Minding their tools, the others in Anne's team worked faster.

Anne just stood there. She had never witnessed such barbarism. It disgusted and excited her at the same time.

The first soldier asked, "You wanna go home, too?"

Anne shook her head.

"Then get back to work!" he barked.

The lantern's flickering returned her to the here-and-now. She lightly tapped the glass and it came back on.

She trekked through a narrow tunnel. At the far end, a doorway had been carved through the wall.

Still chatting away, Byron shambled inside. The sound of his voice abruptly cut out, as if he entered into another realm.

Anne thought of the doorway of blue-light from her dreams and trembled.

Did she really want to go down there?

Could she go back?

The lantern fluttered and then went out again. She tapped it. Nothing.

She whispered, "Drat." But then froze at the sound of the dread brooding within her voice. She patted the flashy-light a little harder, and said, "Come on, come on." The lantern came back on. Startled, she shrieked.

There, standing in the doorway was Quinn, hands folded behind her back.

"How did ye get here?" Anne asked. She waved the lantern in front of Quinn's face, but she couldn't see it beneath Quinn's long, ratty hair.

Quinn slowly brought her index-finger toward the area where her lips would be. "Don't go down there," she whispered. No echo.

"Why not," Anne whispered back.

" _He's_ down there," Quinn replied.

"No. He's dead."

"You _know_ that isn't true."

"Then I need to get Byron."

"You can't save him."

Despite Quinn's features concealed by gnarls, Anne _felt_ she was smiling.

"He's gone." Quinn pulled her other hand from behind her back. She waved a ragdoll in the air, and said, "Now Byron belongs to _him_."

Quinn held Maddy out to her.

Anne reached for it but halted. It looked like Maddy, but something seemed off. She stared at the doll, who smiled at her with those dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile. Terror crept out of her bones and seeped into every fiber of her being. Going off on her own was a _bad_ idea. She wished Troll was here to make Quinn go away and Byron come back.

"Go on," Quinn said. "Take it."

"No, that's okay. Ye keep it. I don't need such things anymore."

Quinn cupped a hand over her hair in the spot where her mouth would be. She giggled, and said, "That's okay, after all, _you_ belong to him, too. And when _he's_ ready, he'll call you down here just as he did Byron."

****

Troll asked, "What _is_ that?"

Doctor examined a young girl with frizzy brown-hair and dimpled cheeks. Small, red dots covered the girl's lower leg like a spreading rash.

"Do they hurt?" Doctor asked the girl.

"Yes," she replied. Pouting, she whimpered, "They burn too."

Sucking his teeth, he asked, "How long have you had this on your leg?"

Rheumy gape dithering, she quavered, "I don't know."

"Do you have these bumps anywhere else?"

She shrugged.

Troll ran his fingers down his scar and beard, and said, "It's the same as the other children."

He'd observed Doctor's examinations of many youths displaying similar symptoms of fever, cough, joint pain, and of course, the mysterious rashes.

Doctor patted the girl's knee, and said, "Thank you for your patience. We are done." Mouth drawn tight, he gazed up at Troll. The creases on his brow expanded, making the good doctor's forehead appear large and preternatural. His wide gape glimmered with bewilderment and concern. Clearly, he had no idea what this was.

The girl asked, "Am I gonna be okay?"

Mouth agape, voice a-twitter, Doctor stood there, wiping his sinuous, veiny hands on a washcloth.

Troll said, "Please allow the good doctor and I to share a word in private."

The child nodded and ambled off.

"Well, what do ye think it is, Doc," Troll asked again. He'd made this inquiry several times over Doctor's examinations.

"Honestly," he replied. "I haven't a clue."

"Is it contagious?"

Forehead crumpled, mouth drawn tight, Doctor shrugged.

"No ideas, at all?"

Doctor replied, "She could have been exposed to something, but what, I don't know. Nor do I know how some people could become exposed to this and not others."

"So, ye'r saying that whatever this is, we've all probably been exposed to it?"

"At this point I'm not saying anything other than we keep a keen eye on this and try not to cause a panic among those who aren't afflicted."

"I agree." Stroking his beard, Troll added, "Do ye think the stricken can continue traveling?"

Doctor sucked his teeth and rubbed his elongated chin. "Under the circumstances, I don't see what other choice they have. Plus, I'm sure the exercise couldn't hurt."

"Troll! Troll!" Sarah called. Franticly shuffling toward him, she appeared pale; dark circles blackened her eyes, as if someone struck her. The _hermanii_ nipped closely at her heels. Feverishly kneading hands in tattered hem, she asked, "Have ye seen Anne?"

"Still no sign of her?"

"No," she replied. "I can't find her anywhere."

Birthmark bouncing, Natiis said, "It is true, _easta_. None of us has seen her in quite some time. We fear she wandered off in anger and something has befallen her."

Troll glanced around, and asked, "Where could she have wandered to? We are in this tunnel, and it only runs two ways."

Hands folded in supplication, Sarah blurted, "I understand, but I can't help but worry about her."

Troll sighed, and said, "As I've said before, I'm sure she's perfectly fine. She always is. Much has happened, and Anne is still quite young whether she wants to believe it or not. She needs time to process all that has transpired. I'm certain, than when she is ready, Anne will return as if never leaving.

Sarah reared back. Gaze spangled with rage, she opened her mouth to retort.

Troll proffered, "In the meantime, perhaps a task to keep ye'rs and the _hermanii's_ minds occupied."

Brow arched, Sarah asked, "Like what?"

"As ye may know, some of the children and elderly have contracted some strange affliction."

"Aye," she replied. "The _hermanii_ and I have noticed it during our search for Anne. What about it?"

"We are about to resume travels soon. The good doctor has decided to round up those stricken and walk with them, look after them."

Brow creased in wrinkles, Doctor asked, "I have?"

Troll patted Doctor's boney shoulder, and said, "Of course ye have, my good man. Mighty kind of ye, indeed." He said to Sarah, "Perhaps, ye and the _hermanii_ could find it in ye'r hearts to assist him in aiding the ailed."

Sarah stammered, "I...uh..."

Natiis blurted, " _Easta,_ we would be honored."

****

"Alright, y'all know why we're here," 'Ro said to his constituents.

'Ro, Hickey, Sandy, Mia, Seth, and Xaza huddled around Ally (lying on the stretcher).

'Ro continued, "Troll's given us the go-ahead to deal with Fedic as we see fit. Now the way I see it, we got two choices. We kill him. Or we unchain him and leave him be."

An uneasy silence elapsed.

'Ro said, "So, let's put it to a vote."

Sandy crossed her long, thin arms, and scoffed, "Don't you guys even want to discuss this first?"

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and said, "We have. We already know where you and Ally stand on this."

Ally rubbed his legs, and grumbled, "Not that I _can_ stand."

Sandy said, "But, this is a man's life we're talking about here. Surely, even Fedic deserves a second's worth of consideration."

"Okay," Mia said. All gazes fell upon her. She swiped away her bangs, and said, "Alright, that was a second, and I still say we kill him."

"Me too," 'Ro said, raising his hand, "Anyone else?"

Hickey and Mia raised their hands.

'Ro hadn't made up his mind about it. Not really. But, he knew Mia and Hickey would go through with murdering Fedic anyway. Better, he there to make sure it gets done quietly.

Sandy asked Seth, "What about you?"

After a moment's consideration, Seth replied, "Do what you want. I wash my hands of this. I'm done killing."

Nodding, Xaza chimed, "D'ah."

'Ro said, "There ya have it."

Sandy asked Seth, "So, you really don't care?"

Toying with a nasal stud, he replied, "Nope."

"Nope," Xaza added.

Teeth barred, Sandy snarled, "You can't say that! You have to care. You _have_ to vote, your part of the gang now."

"What gang?" Seth snorted. "We're just a bunch of people trying to survive down here."

Xaza said, "D'ah."

Sandy rolled her eyes, and sneered, "This is fucking stupid." She asked Ally, "Are ya really gonna stand for this?"

"Hey, I'm with you, babe. But, they out-voted us. And as long as Troll don't care, then there ain't nothing we can do about it."

She said, "But, Seth and Xaza's votes don't count. You heard them. They said they didn't care one way or the other."

"It's still thee to two, hon," he replied.

"Fine, _I'll_ do something about it."

Smirking, 'Ro replied, "No, ya won't."

She ran a hand through her stringy blonde-hair, and sighed in vexation. "Damnit, 'Ro, don't do this."

Menacing grin plastered to her young, oval face, Mia asked 'Ro, "How do you want to do this?"

Ignoring Sandy's pleas, 'Ro replied, "I reckon the best thing to do is wait till everyone starts moving. Then you, me, and Hickey take Fedic aside. Wait for the others to leave. Then do it."

Brow furrowed and wearing a slight scowl, Mia said, "I thought it was just gonna be you and me. What do we need Hickey for?"

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and mumbled, "Bitch."

"Hello," Sandy said, waving her hands. "Are you fucking kidding me? You guys aren't really gonna go through with this, are ya?"

'Ro said to Mia, "Just in case Fedic panics and tries to save himself, might be good to have an extra pair of eyes on guard."

"Hey!" Sandy said, punching 'Ro in the arm, "Don't ignore me."

'Ro asked, "What?"

Sandy snarled, "Stop talking about this shit."

"Cool it, hon," Ally said. "It's damn near done."

Sandy stared at Ally for a long, hard moment before her gaze narrowed into a glare. She stormed off; slender arms swinging at her sides.

'Ro hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and chuckled, "Damn, why's Sandy so emotional all the sudden?"

Ally said, "Cool it, 'Ro."

"What?" 'Ro asked. "Why's everyone up my ass all the sudden?"

Heads hung in dejection. A terse silence elapsed.

"C'mon," Seth said to Xaza. "Let's get some chow."

****

Star grumbled, "Those sneaky fucks." She put down her viewing monocle and glanced at Dog. Her eyes glowed emerald.

They lay on their bellies in a snow-drift covered ridge.

Below, a half-dozen soldiers armed with bows, trekked up the rocky mountainside.

When Dog woke Star that morning at dawn, the skies appeared gloomy, overcast by thick storm clouds. But underneath the canopy of pine trees, all remained dark.

The Dog sensed soldiers creeping through the trees at the other end of the forest. They moved slower now, sweeping the deciduous and snow sprinkled forestry for more of the Dog's traps. He hadn't planted anymore, of course, they didn't know that.

Dog and Star still held over a mile lead on them.

Dog didn't mention the encroaching army. And she didn't ask.

Dog prepared a rabbit stew over the campfire. She ate a bit and he preserved the left-overs within a spare canteen.

Shortly after beginning the days' travels, they exited the final forest and began climbing a ridged, snow-covered peak.

With no more tree coverage they were exposed to the battering winds as they clambered upward. They progressed slowly.

Arms crossed, fists balled tight, Star struggled; constantly falling behind.

The snow began falling softly just before noon. In less than an hour the wind picked up, whipping the snow about in torrential drifts.

Star lost her footing and slid downward. In an attempt to stop, she splayed out her arms and legs. She waffled, shuddered to the side, and tumbled over and over.

The Dog sprang after, reaching her in two bounds. He dove into her and wrapped his arms around her; protecting her as they rolled to the bottom of the slope.

They hit a snow mound, bounced through the air, and landed hard on the stony surface.

Star yelled. Holding her ankle, and hissing through her teeth, she said, "Damn. I think I broke it."

The Dog gently examined the joint, turning it this way and that.

She tensed, arching back in pain. She panted, "Ah, ah, easy. That hurts." A sheen layer of perspiration glazed her face, causing fine wisps of steam to roll out of the opening of her hood.

"Just a sprain," the Dog said, shoveling handfuls of snow into her boot.

"Ah! What the hell are you doing?"

"Keep it from swelling," he replied.

She groaned through clenched teeth, pounded her fists on the ground, and quavered, "Oh, that's cold!" She leaned back and closed her eyes, steadying her breath, as her chest methodically rose and fell.

The Dog sat on his haunches as the wind fluttered his cloak about.

"I just need to rest a bit." Plumes of steam escaped her mouth like smoke through a chimney flue.

The crunching of crampon feet. Heavy breathing.

The Dog whispered, "They're coming."

They hunkered in the snow, waiting for Star to see what the Dog could already sense.

Eventually six king's men trudged into view.

"I only see six," she said, gazing through the monocle again. "Bows, arrows, swords. I don't see any firearms or explosives. Standard two-by-two formation. Probably a scout party making sure you didn't leave any more surprises before the rest of the army advances."

"Pick 'em off?"

"Fuck yeah." Star nodded and smiled.

Dog hadn't seen her smile in a _long_ time. The Dog removed his cloak. The cold attacked the exposed parts of his flesh and instantly his body turned feral in defense against the elements. He climbed down along the sheer side of the cliff, going around the soldiers, and creeping up behind them.

Hidden behind snow and stone, Star opened fire upon the soldiers via her slingshot. With no report other than the ping of bearings against armor, the soldiers were taken completely by surprise. The first two went down in a hail of steel bearings. Their blood froze upon hitting the snow. The other soldiers dove to the ground. The Dog pounced from behind. He snapped a soldier's neck. Another crashed into the Dog, tackling him to the ground. The other two soldiers popped back to their feet and Star cut them down. The soldier throttled Dog. Dog let him. Instead of trying to push the king's man away, Dog pulled him closer, ripped the soldier's helmet off, and sank his teeth into his jugular.

The Dog drank deeply, feeling the man's blood coursing through his own, fueling him, making him stronger, faster, sharper.

The Dog grabbed a sword, bow, and two quivers full of arrows from the corpses. He didn't even bother trying to bury the bodies under snow. No time for that. Besides, he wanted the others to see what two were capable of against an entire army.

Star's voice carried over the keening wind and swirling snow, "Uh, Dog."

Bow knocked and drawn, Dog pivoted, squatting low to the ground.

Upon the ridge above, a soldier held Star at his mercy. She knelt in the snow, locks flowing in the wind 'neath her hood. A soldier stood behind her, the barrel of a sniper rifle buried into the back of her head.

Impossible. Dog only sensed six souls. Star was right, those bastards were sneaky.

"Go ahead," the soldier called in a strong voice.

But, the Dog sensed his heart galloping wildly in his chest.

The soldier laughed, and said, "Thirty-meters uphill. Through forty-mile-an-hour wind with snow. Yeah, I'd like to see you make that shot. In fact, I dare you to make that sho--"

Twang

The arrow drove home straight through the soldiers' face mask. His body lurched back. The gun went off but Star pushed the barrel away just in time to change the bullet's angle of trajectory.

Dog and Star gazed at each other.

She smiled, laughed, and collapsed.

The Dog scanned the horizon, reaching his senses out over the mountain peaks and slopes. They didn't have to go too far.

The powdery top-layer of snow incipiently thumped and stirred with the pounding of thousands of marching feet.

****

Gaze wide, mouth agape, Montalvo gasped, "By the winds."

"Curioser and curioser," Troll said, stroking his scar.

Troll, Montalvo, Doctor, and Sirii stood over the corpses of two turn-coats. Troll didn't know the men, but by the horrified look on Doctor's thin, elongated face, he deduced he did.

The victims' skin appeared grey and shriveled, like bathing fingers immersed in water for far too long.

Thin lips trembling, Sirii quavered, "What happened to them?"

Doctor sucked his teeth and rubbed his chin. He exhaled a sigh of vexation, and said, "This is way beyond my expertise."

Montalvo said, "They look like they had the life sucked out of them."

Examining the cadavers, Doctor said, "No puncture wounds, bite marks, or abrasions. They look like they're well into decomposing but the bodies don't stink. That and they haven't gone all stiff yet." He lifted a corpse's arm and let it flop back down. Doctor cleared his throat, and said, "I gotta tell you guys, those rashes are one thing." He stood and his kneecaps popped. He gestured toward a body, and said, "But, I've never seen _anything_ like this."

"Nor I," Troll chimed, running his fingers down his scar and beard. "Curious, indeed."

Minutes before the exiles were to resume traveling Sirii came to Troll in great distress.

Her face scrunched up, cheeks puffed, as if she had to defecate.

He didn't even have to ask what was wrong. He knew before she opened her mouth and freely admitted to it. She had fallen asleep at her post. Byron was gone. She spent most of the "morning" looking around the camp for him. No luck. Thinking he wandered on ahead, Sirii searched further down the tunnel. No sign of Byron. What she did find were the two shriveled up corpses lying before their feet.

The bodies hadn't been left out in the open, but tucked into the shadows of a small nook along the tunnel wall.

Had the men been lured over here, or had the bodies been placed here after the deed done? Troll scanned the earthy ground. No drag marks.

He asked Sirii, "Does anyone else know about this?"

"No," she replied. "I came to you as soon as I found them, _easta_."

Doctor wiped his hands on a washcloth, and said, "These guys have friends down here. People are gonna notice they're gone."

Troll said, "Let's just try and keep this to ourselves for now."

Sirii asked, "Could this be related to the mysterious rash the children are experiencing?"

"It's more than a rash," Doctor replied. "And it doesn't appear these men suffered from the affliction. After all, they were healthy last time I saw them."

"But..." Troll gestured for Doctor to continue his prognoses.

Doctor said, "But, at this point in time I'd say anything's possible."

Troll asked Montalvo, "Has anyone else gone missing?"

Montalvo replied, "Franz and I have heard no reports. But then again, no one reported this except her," he said, nodding toward Sirii.

"Byron is also missing," Sirii said to Troll. "But, you already knew that, _easta_."

Montalvo cried, "What! I didn't." He pivoted toward Troll, and said, "Why did you not tell me?"

Troll replied, "I did not tell thee because I did not want to cause a stir. Judging by ye'r initial reaction to this information, I'd say I correct. Besides, what difference does it make? I'm telling thee now."

Face flushed a furious crimson, Montalvo asked, "So, we lost our guide? How did this happen, was no one watching him?"

Sirii opened her mouth to say something.

Troll replied, "Do not be concerned with things that are already done." He rested a hand on Montalvo's shoulder. "The only real concern is where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," Montalvo sneered. "Why don't we ask our guide? That's right, because we don't know where he is."

"I know where he is," Anne said.

They whirled toward her voice.

"Anne, is that ye?" Troll asked, having difficulty reconciling the little girl he'd known with the tom-boy warrior standing before him. "I like ye'r hair," he said.

Anne nodded.

Montalvo asked, "Where is Byron?"

Anne explained how she saw Byron sneak away and followed him as far as she dared before coming back for Troll.

Montalvo grumbled, "He could be anywhere by now."

"Do we really need him?" Doctor asked. "I mean, it's one straight-shot through this tunnel right?"

Montalvo replied, "We can't leave him." He pointed at Troll, and said, "It's your fault. Had he not been hypnotized he probably wouldn't have just wandered off like that."

Scowling, Anne sneered, "Ye don't know that. Ye don't know anything about him, or what's been done to him."

Troll asked, "Are ye saying we shouldn't look for him?"

"No," she replied. "I'm not saying that. Nor am I suggesting we go look for him. I'm just telling ye that I know where he went. But, I don't think he wants to come back."

Doctor dusted off his hands, and said, "Well, then it's settled."

Montalvo said, "No, it's not settled. If no one will go in search of him, then I will."

"I'll take ye," Anne chimed.

"No," Troll replied. "There's no need of that."

Sirii asked, "So, how will we find him?"

"I am an excellent hunter," Montalvo replied. "I am certain I can track him."

Troll said, "Of that I have no doubt, but neither ye nor 'Ro will be going."

Montalvo reared back, gape narrowed, jaw clenched and slightly trembling. Arms folded, he asked "Why not?"

"Because ye are leaders. So, stay here and lead. Doctor, ye are to stay as well and attend to the sick."

A look of relief washed over Doctor's elongated face. He nodded.

Sirii said, "I will go. This is my fault. _Easta_ Byron was my responsibility. I should have been watching him."

"Do not fret," Troll said. "What's done is done. Feel no shame. But, I want ye to stay behind as well and help take care of the sick."

Hands out, face scrunched in confusion, Anne asked, "So, who _is_ coming with us?"

"Ye are not going either. Ye may take us to this hole in the tunnel wall, but no further. I need ye here?"

Doctor asked, "You're not really gonna go looking for this crazy-hypnotized guy by yourself, are you?"

Troll scoffed, "Heavens no. That is where ye come in. Assemble me a small group of men to accompany me, preferably soldiers. Men I can trust."

"Wait," Anne said. "Are ye saying ye'd rather take total strangers than any of us?"

"Aye. Ye'r my inner-circle. Ye are too important. If something should happen to me--"

Anne snorted, "This is bullshit." Then she stormed away.

"She right," Montalvo chimed, and then he too ambled off in a huff.

Doctor said, "Looks like your inner-circle's falling apart."

"Perhaps," Troll replied. "But, perchance my absence is just the thing to bring them together."

****

"Feel better?" the Dog asked.

Sipping at a steamy bowl of broth, Star groaned, "Not really."

Night. The wind howled furiously at this elevation. Clouds whisked through the thin, frigid air as stars twinkled above. Full moon.

After their encounter with the scout party, the Dog whisked Star away, and carried her as he raced back up the steep mountainside.

The Dog found a hut sized cavern along the sheer side of the mountains.

The army camped less than a-hundred-meters away.

Luckily, the cave was hidden from the army's current position.

She felt Furion rooting around in the back of her mind. But, she successfully managed to hide her thoughts from the Lord of Black by visualizing her time with Troll. So far.

She sipped leisurely at the bowl of left-over broth the Dog reheated over the fire he built.

The army had sent out a few more scouts to search the area. The Dog picked them off and scavenged what he could while Star stay close to the fire.

Her hands and feet were numb, devoid of feeling.

The cavern walls helped to insulate the campfire's flames but she found no warmth. No comfort.

Now they had swords, arrows, a bow, crampons, a sniper rifle, medical supplies, water, and were several MREs richer.

As usual after eating the meals the Dog prepared, she felt better. Slightly stronger. The pain in her ankle was gone -- completely. No swelling.

What was he feeding her?

Head down, hood up, the Dog crouched at the mouth of the cave, holding sentry.

She wiggled her booted toes. And though her ankle no longer throbbed, she rubbed the joint in a failed attempt at keeping her hands warm.

"Dog?" she asked. "How come my ankle doesn't hurt?"

Head canted, the Dog peered at her. Gape twinkling gold.

"I'm sick. I ain't never been sick, but I know it. Hell, I might even be dying."

The Dog whined.

"Point is, while I've never been sick, I _have_ sprained joints before. At the very least, they take days to heal. It's only been a couple of hours. No pain. No swelling. No nothing. I ask ya again, how come I'm still sick but my sprain has healed?"

He tilted his head to the other side, and stared at her as if he didn't understand.

But, she wasn't dumb. Distracted, maybe. But not dumb. She gazed at her clenched, trembling hands. She had slit her wrists to save the Dog's life. She saw no scar. When exactly had she first noticed that?

Working her hands open and close, she asked, "Have you been doing something to me? Have you...been feeding me your blood?"

The Dog stared at her. Glinting gaze motionless. Face unreadable. "No," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

The Dog reared back, muscles stiffened, ears twitching, and elongated nose wriggling this way and that. "Others are coming. More scouts. Looking for the ones we killed."

"Really? I don't sense anything. Are you sure you're not just trying to duck my questions."

Brow cocked, the Dog tipped his head the opposite way.

In her mind, she heard him say, "Yeah, really."

He stood and gazed out the mouth of the cave.

Why was he being so evasive?

"Please, Dog, I need you to talk to me."

"I need to protect you."

"And how ya gonna do that? Ya gonna leave me and go hunting? Murdering? If you wanna protect me, stay here and tell me whatever the hell it is you know that I don't. 'Cause you going out there, picking off soldiers, it's only gonna bring unwanted attention down on us. They're not dumb. You know that. If you go out there and start picking 'em off, they're gonna notice. Now, I don't know what's wrong with me. But, I know something is. And I also know that it's only a matter of time before I can't keep going, before I can't keep blocking _him_ out. So, stay here, protect me."

The Dog pivoted, cloak twirling, he said, "They must be stopped. If they get across the mountains before us and Troll's not--"

Palms out, she blurted, "I know, I know, every scenario and more...I know. But Dog, if you truly are faithful to Troll then you will obey me. Because Troll would agree with me and you know it."

The Dog squatted, head low and hidden 'neath the bill of his cap and the heavy woolen hood. The wind howled, batting his cloak about.

Her thoughts turned to Troll. His musky, earthen scent. His large, muscular body. The way he _always_ made her smile when she felt poorly.

She said, "My friend, I know it's been fun picking these fuckers off. But for our safety, for our friends' safety, for the safety of the prophecy, we must not engage them. Not anymore."

****

Lantern in one hand, sword in the other, Anne (clad in Al'ber Quearian armor), stood peering into the hole Troll and his group of trusted turn-coat-strangers squirmed through in search of Byron.

She was surprised Troll managed to worm his way through, but he had.

After storming off, Anne slipped into the shadows and crept back to the small alcove she had watched Byron from.

She spent a lot of time down here sitting silently in the dark. Just waiting. She remembered her first night in the mines. Awaking alone in the sultry shadows. She wondered how she got there. But, all she could remember was walking home with Sarah from another day at the shop. Sirii let them leave early because that was that night of the sultan's dinner. Then a stranger bumped into them, knocking Anne's hand from Sarah's. Then nothing. Anne cried harder than she ever had on her first night in the mines.

"Shh!" said a scraggily team-mate, "Ya gotta be quiet down here."

She couldn't see his face. Too dark. She sobbed harder, calling out for someone, anyone to help her.

"Don't do that!" he snarled. Chains rattled. And then he screamed.

Smacking. Sucking. Chewing. The cracking of bones.

Anne roused from her reverie by babbling echoes and the plodding of heavy feet. She waited until the herd of refugees passed. When all silent and still, she crept back to where she followed Byron earlier.

"I can't believe you let them go down there," Quinn said.

Anne whirled around; brandishing both her sword and lantern (she swapped her old one for one that didn't flicker).

Quinn leaned casually along the wall. Hands behind her back, tangled hair concealed her features.

Anne asked, "What are ye doing here? I thought ye were down _there_."

"I come and go as I please," Quinn chirped. No echo. "You're not seriously thinking about going down there after them, are you?"

"Troll needs me. He underestimates Byron."

Quinn chuckled, "I don't think it's Byron your giant friend should be worried about. All the same, I can't let you go down there without this." She held Maddy out to Anne.

Anne back pedaled a few trembling steps.

Why did Quinn keep trying to give her that doll? She was done with childish things.

Plus, Maddy suddenly creeped her out.

In her mind, she danced in the highest tower of Prince Madgellaine's castle. He held her in his arms and twirled her, staring at her with those dead-black doll's eye's and crimson-stitched smile.

Anne shivered.

Nodding at Maddy, she said, "I'm not taking that thing."

"Oh, no?" Quinn scurried toward the hole and kicked the boulder back into place, sealing off the exit.

"Hey! What did ye do that for?"

"I told you, I can't let you go down there without this." Quinn waggled Maddy in front of her face.

"No!" She swatted the doll away. "I don't want it."

Arms crossed, Quinn replied, "Fine, then go back and march along with the others. Just go marching along until you die."

Anne set her sword and lantern down and grappled with the stone, attempting to shove it out of the way. No luck. The boulder must have weighed over a-hundred-pounds. How did Quinn manage to move it with so little effort?

"Darn it all!" Anne snarled. "Move this stupid rock out of the way."

"No."

"Do it now!"

"Not until you take the doll."

"Why? Why do ye want me to take that stupid thing?"

"Because I do, that's why. If you take the doll, I'll move the boulder. If you don't then I won't. The choice is simple. Take the doll, or go back with the others."

Anne snatched her sword off the ground, brandishing it at Quinn. Teeth clenched, she snarled, "I could _make_ ye move it."

Quinn laughed, and said, "Oh, you think so? What are you going to do? Run me through? How in heaven will you move the boulder then?"

"I could go get a couple of big guys and come back here to move it for me."

Quinn shook her head. Her flat, gnarled, sweat-soaked hair flapped about like dead, flabby limbs. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I don't think you've really thought this through. Every minute you spend catching back up with the others, explain where you've been, where Troll has gone, what has happened to him, come back, move the boulder, and then try to track them down, jeopardizes their lives. And all over nothing more than a doll, no less. _Your_ doll, actually."

Anne glanced down the tunnel in the direction the others went, then back at the boulder. She didn't know why she refused to accept her old dolly. She just didn't want it. And someone trying to force her to take it infuriated her. But, Quinn was right. She had to make a decision. And she had to do it _now_.

****

Star felt surprisingly strong despite the fact she hadn't eaten since last night. And it had been one long, cold, restless night.

No wind now. All still and silent.

After days of darkness the sun finally emerged.

A _real_ dawn. Orange. Beautiful. Warm. The sun gleamed brilliantly off the freshly fallen powder.

She stood upon an outcrop overlooking the king's camp below.

The Dog squatted behind her, whining lowly.

"Stop doing that," she said.

Dog said, "This won't work."

Her thoughts drifted toward Troll and their time in Silverdale where she'd first fallen in love with him. Oh, how his very smile bore under her skin. Either infuriating her or totally disarming her.

She smiled at the Dog, and said, "Have a little faith." She gazed back at Furion's camp. Finally, after all these years. Within grasping distance. Did she really want to do this?

Calling _him_ out after all these years terrified her. But, if they were going to beat the army over the mountain and safely reunite with Troll and the others, _this_ needed to be done.

She scanned the pitched tents and smoking campfires that freckled the mountain's stony, snowy face.

At that moment she felt no pain. No sickness. No nausea. Only hatred, anger, and regret.

She roared, " _Furion!"_

Her challenge echoed throughout the mountainous terrain.

Nothing. All silent on Furion's front.

She inhaled until her lungs felt they were about to burst. Fists clenched so tightly they trembled, she screamed, " _Furion!_ " until she collapsed to her knees.

Her echoing yaw caused the mountains to tremble and shake.

Below, soldiers emerged from their tents and lined in formation like black ants.

"Look," the Dog said, handing her a pair of binoculars.

She took them and focused the lenses on the gathering soldiers.

Furion hobbled toward the front of the line, accompanied by a large, unknown soldier.

Probably Furion's new general.

She felt Furion's invisible, mental tentacles ensnare her mind. His voice creeped in.

Scrickity-ra--

She blocked his invasive chirpings by holding Troll's smile firm within her mind's eye.

" _Furion!_ " she screamed until her voice gave out and she waffled to her knees again.

Below, Furion laughed. The soldiers followed suit.

The rumbling of earth and snow arose like the warbling of a looming sandstorm.

Furion may have buried her family beneath sand and stone. But finally, after all these years, she returned the favor. Her roarous echoes caused a momentous avalanche that devoured the army beneath surging waves of packed snow.

****

Literally shaking in his hauberks, Fedic quavered, "Aw, c'mon guys, you don't have to do this. Honest. I'm one of you. I hate the king."

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro replied, "Yeah, but ya left us high-and-dry when we fought against him."

Not long after the exodus continued, 'Ro, Hickey, and Mia ambled up to Fedic as he marched alongside other turn-coats ('though he the only one enfettered).

"Come with us," 'Ro said. He and Hickey grabbed Fedic's arms.

Fedic's gape grew wide, jaw ajar. "What's going on?" he asked.

Hickey spat, "Shut up, Futnick. No talking or I'll cut your tongue out. Understand?"

Fedic nodded.

Mia grinned. Her beady gaze darted about in the dark.

The three Jessips escorted Fedic away from the crowd and toward the tunnel wall. Each held a lantern.

They waited while the herd of refugees passed. Then they ambled back into the center of the tunnel.

The tunnel was much darker with only the three lanterns.

"On your knees," Hickey said, shoving Fedic to the ground.

Palms out, Fedic stammered, "Please, you don't have to do this."

"I know," Hickey replied. "We want to."

The three positioned themselves around Fedic; Hickey at his side, Mia stood behind him, while 'Ro strode toward Fedic.

Fedic blubbered, "Please, don't do this. I'm telling you, I'm one of you."

'Ro's hand rose toward his holstered hip.

Groveling on his knees, Fedic whimpered, "Please, don't kill me."

Hickey said, "Don't move."

Fedic stilled, 'though his entire body trembled.

'Ro fished a ring of keys from out of his pocket and tossed them on the ground before Fedic.

Fedic stared at them and gazed up at 'Ro with a questioning look on his face.

"Go on," 'Ro said, nodding toward the keys.

Fedic smiled. Grey-eyes wide and bright, he said, "Oh, thank you, thank you. You guys won't regret this. I swear." He bent over to retrieve the keys.

Mia (still behind him), raised a revolver and pillow (to mute the report), to the back of Fedic's head.

Fedic said, "What the--?"

The lanterns went out.

"What's going on?" Fedic cried out in the dark.

"Quiet!" 'Ro said. "Stay cool." But his heart raced. Antsy. Nerves on-end. His mind a whirlwind of unimaginable beasties lurking in the ubiquitous blackness. He hadn't been afraid of the dark since he was a small child. But down here, in the bleak, that was different.

The lanterns flickered on.

Mia hid the revolver and pillow behind her back.

The group glanced around.

There, behind them stood a small child. Her skin pale. Dark, stringy hair plastered to her face, concealing it. Her clothes were soiled rags.

Drawing out the words, Hickey said, "What the fuck."

Face hidden, she waved at them.

Fedic waved back. Shackles rattled.

"Get up," 'Ro said. He grabbed the chains and hauled Fedic to his feet. 'Ro took the keys from Fedic and put them back in his pocket.

Fedic said, "Hey!"

'Ro grunted, "Shut up."

More children shambled out of the darkness from the other end of the tunnel.

Mia quavered, "Uh, guys, I don't like this." She back-peddled, stumbled over a rock, and fell on her back. The revolver clattered across the ground. The pillow also lost in the gloom. She fumbled for her lantern. "Oh, my God, they're all around us."

'Ro and Hickey whirled.

Children shambled from the tunnel walls, as if emerging from the rock.

'Ro cried, "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

They ran. Fedic, whose feet were shackled, fell.

"Guys, help me!" he called. "'Ro, the keys!"

"No time," 'Ro said.

"At least unshackle my leg restraints so I can run! Please!"

The children shambled closer. Closing in.

'Ro trotted back.

Hickey said, "Come on guys, hurry!"

'Ro fumbled to get the keys out of his pocket.

Mia said, "Oh, my God, what the fuck is happening?"

Hands shaking, 'Ro replied, "Be cool, baby-girl."

Fedic called, "Come on, come on!"

A child grabbed Fedic's shoulder. The child reared back, revealing its necrotic, black-veiny face. It unhinged its mouth impossibly wide, exposing rows of glittering, razor-sharp teeth. Deep, dead-black eyes. The child shrieked like a banshee.

Fedic screamed.

"Got it," 'Ro said, unlocking the shackles, and tossing them aside. He grabbed Fedic and sprinted.

Hickey and Mia followed after.

The children hissed and roared, chasing after and gaining momentum.

Mia tripped again, collapsing with an audible thud.

'Ro and Hickey whirled to go back for her.

Fedic beat them to it, and was already helping her up.

The children surrounded Fedic and Mia. They unhinged their mouths and clawed at them. Fedic and Mia screamed. A child reared back, preparing to sink its teeth in Mia's face. Fedic punched the child. He pushed the others away, grabbed Mia, and sprinted back toward 'Ro and Hickey (who stood there, petrified).

They ran until they spotted the flickering halo of lanterns up ahead.

'Ro slowed to a trot and glanced back. All clear. Darkness and nothing more.

They halted, bent over, hands on knees, panting.

Hickey wheezed, "What the fuck just happened?"

"Dunno," Fedic gasped. "But, I think I just proved I'm worth keeping around."

****

Furion's anger burned so hot it melted the packed snow and ice encapsulating him. Steam lingered. Pressure built until the heat the Lord of Black radiated rose him above the snow.

All appeared black and dismal beneath the goggles protecting Furion's many weak eyes. Yet, the sun was out and in force.

Oh, how he distained the sun.

He glanced back. All buried. Wiped away 'neath a blanket of white snow. Oh, how he loathed the color white. The purity of it. The way it reflected light.

Once again he'd been failed by the faithful. His army. The Drauger. All buried alive. So be it. He could trust none other than his own blood. But, he would not call upon his brother the Wraith. For a demon, he had gone mad beyond measure. And his other brothers and sister were worlds away -- literally.

Furion removed a glove, exposing a black, segmented, tri-fingered hand to the harsh, winter elements. Oh, how he hated the cold. But then again, Furion hated _everything._ Sharp quills stuck out from Furion's hard shell.

He pricked a finger-like appendage. Tar-like blood slithered into the snow where it percolated and melted deep into the earth.

Furion danced and chanted, " _Scree-scraw-lack-a-crackka-barg._ "

The black snow bulged, boiled, and hissed.

" _Scree-scraw-lack-a-crakka-barg."_

He slowly wafted his stubby arm. Drip. Drop. Bloop. Blip. Blop.

Five drops to arise five of his childer.

Black, tarry claws pawed at the ground as shadowy, amorphous creatures rose from the snow.

Furion squealed and chirped in delight, bidding, " _Ascendere ricka-scrack. Ascendere riza barg . Ascendere! Ascendere! Ascendere barg!"_

****

4

"This must be the doorway Anne spoke of." Troll waved his torch/staff about as he inspected the rectangular portal carved into the cavern wall.

No tool marks or abrasions. Smoothed to almost a polished finish, the doorway was cut with such an uncanny precision; no way could it have been done by man.

"D'ah," Xaza replied.

As per Troll's request, Doctor hand-picked four men. The men were not quite the best and brightest, but they all hailed from the same platoon that fought together at the battle of Al'ber Que. And they worked well as a unit.

Among them were Xaza Tracker, a large, muscular man with tawny skin and short blond-hair. His barbarous visage reminded Troll of Shadeem. Unlike the other soldiers, Xaza's brand ran down his thick neck (symbolizing him as a tracker). According to Doctor, Xaza remained the army's best tracker despite barely speaking a word of English.

"Xaza's a bit unusual," Doctor said, "Maybe it's the language barrier, I don't know. But don't worry, you've got a good group. You'll like these guys."

Sirii had asked why the army needed trackers.

"To hunt down deserters," Doctor replied.

Then there was Thomas Archer, a skinny black man in his forties with a mohawk and many piercings upon his stern face. His dark-brown eyes constantly bulged, as if his adrenaline _always_ surged.

Doctor told Troll that Thomas had been something of a hunter before being "drafted".

Doctor also selected two grunts. Ian Infantryman, a young turn-coat with burn scars ('though years old), peppering the right side of his face. A bit of his short, dark hair had been scorched away as well, leaving an odd-looking bald spot in its wake.

The recently-brother-less, ex-twin, Seth Infantryman was there, as well.

After crawling through the hole, Xaza spent most of his time with his nose and lantern close to the ground. They each totted a lantern, Ian and Seth also wielded swords while'st Thomas, the Archer, bore a bow, quiver slung over his back. Xaza's sword remained cradled in its sheath. For now.

As per Troll's request, they didn't wear their armor or carry firearms.

They followed Xaza as he silently led them through a maze of chambers and tunnels until they found the door Anne mentioned.

So far, nothing appeared unorthodox about Xaza's tracking abilities or his demeanor.

And, so far, just as he'd been assured by Doctor, Troll _did_ like these men.

Aye, they were a good group indeed.

"Very well," Troll said, waving his torch/staff in front of the doorway again. All appeared black on the other side. "Shall we?"

Ian quavered, "You first." His burn scars appeared to shiver with chills.

Xaza scowled and grumbled in his foreign dialect.

Troll asked, "What did he say?"

Seth replied, "I'm pretty sure he just questioned our bravery."

"Did he now?" Troll swept out his arm, gesturing for Xaza to go first, and said, "Well, by all means, my good man."

Xaza stretched his lantern into the doorway as far as his long arms could reach, and peered inside.

All black.

The lantern illuminated nothing but his brawny extremity. Brow furrowed, Xaza glanced back at Troll.

"I thought not," Troll said. "Dear, Lord, please protect us wayward pilgrims. Grant us strength and courage so that we may serve thy will. In your name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," Thomas chimed.

Brandishing his torch/staff in front of him, Troll crept inside. One hand on the smooth wall, he entered into a vast void of darkness.

The others filed in behind and swung their lanterns about.

Nothing.

Troll knelt. His kneecaps popped. He brushed his palm against the tabular floor. Impossible workmanship.

Xaza searched the ground for tracks. " _Nicht_ ," he said after some time.

Seth translated, "He said, nothi--"

"Aye, that I understood," Troll replied. "Do ye hear that?" he asked the group.

Quivering, Ian asked, "What?"

"Our echoes," Troll replied. "There are none."

Seth cupped a hand over his mouth, and hollered, "Hello!"

No reverberation. No reply. Nothing.

Louder, Seth called, "Hello! Is anyone the--?"

Troll gripped Seth's forearm, and said, "Hush."

He had a bad twinklin' about this.

Ian nudged Seth, and said, "Yeah, be quiet."

From out of the darkness thundered a deep, gravelly voice that shook the abyss. The voice spoke slowly, drawing out its words as to cause the room to quake for as long as possible. It boomed, "Hello, children."

Chest and shoulder muscles tight, Troll's heart beat at a rapid and arrhythmic pace. His intestines constricted into knots.

Ian, Seth, and Thomas shrank behind him. Ian trembled and whimpered.

Troll sensed the astringent aroma of piss rising in the atmosphere. "Steady, men," he said.

Xaza peered at Troll and shrugged.

Giggling and clapping sounded from afar.

"Byron?" Troll called. "Byron, is that ye?"

Hushed murmuring. All around them.

Lanterns out, swords drawn (except for Troll and Xaza), they inched forward in a tight group.

"Aye," Byron called. His voice sounded distant. "I am here, _also_ ," he amended in a sinister chuckle.

Troll asked, "Who is that with thee? Is someone there?"

"No," Byron giggled.

More muffled mutterings.

Troll challenged, "Then what are these whispering voices all around us?"

Silence.

"Answer me, Byron." Troll pounded his torch/staff thrice. "Who is with thee?"

"Do you _really_ wanna know?"

Tugging at Troll's cloak, Ian whimpered, "I don't."

"Aye!" Troll called.

Byron sang a low and eerie nocturne.

Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man,

Arise again, if ye can

Sweet meat before ye'r feet

I have brought ye tasty treats

Troll demanded, "Cease this nonsense at once!"

Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man,

Come and--

A terrible shriek warbled through the chamber, shaking the room even more.

Ian broke formation and bolted back the way they came.

"Ian, no!" they called.

Thomas reached out to grab him. Too late.

After a few feet, the light from Ian's lantern was swallowed by gloom.

"Ian! Ian!" they cried.

No echo. No reply. Nothing.

Troll's heart raced faster. The throbbing in his left shoulder intensified. His body broke out in a cold, clammy sweat.

"Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!" The room shook again.

The men pressed their backs together. Covering all angles. Brandishing lanterns and swords at the ensconcing darkness.

Troll held the hilt of his foil tightly.

Ian's voice traveled across the abyss from so far away, by the time it reached their ears, it was but only a whisper, "Troll? Guys, where are you?"

"Ian?" Troll called back. "Where are ye?"

"Help! I'm lost! I'm lost and I can't find my way out?"

Thomas uttered, "Why does he sound like he's so far away?"

Seth said, "Yeah, there's no way we came that far. And the doorway was right behind us."

"D'ah," Xaza grunted.

Once again, Ian's voice returned, sounding leagues away, "I said, hello!"

Seth inhaled deeply and opened his mouth.

"No," Troll whispered. "Don't."

" _I said, hello!_ " Ian cried again. He sounded impatient and scared.

Troll whispered, "I don't think it's us he's calling out to."

"Somet'ng vid him," Xaza murmured.

Ian asked, "What do you want?"

The sound of boulders slowly churning.

Ian cried, "No! No! Get away from me! Get away from--!"

For several _long_ minutes, Ian shrieked in a high-pitched squeal that made Troll's blood run cold and his heart skip a few beats as the void trembled and quaked.

The lanterns fluttered.

Tapping the infernal device to work, Seth whimpered, "Oh, shit. No."

The skirling stopped. The temblors subsided. The lanterns worked properly.

Troll's chest stung as his heart slowed to a trot; that needle-like, tingling sensation you experience when feeling incipiently creeps back into your hands after they've gone numb from a harsh winter's wind. "Steady," he said.

The lanterns went out, as did Troll's torch/staff.

Short, panicky breaths.

Troll's heart thumped so loud he heard it.

Petrified, he shuddered. But no. He needed to stay strong for the men. He mustered all his courage and stilled his quavering body. He took a deep breath, and in a sterner tone, iterated, "Steady."

The lanterns came back on.

Standing before Seth was a large, ragdoll wearing a tattered dress. Soiled red-yarn for hair fell from its round head in long tangles and down across its broad, fustian shoulders. Its eyes appeared as opals. It unhinged its crimson-stitched smile into an enormous, gapping maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth jutting from gummy, black tissue.

Seth screamed. The lanterns flickered on and off. The chamber trembled and shook. Standing impossibly tall, the creature lurched back. Arms protecting his face, Seth recoiled. The monster craned downward. The creature could have swallowed Seth whole, but snapped its jaws shut at his waist.

Terrified, Troll (and the others), stood there, unable to act. Watching as the beast tore Seth in half. What remained was nothing but legs and a bloody stump of falling guts and uncoiling entrails.

The men screamed, including Troll. The lanterns fluttered like cackling madmen. The world continued to quake. The beast swallowed its cud, and then gobbled down the remains. It stood straight, fabric-like chest puffed out. A long, black, prehensile tongue licked the blood and gore away from its lips. But, blood stains never came out of sack-cloth. "Mmmmmm," it purred, rubbing its bloated belly. Smiling, it croaked, " _So_ sweet."

Then the lanterns went out.

Hyperventilating, Thomas whined, "Oh, God, they're gone. They're both gone. Just like that. And we're next. Oh, my God, we're--"

"Silence!" Troll whispered. "Have a little faith."

An unbearable silence elapsed.

Troll, Xaza, and Thomas huddled together on the ground, trembling in fear.

Troll uttered, "God be with us."

"No God down here," Byron cheered from afar.

Troll roared, "Blasphemy!" Foil stabbing at the ubiquitous darkness, he whirled to a stance. His heart pounded so fast he thought it would burst forth from his chest. Weakened, strained, he collapsed to his knees.

Xaza and Thomas bumbled blindly about until they found Troll. Then they clutched tightly to him.

They sat there shivering in the dark for a long time; until Troll could sit there no more.

He groped for the end of his staff. The wrappings felt soiled, ashy. He would need another piece of fabric. He stashed his foil in a higher pocket of his bottomless cloak and tore away another strip of fur.

Was he making the whole in his magic garb bigger, or was he creating a new one? What would fall out next?

Thomas whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Hush, my friend," he whispered back. His trembling fingers fumbled about until he found his pouch of flash-powder. Slowly but surely, he fashioned another torch. Dreading another attack from the Sweetie-man, he precariously waved his torch/staff about the ubiquitous bleakness.

Warily, he stood and hobbled onward. "Stay close to me," he said. After a few steps pebbles and stones pelted his feet; falling out of his pockets. The hole ripped open. Swords, daggers, bows, and quivers full of arrows tumbled out. Troll tripped and fell; smarting his knee. His torch clattered and rolled across the smooth flooring, but did not go out.

"You okay?" Thomas asked as he and Xaza helped Troll to his feet.

"Aye," Troll said, rubbing his knee. "Quite."

"Look," Xaza said, pointing to a small, glowing orange-ball of light far off in the distance.

Thomas panted, "It looks miles away."

"Indeed," Troll replied. "But, obviously we cannot go back the way we came. We have no choice but to proceed."

"You know," Thomas said, forcing a chuckle. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Troll instructed Xaza and Thomas to pilfer through the weapons that had fallen from his cloak, taking only what they could carry.

Besides a bow and arrows, Xaza procured a dagger, as did Thomas.

Troll left all but his foil.

Perhaps, it was time to let things go.

When ready, they forged onward. Troll didn't know how long they trekked. Hours? Days? All remained still, as if this place, this realm, devoid of time. The small orangish orb they trudged toward did not increase in size across the horizon. For all he knew, they were merely walking in place.

He'd lost two men under the first hour of his charge. And though he understood it, the gravity of their deaths had yet to be felt. None of them could afford it. Not now. Not if they hoped to survive down here.

Metaphorical seasons passed as they journeyed across the desolate beyond.

After a time, Thomas chuckled, "Sorry I freaked out back there."

"Think nothing of it," Troll replied.

Head hung in dejection; he sighed, and said, "Star would've kicked my ass if I did that on the battlefield."

"Ye know Star?"

"Of course," Thomas replied. "Xaza, too."

Gaze dissecting the gloom, Xaza nodded, and said, "D'ah."

Thomas continued, "Ian did, too. They were all part of the Jessip gang that took over Furion's camp."

"Star took over Furion's camp?"

"Yeah, but he wasn't there. Wait, don't you know all this?"

Troll replied, "Sadly, no. Unfortunately, my duties of late have kept me out of the proverbial loop. Tell me, did Ian know her, as well."

Smiling, Thomas continued, "Well, I don't know if he ever actually met her. Most of the men who fought for her didn't even see her until the battle. But everyone in the army, and on both sides, knows who she is. She's a fucking legend. Down here, when we rest, most of the soldiers pass the time swapping war stories about her."

"Tell me a few."

"Did you hear how she single handedly saved an entire village, Silvertown, or something."

"Really? Single-handedly, ye say?"

"Or how about, how as only a child, she eradicated the entire vampire race by chopping off the head of the first."

"Eradicating the race of the what, now?"

"Oh, but this is my favorite. Have you heard how she witnessed the gruesome murder or her family?"

"Aye."

"And then, in a fit of rage, she single-handedly, as a child, mind you, took out a hundred, heavily armed soldiers and fought her way out under a veil of smoke, blood, and gunfire."

"Funny, that's not the way I heard it."

Thomas peered up at Troll. A quagmire of questions and tenebrous disillusions aged his swarthy features. "How did you hear it?"

Troll forced a smirk, and replied, "Star said she gunned-down two-hundred. 'Though I surmise what thee heard a humbled recounting of actual events. Tell me, my good man, is that all they talk of? Jarring exaggerations of things that may or may not have transpired? Tell me, my friend, do the soldiers only speak of Star's savagery?"

Dumbfounded, Thomas stared at him.

Voice hitching, he amended, "Because, all I recant is her grace and kindness, her willingness to set things right. Not just of bloodlust and rage. Aye, we all know there is much anger in Star's heart. But, what ye do not see is the love she hides. The compassion she masks with seeming ambivalence because, sometimes, it's just too difficult to care."

Xaza sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered something in his foreign dialect.

Thomas scratched behind his ear. The piercings promenaded in the lambent torchlight.

Yet again, Troll cerebrated on their final night together.

Thomas said, "Um, you know, if you want, you should really come by and swap stories with the guys. I'm sure you've got tons of tales we've never heard."

"Aye," he replied. "And I suppose thee, as well."

Thomas glanced up at Troll. An amiable smile juxtaposed his bulging gape and many piercings. He nudged Troll's shoulder, and said, "No, I mean it. You should really come by. We'd love to have you."

"I'd like that," Troll replied.

Thomas beamed, "You're kind of a legend too, you know. A prophet, as I live and breathe. I'm telling you, I never thought I'd see the day."

Troll groaned.

They journeyed on in silence after that. Hours. Days. Leagues. Who could say? But, the orangish glow they walked toward didn't grow on the horizon. Were they making no progress, at all?

After a time, Thomas said, "I don't know if you know this, but before my village was invaded and I was taken by the king, I used to be something of a hunter."

"Aye," Troll replied. "The good doctor did me the kindness of informing me as to such."

"My father was a great hunter, as was his father before him, and his father before him. It's in my blood."

"I trust there is a reason ye'r divulging this to me."

Thomas scratched behind the ear, and said, "I've been on many hunts. Only twice have I ever felt the tables turned as I stalked my prey through the bramble. I know when the hunter has become the hunted."

"As do I," Troll replied. "And it is my grave misfortune to tell ye that we are not being hunted. We are being toyed with."

Another uneasy silence befell them.

Chest puffed out in pride, Xaza said, "My country..." Nodding, lips slightly curled, he said, "D'ah."

Once again, Xaza's dignified demeanor and barbaric countenance resembled that of Shadeem's. Perhaps, they originally hailed from the same country.

Troll clasped Xaza on the shoulder, and said, "Why my gentle loquacious fellow, I never realized thee so colloquial."

Xaza's thick brow furrowed. Lips snarled, he stared at Troll for a long time. Then he nodded, and said, "D'ah."

They continued on toward the origin of the mysterious luminance.

After what felt like an eternity, the orange halo incipiently grew. It still seemed to take another few hours before they reached the source of the light; a tower so tall the peak was devoured in darkness. The structure was built of shiny, black, volcanic rock. Probably obsidian. The tower appeared windowless. A stone staircase (also obsidian), led up to an open portcullis. The tips of the gate poked out from the doorway's arch like long, rotting teeth. Two, large crucibles of fire flanked the staircase.

Thomas said, "That must be the orange glow we saw."

Troll muttered, "Thank ye for stating the obvious."

"Sorry," Thomas replied. "I say stupid shit when I'm nervous."

"Unless absolutely necessary, attempt to remain silent from here on out. I shall do all the talking. That goes for thee, as well," Troll said to Xaza.

Xaza nodded.

Precariously they crept up the steps. Troll led. Heart racing. Breathing heavy. What awaited them beyond yet another door?

Troll reached for the heavy, black iron-knocker and rapped upon the door.

Nothing.

He grumbled, "Surely, we haven't been drawn here only to be left out in the dark."

Scanning the ubiquitous gloom, Thomas whispered, "Maybe no one's home."

For some reason, Troll thought of the portal that led to the escape route under the mountains. That door didn't open either. Not until Byron shuffled forth.

Troll knocked and said what Byron did to open the passage to the escape route, "Come now, open up. Hurry, hurry."

A loud bowing sound.

The door opened inward and a legion of bats flurried out.

Hands over his head, Troll dropped to his knees, as did the others.

They waited until the bats fluttered away. Then Troll warily crept inside. Once his foot crossed the threshold, wall-sconce candles bloomed to life, illuminating a seemingly endless spiral staircase that led up further than Troll could gaze.

He glanced back.

Xaza stood calm, face stoic, though sweating profusely.

Thomas's bulging gaze darted suspiciously around as candlelight danced off his face piercings.

Both men nodded.

Troll led as they traversed up the spiraled staircase.

Every once in a while they passed a simple, wooden door along the concave obsidian wall. Every once in a while, Troll opened one and peered inside, finding darkness, and nothing more.

The thought of entering a room tempted him greatly; investigating places and realms no man had ventured before. But, those places were empty. Void. Abysmal. Surely, he would be soon lost after entering such a door. So, upward they climbed the black, stone staircase for what seemed like many days, and felt like many miles. 'Though hunger, thirst, or weariness never plagued them, as if this place, this tower, devoid of time.

When they finally reached the top flight, the staircase dead-ended at a large, twisted door. Flickering orange light escaped rust holes and cracks between the iron portal.

No knocker. No knob.

Troll hesitated as visions of unfathomable horrors swirled through his head. Then he pressed the bottom end of his torch/staff into the door, and pushed. The door swung easy.

Clapping and giggling, Byron said, "Welcome to the house of the master. Oh, right this way. The master has been expecting ye for some time, now," Byron merrily ushered them inside. He appeared emaciated and scraggily, his clothes reduced to tattered rags. His hair and beard long and shabby. His eyes wide and wild. Black tar smeared over his mouth and chest.

Sconces decorated the cylindrical wall. In the center of the room sat a large, decorative table made from the finest and blackest of oaks. Chairs to match. At the far end of the table and veiled in shadow sat a tall, slumped figure wearing all black clothes with jet-black hair cascading over its large face -- The house master.

Byron chirped, "Come, come, come." He directed them toward the table and pulled out a chair for Troll.

He sat, as did Xaza and Thomas.

Byron poured some black, foul-smelling liquor from a ceramic mug into the crystalline chalices resting before them upon the tabular, oaken surface.

Byron sang, "Drink up my friends."

Xaza grabbed for his glass.

Troll shook his head and rested a hand over Xaza's.

Xaza set the cup back upon the table top.

Standing in the corner, Byron poured himself a glass and greedily slurped from the thick tar-like substance.

Troll said, "Ye've yet to introduce ye'r master to us properly. And us to him."

Byron smacked himself in the forehead. An audible _splat_ sounded as sludge splayed from his face. He chuckled, "Oh, where are my manners? Master, these are Byron's friends. Byron's friends, the master of the house."

Offering a slight bow, Troll greeted, "Pleasure."

Anne rose from underneath the table (from the master's side), and slammed hard upon the oaken surface.

The master held one hand up the back of Anne's shirt; the other had strings tied to the tips of its long fingers, which were in turn attached to Anne's digits and appendages.

Anne slowly raised her head, peering at Troll with dead, cataract eyes. Her skin appeared pallid and grey; long, stringy black-hair plastered to the sides of her sweaty, emaciated face.

The master pulled the strings. Anne's mouth flapped. Her voice emanated from the master, as if her nothing more than a marionette. "Hello, Troll."

But no, it could not be Anne. For, Anne had cut her hair. This was witchcraft at its most deceptive; wearing the guise of a friend.

"Do not address me, puppet," Troll sneered. "I speak to the master of this so-called house."

Byron chirped, "The master is asleep."

"Regrettably true," replied the Anne/puppet. Its desiccated lips curled into a gruesome smirk, and said, "Ye'd do well not to wake him. He has just feasted, and is deep in slumber. If he wakes now, he shall do so with a terrible hunger."

"Very well," Troll said, rubbing his scarred cheek. "Who are thee?"

"I am Annie, the meat-doll."

"Where are we?"

"Within the master's house." Anne's doppelganger covered its mouth and giggled. "But, I believe ye already know that, don't ye?"

"Who is this master?"

Byron croaked, "It knows a name."

"Why have we been brought here?"

The meat-doll replied, "I want to play a game."

"I have no time for games."

"On the contrary, we have all the time in the world. And ye love a good lark, aye, so ye do, don't ye?"

Troll scratched his beard, and said, "Perhaps."

The meat-doll chimed, "Tell ye what, if ye play my game, and win, I'll have Byron show ye the way out."

Troll glanced at Xaza and Thomas.

They nodded.

He asked, "And if ye win?"

Smiling, the meat-doll replied, "Then, the master will eat you."

"That doesn't sound very festive."

Hands folded, as if at prayer, Byron jumped up in down, whimpering, "Aw, c'mon, play the game. Play the game."

Troll said to the meat-doll, "Sorry, I believe I'll pass on ye'r most gracious of invitations."

The meat-doll smiled, and a roach skittered out of her mouth and across her veiny, necrotic face. "Aw, that's sweet. But, ye don't understand. Ye don't have a choice. If ye don't play the game, we won't even let ye out of this room." It leaned across the table. The strings trailed it, as if the meat-doll suspended by spider webs. It said, "If ye don't play, the house master will gobble ye whole. First you," it nodded toward Xaza, who gulped. "Then you," it said to Thomas. "Then _him_ ," it nodded toward Byron.

Still lingering in the shadowy corner, Byron cheered, "Oh, goodie, goodie, goodie!"

The meat-doll said to Troll, "The master will save ye for last, so ye can watch. Also, he'll probably be pretty full, so he'll enjoy ye at his leisure, casual taking a bite at a time."

Troll ran a shaky hand down his scar and beard, and said, "Very well, I accept. Name ye'r game."

Grinning, it said, "The game is called, does Troll remember? The rules are simple. We'll ask Troll if he remembers something. If he says yes three times he wins. If he says no three times, we win. Do we have an accord?"

"Ask away."

Motionless, lifeless, Anne asked, "Does Troll remember meeting the Dog?"

"Aye, like it was yesterday. He came slithering out of the undergrowth one morning; fighting me over nothing more than a pot of scraps."

Index-finger pointing to the sky, the meat-doll said, "Correct! Does Troll remember meeting Star?"

"Without question," he replied. "T'was in some bar. She sat in the corner, watching as the Dog nearly got in a scuffle with a group of n'ere do wells."

"Correct again. See, ye'r good at this game. Next question, does Troll remember first meeting the Wraith?"

He grumbled, "Aye, I first saw him on the roof of the town meeting hall back in Silverdale, but I did not meet such a vile abomination until later that evening in the hut of the Mistress of the Trees."

"I'm sorry," it smiled. "That's incorrect. That is ye'r first penalty. The score is two-to-one, you."

Troll scoffed, "I'm afraid ye'r mistaken. For, I remember my first meeting with the wretch very well."

Leering at Troll, Byron salaciously rubbed his hands, and chuckled, "The master disagrees."

The master's stomach grumbled.

The meat-doll chimed, "Next question. When Troll first met the Wachati and Montalvo, they told Troll that he visited their tribe half-a-century ago. Does Troll remember that?"

"Aye," he replied. "I do remember them saying that."

"That's not what I asked. What I asked is does Troll remember visiting the Wachati fifty years before he _actually_ did?"

He sneered, "No, of course not."

"The score is two-to-two. All tied up. Getting nervous?"

"Not at all."

The meat-doll leaned across the table, and uttered, "Ye should be."

The master twitched as its stomach growled louder.

Face wrinkled in terror, Xaza released an uneasy moan.

Troll said, "Wait, that's not fair. I was unclear as to the question."

The meat-doll chimed, "That's okay. Like I said, scores tied up. Ye can still win this. Just be careful how ye answer. Next question, does Troll remember who he is?"

How to answer?

"Aye," he replied.

The lights flickered and dimmed.

From underneath the table, the master reached out a long, thin, segmented arm with many fingers. It snatched up Xaza.

Troll rose to act but the throbbing in his chest quickly drove him back to his chair.

Thomas appeared petrified.

Byron cackled and clapped.

The master pulled its forearms close to its body (Anne, the meat-doll attached), hiding its face as it devoured Xaza alive.

Xaza kicked and screamed.

The snapping of bone and cartilage echoed. Smacking and sucking sounds.

Xaza's legs went limp.

The master shoved the rest of Xaza's remains into its mouth.

Thomas raised a knocked bow and aimed at the meat-doll, who shielded the master of the house.

Troll bellowed, "No!"

Thomas relaxed but kept his bow knocked.

Clutching his chest, Troll roared, "I answered! I answered!"

The lights regained their natural orangish hue.

The master settled back into slumber, slamming the meat-doll back on the table top.

It slowly peered up, grinning, black blood poured from its cracked and blistered lips. It said, "Aye, but ye lied."

"So?"

"Oh, did I not mention that if ye lie, it's the same as an incorrect response? And I _will_ know when ye lie. Ready for round two?"

Troll blotted the sweat beading his brow with a trembling hand. "No," he quavered, "I think I need a moment."

"Too bad."

Byron cackled, but stifled it.

The meat-doll slowly shook its head, and said, "Ye'd better hurry. The master's getting hungry again."

Dancing in place, Byron blurted, "Oh, I hope he eats me next."

Troll said, "But, if I play and lose, the outcome remains the same."

The meat-doll leaned across the table, stared at Troll with its dead eyes, and said, "So _don't_ lose. More than ye can imagine are counting on ye." It leaned back, grinned, and asked, "Shall we continue?"

He glanced at Thomas.

Gaze bulging, Thomas mouthed the word, " _No_." The manic look spangling his brown-eyes suggested he thought they should run for it.

But, he could not back down. He may have lost three men, but he still had Thomas, Byron, and Anne to save. "Very well," he said. "Let us play."

"Do ye remember the blue door?"

Did he? He desperately wanted to. But no, he did not.

"No," he said. "Do ye?"

The meat-doll crossed its arms and frowned.

Troll replied, "Never mind that for now. How did ye get down here? Have ye been down here before, or did _he_ call thee?"

The master slowly drew the puppet toward its massive face.

The meat-doll cupped a hand over its ear and listened closely. It glared at Troll. Black blood dribbling down its chin, it snarled, "Ye are not allowed to ask questions. T'is not in the rules."

The hatred glimmering within her eyes tore at Troll's soul. It was too late. He had already lost her. No! He shook that thought away. This _was not_ Anne. Anne cut her hair.

He said, "Rules are simple, ye ask if I remember something. I respond. If I say, no, or lie, it costs me penalty. If I am penalized three times I lose. But, there was never any stipulation against _me_ asking questions."

"Well there is now."

Arms crossed, Troll craned his neck in an air of defiance, and said, "Nope. I'm sorry, but ye can't introduce new rules into the game mid-way. Everyone knows that."

Rotting teeth clenched, the meat-doll growled, "Ye _dare_ not make demands in the house of the master!"

"And what is thy master's name? For, I have not been properly introduced."

Byron poked his head out of the shadows, and croaked, "It knows a name."

Troll commanded, "Know when to be silent, Byron."

Byron danced in place, as if needing to relieve himself. He incessantly rubbed his hands and giggled.

Troll said to the meat-doll, "I asked thee a question. What is thy master's name?"

It pouted festering lips; batted gossamer eyelashes, and cooed, "Aw, what, ye don't remember? But, ye've met him _so_ many times. It would sadden the master that ye think so little of him not to remember his name."

"Refresh my memory."

"No, I told ye, that's not how the game works."

"Very well, if ye insist on changing the rules, ye leave me no recourse other than to request we start this round over. A game is far more enjoyable when both parties clearly understand the rules, would ye not agree?"

The sound of grinding boulders emanated from the master's gullet.

He'd heard that sound before. But from when and where? He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

Hellfire. Bats.

Something was wrong. Something about this room, this void, was obfuscating his mind.

Troll shuddered.

The master roared and raised the meat-doll's arms menacingly over Troll. The master bashed the doll upon the table so hard, one of its eyes popped out of the socket.

Growling, the puppet lurched forward and dug its fingernails into the table. With one eye, it glowered at Troll. The other ocular dangled from a length of sinuous tissue.

He thought of Star's compass, or his medallion. The eye spun like when he attempted to hypnotize someone, except it rotated at a slower rate than Troll would employ.

Dribbling black blood, the meat-doll smiled, and said, "Very well." It eased back, raking its nails across the polished table until they splintered and fragmented, leaving ragged black-bloody stumps.

The master drew the Anne-puppet toward its mouth and whispered into her ear.

The doll slowly turned toward Troll. Smirking, it said, "Round two, question the first, does Troll remember _his_ name?"

Troll snorted, "Of course, my name is Troll."

"I'm sorry, that's incorrect."

Byron cackled.

Troll pounded his fists upon the table, and said, "Blasphemy! How dare ye suggest I not know my own name?"

"But, it's true. That's not ye'r name. Don't ye remember?"

Did he? He thought harder.

Bats. Fire. Darkness. The Wraith. Their first encounter within the hut of the Mistress of the Trees. The Wraith had called him something. What was it? Paper-preacher? No, that wasn't it. The Wraith _did_ call him that, but so had many others. There was something that only the Wraith called him. _What was it?_ Troll had demanded the Wraith reveal its name. And then Troll called him something. Son of...Nod! That was it. He called the Wraith, Son of Nod. And then later, the Wraith called _him_ son of something. _What was it?_

The meat-doll rhythmically tapped the stumps of its digits upon the table in an impatient cadence. "Well?"

Troll replied, "After much deliberation, I have deemed this question invalid. Even if my birth name _was_ anything other than Troll, it matters not. For the name I go by now is Troll. And everyone knows it. Go on, ask another." Troll flapped his hand, as if batting away a fly.

Stomach churning, the master stirred.

Thomas shuffled nervously in place.

Byron stifled a giggle.

The meat-doll asked, "Does Troll remember William James Mather or Joshua King?"

A wave of nostalgia hit him. He _did_ know those names. He just couldn't remember from when or where. But, that's not what the puppet asked. It wanted to know if he _remembered_ them.

Heart painfully palpitating, he lied, "Aye."

The meat-doll chirped, "Good."

The house master snored audibly.

Perhaps, he hadn't lied after all.

"Do ye remember the blue door?"

Troll sneered, "Ye already asked me that."

"Ah, but the question is different now."

"How so?"

The meat-doll wagged a finger, and said, "Ah-ah-ah." The eyeball dangling from the socket swayed ever-so slightly. "No questions, remember? Now answer, do ye remember the blue door or de ye not?"

Rubbing his scar, he grumbled, "No, I do not."

"I thought not."

The master's stomach gurgled.

"The score is one-to-one. Next question, does Troll remember what object seemed to pop up in the most unusual places?"

A most dubious question indeed and Troll racked his brains for several long minutes.

Rhythmically rapping macerated fingers in pooling black-sludge, the meat-doll asked, "Well?"

He peered at the puppet that looked like Anne before she cut her hair. The way she used to look back in Silverdale, when she was still an innocent child. When she danced and sang--

"Maddy!" Troll said. "Maddy, the rag doll."

"Correct. See, that wasn't so hard. The score is two-to-one, you. Question the fourth, does Troll remember how Anne first got Maddy?"

Had Anne ever told him that? Unfortunately, if she had, he didn't remember, and that was the name of the game.

"No," he replied. "But, I presume Sarah made it for her."

"The score is now two-to-two. And just so ye know it was Reverend Lowell who gave Anne Maddy when he first came to Silverdale. Next question, does Troll remember the name of the house master yet?"

"It wouldn't happen to be either this William James Mather or Joshua King, would it?"

Smirking, it replied, "I'm sorry, but ye cannot answer both. Ye must pick one."

Which one? He had a fifty-fifty chance to win. But if he lost, Thomas would be eaten.

He glanced at Thomas.

His bulging eyes trembled in fear.

The meat-doll leaned across the table, and asked, "Well, which one?"

Stomach gurgling, the house master twitched.

Thomas hyperventilated.

Byron jumped up and down, singing, "Oh, boy, oh, boy, I can't wait, I can't wait!"

Troll opened his mouth but had no idea what to say.

"Answer!"

"Neither," Anne chimed from behind.

Troll, Thomas, and Byron pivoted.

Standing behind them was Anne, a dagger in one hand and Al'ber Quearian steel in the other. The _real_ Anne. "T'is a trick question," she said, creeping toward them. Her glowering gaze narrowed upon her doppelganger.

Clapping, the meat-doll squealed, "Yippee! A new contestant!" Another roach flitted out of the tar seeping from its mouth. The dangling eyeball bobbled and bounced on its fibrous tether.

Troll quavered, "Anne, what are ye doing here?"

"Saving ye'r lives," she replied.

The meat-doll said, "Perhaps, Anne would like to answer for Troll. If she responds incorrectly or lies, she shall be the one penalized. Does Anne remember the name of the house master?"

Gaze darting among them, Anne muttered, "Madgellaine. _Prince_ Madgellaine. The Sweetie-man."

Byron cheered, "Oh, it does know a name!"

Clutching his chest, Troll gasped, "There, three correct responses. We have won. Now ye must release us and have Byron escort us, as per our agreement."

"It lied," Anne snarled. She nodded toward Madgellaine, and said, "Make no accords with _him_."

Byron giggled, "Nope, nope, nope."

Dribbling black blood, the meat-doll said, "Perhaps, we play a new game now that Anne is here." It leaned across the table, smiled, and asked, "Does Anne remember when she was taken and first brought to the mines yet?"

Anne swung her sword. The meat-doll's head tumbled from its shoulders and rolled to the floor.

Madgellaine jerked the meat-doll toward its face, as if hiding behind a shield. The house master skirled. The room shook.

Byron roared, "Eat them master! Eat them! Eat them all--!"

Troll smashed his fist into Byron's face. Byron went limp. Troll caught him and flung him over his shoulder.

Madgellaine thrust the puppet aside and stood, revealing its long, white face and many dead-black doll's eyes, and multiple insect-like appendages.

Quick as lightning, Thomas knocked his bow and loosed an arrow into Madgellaine's broad forehead.

Shrieking, Madgellaine reeled.

"Follow me!" Anne called over the quakes and screams. "Run!" She led them out of the tower and back into the void.

Anne and Thomas sprinted ahead of Troll, who hobbled as fast as he could while'st carrying Byron's unconscious body.

Madgellaine roared off in the distance and the darkness trembled.

"Come on!" Anne cried. "Don't look back!"

Troll stumbled over something and would have fallen if not for his torch/staff. He glanced down. A Wachati spear. When had he gotten that?

Apparently before coming to the rescue, Anne utilized the pile of Troll's abandoned effects to fashion a trail. And though his torch/staff remained the only light, somehow Anne could see them easily enough to follow. Her eyes must have grown exceptionally keen to the dark during her time down here.

Madgellaine roared louder; sounding closer. The abyss shook more fiercely.

After running for what felt like an eternity, Anne led them back to the doorway.

One by one, they hurriedly shuffled through.

Troll went last. Once through the other side, he glanced back. Even in the darkness he could see Madgellaine's large, black form speedily shambling toward them.

"Run!" Thomas said, hurling something into the doorway.

They sprinted away from the door.

Boom

A blinding flash of light blossomed. An ear-splitting explosion. Troll's group stumbled and fell. The tunnel shook. Rock and dust crumbled from above.

Helping Thomas to his feet, Anne roared, "Come on! The tunnel's collapsing!"

Troll hoisted himself up and raced after.

The quaking subsided before long.

Anne slowed her gait from a run, to a trot, to a slow tired pace.

Clutching his side, Troll panted, "I believe it's time we rested." His heart beat so hard he thought it would burst forth from his chest. He clasped Thomas on the shoulder, and gasped, "What was that ye threw?"

Panting, he replied, "My last grenade."

"Bravo."

In his mind, he was whisked back to their final night in Silverdale when he and Star cornered the detestable Silas Withers.

"Bravo, Bravo! Bravetsema!" the Wraith had cheered and clapped.

"What the _fuck_ is that?" Star asked.

"The face of our true enemy," Troll replied.

He _thought_ that was true.

But, Prince Madgellaine was Maddy, the ragdoll. And Maddy was the Harvester of Al'ber Que. And the Harvester was also the Sweetie-man. Perhaps, he was also Montalvo's mysterious stranger in white.

But why? What was the end game?

"I have ever so many names," the Wraith replied when Troll pressed for the demon's name. He proclaimed to be the eater of children. The devourer of light. The demon that plagued the Wachati and the snake that struck the chief.

Who knew how many faces or names the Wraith had.

Anne, the meat-doll, said that Troll's recollection of his first meeting the Wraith was incorrect. If that was true, and the Wraith could take any form it desired, then there was no telling when he first met the Wraith. The abomination could have been following him and interfering with his life this entire time. Perhaps, there was a reason why he couldn't remember his past after all. Maybe, the Wraith didn't want him to. For now.

But, how did Anne fit into all of this?

As if sensing his cerebrations, Anne said, "He's not dead, ye know." She squatted on her haunches, back pressed against the tunnel wall, her blade resting in her lap.

God, she reminded him so much of the Dog.

She continued, "The Sweetie-man, Madgellaine, or whatever. He's not dead. And now he's pissed. He's gonna come after us."

"Aye, I suppose he is. Luckily we have good men awaiting us upon our return." Troll said to Thomas, "I trust we can count ye amongst us."

"I'm sorry, but no," he replied. "I have been a part of your inner circle, 'though only briefly. I have also stared into the face of the evil that you must overcome, and I do not want those eyes staring back at me. When we return to the group, I will not be among your men. Think of me as just another refugee."

"Too late," Anne snorted. " _He's_ seen ye. He's _smelled_ ye. There is no escape now."

"Then let him take me," Thomas said.

Troll scoffed, "No one is taking _anyone_."

Stirring to life, Byron drowsily inquired, "Hmm, what's happening?"

Anne hopped to her feet and sashayed toward him. She held the edge of her sword to his throat, and snarled, "Ye should be ashamed of yerself."

Wincing, Byron massaged his temples, and said, "I am. I remember everything. Like I was outside myself, watching the things I was doing. I'm so, so sorry." Byron wept into his hands.

"Stow it." Anne pressed the blade deeper into the collop upon Byron's neck.

Troll huffed, "Enough, Anne! We can't turn on each other now. Not when we've so many enemies about us."

Nodding at Byron, she replied, "And _he's_ one of 'em."

Head high, Byron uttered, "Then take me, I am ready."

"No!" Troll said. "No more blood-shed, not today."

"Very well." Gaze glued to Byron, Anne sheathed her sword, and said, "Tomorrow, then."

****

5

"Ye Okay?" Anne asked Troll. She and Byron strode beside him as they neared the flickering, orangish glow of dying lanterns.

Bow loosely knocked in his grip, Thomas crept behind; constantly glimpsing over his shoulder.

Clutching his chest, Troll replied, "Peachy. Why?" But he didn't feel fine. He just watched the gruesome deaths of...well, what were those men to him? Seth, Ian, and Xaza's demise veiled in comparison to losing the Dog, the fate Star would no-doubt suffer, Byron's calamitous madness...any of it. Yet, he couldn't rid the reveries from his mind's eye. The screams. The terror. Flesh ripping apart. Entrails flopping. The crunch of masticated cartilage and bone. The visions just would not stop. He'd witnessed true horror, and now, he could not un-see it.

Frowning, Anne said, "Ye don't look so good. Ye'r all pale and sweaty. Breathing heavily. Ye ain't gonna die on me, are ye?"

Cough. Cough. He waved off the very notion, and said, "I have no intentions toward such a grim and uneventful demise." His feet dragged as they neared the refugee camp. He'd dreaded returning without the others since they began their slogging trek back toward the exiles (currently at rest).

Troll and his group were met with wide, wild gapes and hushed murmurings as they entered the camp. 'Ro, Montalvo, and Sarah hurried to greet them.

Hands pressed against her mouth, Sarah gasped, "Oh, my God, Anne, is that ye? My Lord, what has happened to ye'r hair?"

"I cut it," Anne replied. "I like it better this way."

Brow furrowed, lips drawn tight, Sarah asked Troll, "Ye didn't take her with ye, did ye?"

"No, she followed us." Nodding, he said to Anne, "Thank ye for saving us."

Anne shrugged casually, and said, "No problem."

Troll motioned for them to draw closer. They did. He sat cross-legged on the ground and the others crouched around him.

Troll asked Montalvo, "How long have ye been camped for rest?"

'Ro answered, "Not long before you guys showed up."

Montalvo glared at 'Ro.

'Ro asked, "Where's Seth, Xaza, and the other dude?"

Troll and Thomas exchanged a troubled glance.

What to say? How could he possibly explain they'd been eaten alive by a giant ragdoll?

Head hung, Troll uttered, "They didn't make it."

Montalvo scoffed and rolled his eyes.

'Ro snipped, "What do ya mean, they didn't make it? What the hell happened to 'em?"

Anne replied, " _He_ got them."

Brow furrowed, gaze narrowed, 'Ro asked, " _He_ who?"

Silence.

'Ro asked Thomas, "What went on down there?"

Thomas shuffled in place, gape averted, he replied, "More than we could handle."

'Ro swayed, as if soused or jittery. Gaze darting, he asked, "like what? Some weird, freaky shit?"

Thomas opened his quivering mouth to respond, but said, "I don't want to talk about it." Strolling away, he amended, "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to talk about it."

Gripping Byron's shoulders, Sarah feverishly scanned his haggard face, and asked, "How do ye feel?"

"Sane," he replied.

Troll asked, "Speaking of health, what about the sick?"

'Ro sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and drawled, "There's more of 'em now."

"Well, that's to be expected. The most important thing we can do is keep the people calm by not addressing the issue publicly."

Montalvo sneered, "Are you suggesting we keep this a secret? Are you suggesting we lie? This eerily reminds me of all those stories you told me about Al'ber Que's leaders preying off its own people."

Troll roared, "Those were no stories!"

Sarah flinched.

Conceding his palms, 'Ro said, "Hey, y'all, let's take it nice and easy. Just back off a peg. Huh, how about it?"

Troll and Montalvo eased back, but Troll's heart refused to abdicate its arrhythmic galloping.

Sarah chimed, "That's not the problem."

Troll gestured for her to continue.

Gaze averted, hands kneading hem, she said, "Well, Doctor can probably tell ye better."

"No-doubt," Troll replied. He glanced around, and said, "But as I do not see the good doctor here, I presume he's busy elsewhere. So please, indulge me."

Sarah said, "Well, As ye've heard, more are showing symptoms. Mostly children, the elderly, and the infirm, but others are beginning to get sick, as well."

Arms crossed, chest puffed out, head held high, Montalvo added, "Yes, your _friend_ , 'Ro, thinks we should isolate the sick from the rest of the group."

Troll asked, "Isolate them where?"

Montalvo nodded toward 'Ro, and said, "Why don't you ask _him_?"

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro snorted and rolled his eyes.

An angry flourish of impatience soured Troll's weary bones.

He asked 'Ro, "And ye'r retort?"

Shifting his stance, 'Ro combed his fingers through his greasy hair, and said, "Hell, I dunno. But, there ain't no denying it, this shit is spreading. We gotta put a stop to this _now_ before this... _plague_ , or whatever it is, wipes us all out."

"I could not agree more." Stroking his scar and beard, he asked Montalvo, "And ye?"

No reply.

Troll knew Montalvo agreed with 'Ro, he just didn't want to admit it.

Exasperated, Troll huffed, "Well then, what is the problem?"

Sarah sighed, pressed out the wrinkles in her tattered dress, and said, "There's been a new development."

"Such as?"

Gaze diverted, she replied, "Well, I'm not sure how to put this."

Anne blurted, "Bluntly is usually best."

Sarah glanced around, brow furrowed, biting her bottom lip.

'Ro gently nudged her shoulder, and said, "Go, on, doll."

Troll shivered, as did Anne.

Sarah shrugged, and said, "Well, it's just that some of the sick don't seem so sick anymore."

Scratching his beard, Troll asked, "How do ye mean?"

Montalvo replied, "Seven children who were sick yesterday, are now fine. Symptoms completely gone. No coughing. No hacking up blood. Nothing."

"And the rashes?"

Montalvo replied, "The marks remain, like large freckles, but the rash and irritation is gone."

Indeed, Troll saw the problem. And both men _were_ right. Isolating the sick to keep this mysterious disease from spreading was a good idea. But, if some of the patients "appeared", to have miraculously healed, then it "appeared" safe to assume the others would, as well.

Anne asked, "How long have we been gone for?"

'Ro replied, "Few hours, maybe."

Montalvo added, "That seems correct. This is the first rest we've taken since you left."

Strange. It felt as though Troll and the others were gone a week. Days, at least. But only a few hours? Of course, he'd experienced similar slips in time before.

Troll said to Byron, "Would ye please excuse us."

Brow furrowed, mouth slightly ajar, Byron scanned them briefly before his bearded, emaciated face shriveled up, as if insulted. "Oh," he said. "I understand." Then he shuffled off into the crowd of campers.

Troll glanced at Anne. She nodded, and crept after Byron.

God, she reminded him so much of the Dog.

As far as guards went, Anne had surpassed all her adult constituents. If not for her, they never would have rescued Byron from the house master. And sure, Byron no longer hypnotized, but something had happened to him. Something had soiled his heart, and now Troll couldn't trust him. He wanted to. But he couldn't. So from now on, Anne would keep watch over him.

Troll asked, "Has Khariiff made any progress with the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

Sarah replied, "No, he grew ill shortly after ye left and has yet to begin making a recovery."

"What of Sirii?"

"She's been helping us attend to the sick."

"And the _hermanii_?"

Hands kneading hem, she replied, "Natiis is sick, but she doesn't appear to be worsening. Zashiirii and N'Dora seem fine."

"And Doctor?"

'Ro said, "Got his hands full, but he's been making do, got the gang pitchin' in since Ally's still bed-side." He sighed, ran a hand through is greasy hair, and said, "It seems others are too scared to even come near 'em. It's gotten so bad that the sick are just left in the care of us. People abandoning their children and shit, doesn't bode well if'n ya ask me."

Troll said, "Ye'r candor is dually noted and appreciated."

'Ro stepped forward; bouncing in place, skin pale.

Troll asked, "A question?"

Gaze darting, he cleared his throat, and said, "Uh, yeah."

"Well come, my good man, do not keep us in suspense."

'Ro asked, "Can I talk to ya about something?"

"Of course, that's the whole point of these little get-togethers."

"Perhaps in private?"

Troll sighed, rubbed his scar, and said, "My friend, there is no privacy down here. And if this be something that deserves my concern, then it concerns us all. So, out with it already."

'Ro combed his fingers through his hair, sighed, and said, "Well, ya see, earlier, we we're attempting to sort out that whole Fedic situation and--"

Troll waved dismissively, and said, "I told ye I don't care about that. I want no part in it, nor have I any wish in hearing the details."

Gape wide, 'Ro said, "But, I really think ya should--"

"No!" Troll roared. His echo bounced off the cavernous walls. Exiles recoiled; gazing at him. This felt familiar.

"T'is all right, t'is all right," he called to the crowd. Troll leaned close to 'Ro, and uttered, "And I shall hear no more of this business."

'Ro lurched back, a crooked grin hung from his handsome face. Arms crossed, he sneered, "Or what? Ya gonna hypnotize me to do your bidding?"

Montalvo snorted in laughter.

Anger flared within Troll. His heart raced. Shoulder throbbed. His skin felt hot and prickly. For the first time (that he knew of), he actually wanted to lash out in anger, to strike one, or even both of them. But no. He couldn't do that. _Wouldn't_ do that.

"Fuck it." 'Ro pivoted and stormed away; literally turning his back on Troll.

Leathery face creased with wrinkles, Montalvo huffed. Then he too marched away; head back, shoulders straight, chest puffed out in pride.

Sarah stood there, shuffling her feet, gaze downcast, hands kneading hem. She appeared thinner, paler then last he saw her. Deep rings drooped under her eyes. How long since she'd last slept? Ate?

Troll cleared his throat, and said, "Come, my dear, let us get something to eat. It appears as though ye haven't had a meal in a dog's age." He cringed. Once again, his thoughts turned toward Star and the Dog. His friend dead. His lover lost. And his heart just ached.

"I do not much care for these, MREs," she said. "Oh, how I long for a freshly picked apple or a thick wedge of cheese."

He chuckled, "Careful, my friend, never poke at a giant's appetite."

They strolled through the camp.

Coughing. Sneezing. Moans. Wails. Dirty, emaciated frowns. Sunken eyes. And the odious stench. They were all rotting down here along with their own feces.

Troll said, "I gather things have not been running all that smoothly with both 'Ro and Montalvo at the helm."

Sarah sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "They've been butting heads ever since ye left."

Stroking his scar and beard, he said, "Tell me more."

"As ye know, we first rested shortly before ye'r return."

"Aye, as I was informed by 'Ro, and reiterated by Montalvo."

She swiped ashy, gnarls away, and said, "I believe it may have been a bit longer than that, because shortly after first resting, 'Ro was arguing with Montalvo."

"About the sick, I presume."

"Aye, we hadn't rested very long and 'Ro wanted to continue on, said it would be good for the sick, for all of us to keep moving. He was quite persistent. For a moment I thought he looked most frightened, indeed."

"I too noticed him a bit pale and jittery."

She continued, "He talked up quite a storm and we were ready to move out when Montalvo got in 'Ro's face. I couldn't hear what they were saying, at least not at first. Then their voices rose. They didn't yell, but the exchange of words was quite heated. Montalvo thought the sick needed all the rest they could get, but, as I said, 'Ro insisted the exercise good for those stricken."

"And what did ye think?"

"I agreed with both, but secretly I was leaning more toward 'Ro's side. After all, some of the children seemed revived to full health while'st walking."

"But that's not what ye told them, is it?"

Blushing, she brushed back her hair, and said, "No. I said, whatever ye think best, _eastas_."

Troll snorted in whimsy, as did Sarah. And just then, a small metaphorical sliver of sunshine slithered through the ubiquitous, murky storm clouds. Hope.

****

The keening wind raked across the snowy mountain peaks. Day, but the skies were constantly over-cast and grey. The snow began falling early in the morning and gradually increased over the course of the long hours.

Now the fierce mountain gales drove the snow about in torrential drifts. All appeared white. Limited visibility. Star could barely make out the Dog's form as he plodded alongside her. The snow was so bright she constantly squinted against the penetrating white until her temples and forehead throbbed.

The wind picked up, pelting her face in wet snow. Her hands and feet felt numb despite the gloves and boots she wore. Her nose stung at the bitter winter chill. The nausea swirling within the pit of her stomach had settled some after breakfast.

Dog _had_ to be dosing her with something. But what? And why wouldn't he tell her?

Her thighs and calves ached as she trudged through knee-deep snow along the mountainous ridges. No shelter from the elements up here at the top of the peaks, but this _was_ the fastest way over the Sie Mountains.

Dog stopped. He held out a hand, signaling for her to halt. He squatted low in the snow and sniffed at the air.

She gasped, "What is it?" Plumes of steam escaped her lips. Shivering, she crossed her arms tightly.

The wind died down for a moment. The snow fell silent and steady.

There, about twenty paces in front of them, a man-sized rock jut out from the snow. Glistening, fresh powder peppered the top of the boulder. Odd. The boulder should have been completely buried in white.

Star grunted, "Those again, huh?"

They'd seen those strange man-sized stones throughout the day.

She first noticed them off in the distance earlier that morning. She wanted to make sure the army hadn't already dug themselves out and in hot pursuit of them. But, the only thing that seemed to be following them were those strange rocks. Of course, she never saw them move. That was impossible. But still, they seemed to pop up here and there across the snow-covered countryside.

The Dog unslung the sniper rifle riding his shoulder and waded through the snow toward the ominous protrusion. He crept within ten-feet of the object, halted, and sniffed again. His nose and long, braided beard wagged 'neath his cap and hood.

"Well?" she asked. "Ya gonna piss on it, or just sit there and sniff?"

The wind gusted. Snow flurried.

A low, guttural growling arose above the breeze.

Shivering, she said, "Yeah, okay, I get it. You don't like the rock. You can't just sit there growling at it. Come on, we gotta keep moving."

Dog gazed back at her. Eyes burning with a golden fire, he said, "That's not me."

The rock trembled; rising in stature. Its body slithered around.

The Dog tried cocking the rifle, but the slide jammed, frozen.

They weren't looking at a boulder. It was some large mammal curled up, sleeping in the snow. It _almost_ looked like some sort of wolf. Its body grey, cracked, the texture of stone. White billowy tuffs of fur sprouted from the creatures' dorsal, paws, and elongated head. Many dead-black, multifaceted eyes glowered at its prey.

Furion's chirping voice reverberated within Star's mind, "I see you."

The Dog twirled the rifle around and cracked the butt along the creature's elongated head.

The creature smiled, exposing large, ragged teeth as it licked its slobbering maw with a long, black, prehensile tongue.

Star fumbled for her shooters but her hands were numb and clumsy from the heavy (and quite useless), gloves.

The creature pounced upon the Dog and the two tumbled through the snow.

Growling. Barking. Baying. Coming from behind.

She pivoted.

Four more camouflaged wolves with spider-eyes charged. Paws pounded through snow. Long, black tongues wagged as they smiled. Their many eyes narrowed upon her.

Star dove to the left. Two creatures pounced. She rolled through the snow; over and over. The creatures crashed into each other, cracking their heads audibly over the growls and driving wind.

Dog grappled with the lead creature (the one that didn't attack from behind).

The other two demon-wolves leapt over the two that crashed into each other. They slid through the snow, creating great, white waves that momentarily blinded Star. She tried to run. But the snow was too deep. She thrust her gloves off in anger and readied the shotgun slung across her shoulder.

The lead wolf chomped down on the Dog's side. It hoisted the Dog in the air and shook him violently.

The other four creatures locked-in on Star.

Which one to target?

They pounced.

She rolled on her back. A wolf landed hard. Her ribs might have been crushed if not for the armor she wore 'neath her snow gear. Jaws snapping, the creature lurched forward. She brought the shotgun up and jammed it into the monster's mouth. It growled fiercely, gravelly brows furrowed in anger around its many eyes. The creature tore at her chest with large, ragged claws. Once again, she was glad she labored on wearing such burdensome gear.

She thought of Shroud. The way he held her pinned moments before she turned the tables.

She struggled as the creature bore down with all its weight. Snapping and slobbering. Rocking its head back and forth, trying to dislodge the shotgun from its fangs. Its claws slashed away at her clothes until long nails screeched against the metal of her chest plate.

Screeeeeeeeee-raaaaaaaaaacccckkkkkk.

"Fuck you!" With all her strength, she let go of her anger and focused on Troll, Dog, Anne, Sarah, all those counting on her. She pushed the creature back. The monster tottered on its paws, lost its footing, and rolled backward into the snow. Another pounced. She pivoted and fired. _Blam_. The shot's report rang over the wailing winds. The creature's chest exploded into splattering black sludge. The beast fell. Another raced toward her. She aimed.

The creature thrashing Dog about released its fanged hold. Dog whirled through the air and crashed into Star.

_Blam_.

She missed. Her ears rang.

Shit. Now she had to reload.

Dog rolled off her and hauled her to her feet.

They stood back to back. Star reloaded. The Dog armed his gauntlet but it too was frozen.

A wolf-monster pounced upon the Dog. Star aimed but she didn't want to hit the Dog.

Another pounced. She whirled and fired. _Blam._ An explosion of black sludge as the creature barreled into Star, driving her back into the snow. She rolled the creature off her. Another charged into her, ramming her with its large head. The shotgun knocked from her grip. She flew a few feet and crashed into the snow. The creature pounced. Star rolled on her back, and grabbed a shooter. She fired, fanning the hammer despite her numb digits. The creature howled as bullets tore through its body. She dived out of the way as the creature slammed into a drift. She glanced toward the Dog.

A creature had him pined on his back. Growling, the creature loomed closer and opened its salivating maw. Its black, prehensile tongue coiled around the Dog's neck, throttling him. _Ka-shink._ He finally got his gauntlet to unsheathe. He pierced the blades into the creature's abdomen. The creature roared.

Growling.

Star pivoted. She'd forgotten there was still one more demon-wolf. The creature charged. She aimed and fired. Nothing. Empty chamber. She sprinted (best she could through the snow), toward the Dog. The creature pursued.

Snarling, the Dog tore the creature he battled to pieces.

"Incoming!" Star said, dashing toward him.

The Dog pivoted. The ringing of blade as he drew a sword.

She leapt toward him. The creature raced after her. She dove to the ground. The Dog gracefully stepped to the side. And when the creature closed in, Dog lobbed its head off in one swift swipe.

The headless creature stumbled and fell.

The Dog helped Star to her feet, and they scanned the blinding-white snowscape.

Was that it? Was that all of them.

Panting, Star snorted, "Well, whatever the hell that was, it wasn't so tough."

Then she noticed something peculiar. The black sludge oozing out of the creatures' wounds bubbled and hissed; slowly reforming in ebullition.

She gasped, "What the fuck."

"C'mon," Dog said, grabbing her arm. "Run!"

The creatures stood on wobbling legs as their bodies regenerated.

Star tripped and fell. The Dog picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

They bounded up the slope like gamboling deer until the snow level decreased to only a couple inches. From there, they raced up the mountainside hand-in-hand. Snow became slim; the ice thicker. Slipping and sliding, they helped each other up the mountain's peak.

Angry howls. Rushing feet. The creatures were hot on their heels.

The dull, grey sky turned an eerie orangish-red as the sun emerged from behind wispy clouds; it reminded her of that dusky evening back in Coffin Nail, when the sheriff chased her as she raced toward the armory.

Star's feet slid out from under her and she fell. Dog caught her.

" _Come_ on," he said, pulling her up.

She glanced back.

The creatures closed in. Waves of snow billowed behind them.

Helping each other, Star and Dog clambered up and up. Ahead, a sheer drop off.

"Dog, what the hell are we doing?" she roared over the rushing snow and wind.

"Trust me."

They neared the cliff's edge. Dog sprinted faster.

She gulped, "Uh, Dog?" She glanced back.

The creatures dashed after them, faster and faster.

With his free hand, Dog drew his sword.

The ledge neared, and she saw pine trees peeking out of the mist far below. She yelled, "Dog?"

"Down!" He dropped to his knees, pulling her down with him. They drifted toward the edge of the cliff. With one hand, Dog drove his sword into the ice. The coasted nearer. The creatures closed in. Their many dead-black eyes grew wide and their jaws clenched up in awkward fanged grins as the saw the cliff's edge. The lead beast tried to stop, but skidded along skittering paws. The others behind rammed into their leader.

Star and Dog stopped with a sudden jerking.

The beasts glided past them and moments before they descended off the cliff, Star gazed into the face of the lead monster and knew what it was.

One-by-one the creatures tumbled off the mountain's precipice. The last clawed at the Dog, finding purchase on his boot. Dog threw Star to the side micro-seconds before he was pulled over.

Howls and bays receded below the siren winds.

Grunting. Growling. Scuffling sounds.

Dog still gripped the hilt of the sword punctured into the ice.

Star crawled toward the edge and peered over the side.

Dog dangled one-handedly. The snarling creature's tongue was coiled tightly around his ankle. The creature pawed at the air, desperately attempting to latch onto the sheer incline of ice and rock. Dog's hand incipiently slipped from the hilt.

Leaning over the edge, Star drew a shooter and aimed.

The creature growled and slobbered.

She fired into the monster's mouth until the chamber spun dry.

The creature's body went slack. Its grip loosed. Down it plunged; its motionless body tumbled over and over until swallowed by the swirling snow and haze.

She knew it wasn't dead.

She grabbed the hilt the Dog held and leaned as far over the edge of the cliff as she dared. A tenuous moment elapsed where she knew their combined weight would cause the shelf to crumble away. She mustered all the strength she had left and hauled him up. They collapsed back on the outcrop, gasping on the thin mountain air.

Dog sat up and peered at her. Frowning, head tilted, fangs slightly exposed. A Questioning look lingered behind his furrowed gape, as if asking, "What the hell was that?"

Panting, chest heaving, she wiped the sweat from her brow, and said, "Bargs."

****

Hazel-gape darting, Ally asked, "So, uh...I'm not going to catch whatever they got, am I?" A timorous look painted his pallid, rugged face, as he nodded at the coughing children and elderly surrounding him.

There were more now, nearly twenty.

"I should think not," Sarah replied. "The good doctor said only the young and old are stricken with it."

Sarah, Sandy, and Doctor had gathered the sick into a group (easier to care for them that way), and attended to their needs as best they could.

Ally, laid up on his stretcher, was merely there for moral support.

The other Jessips _had_ been helping out earlier, but Sarah didn't know where they were now.

Zashiirii and N'Dora aided the infected, as well.

Natiis, the oldest of the _hermanii_ , also contracted the strange sickness people were beginning to dub, the cave rot. She in particular had a nasty case of lesions and red bumps all over her legs, face, chest, and arms. The poor woman was literally covered in stinging/burning welts. Oh, the agony she no-doubt endured. Her heart-shaped birthmark now barely discernible from the blights she suffered.

Khariiff sat within close proximity, studiously examining the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_.

For a while, Sarah worried Anne would be among the sick. But if she had been inflicted, apparently she was still mad enough to continue eschewing.

But, no. Anne wouldn't be that stupid. No amount of anger could hold fast among such a mysterious plague. No. If Anne _were_ sick, she'd be here. Simple as that. But, was she sure?

Anne disappeared simply out of spite, and then when she found it in her heart to show her face and let Sarah know she well, Anne had cut her hair. That simply infuriated Sarah because she knew Anne did it just so she could hide from her. And when Anne didn't hide, she barely said a word to her. What happened? They used to be so close. What did she do to incur such anathema?

Sandy squatted next to her husband. She brushed back his hair, felt his forehead, and said, "You look better today. How do you feel?"

Cringing, Ally replied, "Better. Stomach still pains me some. But, I reckon I'm doing better than these poor souls."

A young boy with freckles and shabby brown-hair gazed at Ally and whimpered.

"Sorry, kiddo," Ally said. "Don't worry, Doc will have ya fixed up in no time, right, Doc?"

Over yonder, Doctor, who was feeling the swollen throat glands of an elderly, native man, glanced at Ally, and said, "It is my recommendation, that until we find out what this is and how to treat it, that you don't go promising the children any miracles."

Frowning, Ally muttered, "Well, that's encouraging."

Zashiirii plopped down next to the boy Ally frightened. She combed her fingers through his hair, and said, "Don't worry, _easta_. I'll take care of you."

Sarah wet a rag and dabbed a native girl's grimy forehead. The girl coughed in her face and a wave of panic coursed through her despite Doctor's assurances.

"A kid coughed in my face, too," 'Ro said.

She turned toward the sound of his voice. He stood over her, but not in a menacing way. Thumbs hooked in his buckle, hips slightly cocked, he adjusted his hat, and drawled, "And look at me, I'm fitter'n a fiddler."

"I believe the expression is, fit as a fiddle." Suddenly she became aware that her heart was gamboling in her chest, and she was smiling. But, she didn't know why.

He retuned her smile with a handsome smirk, and said, "Guess ya learn something new every day."

Ally said, "What's up bro?"

"Just checkin' in on y'all," he replied.

Ally said, "I'm hanging in there." Squeezing Sandy's hand, he gazed into her blue-eyes, and amended, "We all are."

They kissed, and then Sandy asked 'Ro, "Where's the others."

"Busy elsewhere."

Gape narrowed, slightly pouting, Sandy asked, "It doesn't have anything to do with Fedic, does it?"

Brow cocked, Ally added, "Yeah, thought y'all was gonna sort that out. What happened?"

'Ro cleared his throat, and said, "Well, I should really be headin' back. Sandy, take care of my bro."

Sandy sneered, "No problem, nice of you to drop by."

'Ro tipped his hat to Sarah, and said, "Good to see ya."

Blushing, her heart all a-flutter, she replied, "T'was good to be seen."

Khariiff, who sat bent over the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ , toppled forward, face-first.

Sarah raced to his side, and helped him to a sit.

Khariiff coughed hoarsely. Phlegm rattling in his chest, he gasped for air in between coughs. His wrinkly skin felt hot, flushed, and soaked with perspiration. He clutched at his chest; writhing and heaving until he choked up blood.

Sarah nodded toward the stone dish she'd been using, and cried, "Quickly, someone fetch me that bowl of water, please."

'Ro retrieved it and brought it to Sarah.

She dabbed Khariiff's head with the rag.

Sandy hovered over them, produced a canteen, and unscrewed the top.

From over yonder, Ally asked, "Uh, you're not really gonna let him drink from that, are ya?"

"Hush, hon," Sandy said, and Ally indeed hushed.

The angry, green pinch of jealousy attacked Sarah. Oh, how she wanted a man of her own. The closest she had come was Rome. And he was no man, at all.

'Ro supported Khariiff's head, while Sandy brought the canteen above his lips and poured a small rivulet into his trembling mouth.

He coughed, spewing water.

Sarah and Sandy reared out of the way to avoid being spritzed in the face.

Khariiff weakly mumbled something over and over again, " _El'sta volverii. El'sta volverii por mi. D'el extranii en blancii. El'sta volverii por mi._ "

Sandy quavered, "What's he saying?"

Sarah shrugged. For all the months she'd spent in Al'ber Que, she'd hadn't picked up more than a phrase or two of their foreign dialect.

'Ro said, "Maybe he's just prayin' or something."

"No." Cough. Cough. Natiis shuffled toward them. Her black-hair fell in tangled tuffs from beneath her crumpled shawl. Wrinkles, dark rings, and crow's feet were the only natural features remaining on her blotched, pallid face. She coughed wetly into her hand, and said, "He says, he's coming for him."

"Who's coming for him?" asked Sarah.

Natiis replied, "The stranger in white."

Trembling, Khariiff clutched Sarah's shoulders.

A wave of panic coursed through her yet again, but she steadied it. No-doubt, if this mysterious plague was indeed contagious, she already had it.

Gape wide and spangled with panic, Khariiff pulled her closer. And in perfect English, he said, "I must speak with Troll -- now."

****

Anne crouched hidden in the shadows, keeping a close watch on Byron, who also sat in isolation; dwelling in darkness.

Troll was counting on her to make sure Byron indeed sane. He didn't talk to the gloom. He didn't giggle and clap, or dance in place. He seemed fine. But Anne knew better.

What if Byron descended back into madness? Would Troll put him back under hypnosis? Or would 'Ro suggest murdering him? And if so, would Troll object, or would he simply leave it in the hands of the Jessips to sort out?

"I know ye are there," Byron said. "I _do_ have my senses back, ye know."

She murmured, "We'll see."

Byron coughed wetly, spewing back sludge. He said, "Ye might as well come out of hiding."

She stepped out of the shadows and stood before him.

He smiled, exposing rotting teeth, and said, "Hello, Anne."

"Byron."

"It's been a long time."

"Indeed, it has.'

He patted the ground, and said, "Come, sit with me. I will not harm ye. In fact, at this point, I'd think it more likely ye'd harm _me_."

Perhaps Byron truly was sane. For now.

Hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger, Anne sat down next to him, and reclined against the tunnel wall.

A long, terse moment of silence elapsed.

She asked, "What has happened to ye?"

"The same that has happed to ye, I expect."

She snorted, "Nothing's happened to me. I'm not the one who's gone batty."

He gazed at her and his beady eyes glimmered in the diminutive light. Face unreadable, he asked, "Are ye sure?"

"Aye."

But was she sure? She still couldn't remember most of what happened to her during her tenure in the mines. Was there something she was blocking out? Did Byron know something she didn't? No. Preposterous. How could he? She never saw Byron until the Dog called out the Swee... _him_.

Thumbing the hilt of her blade, she asked, "How did ye get here?"

Byron told her his tale of staying in Silverdale when he _knew_ he should have left with them. He recounted his arduous trek through the desert. Chained to the boxcar. Their fellow town's men melting away before his weary eyes.

Anne relayed her adventures of escaping enslavement, joining the Jessip gang, Al'ber Que and the ten-an-a-half-months before Troll and Star's arrival. Their reunion.

Byron scratched his long, gnarled beard. Gaze spangled with rumination, he sighed, and said, "I remember standing there alone, chained to the boxcar, having no idea where I was. Having no idea if I were dead or alive. Just standing there, ye know, for an eternity. And then the soldiers came and took me down into the mines. And then I knew I was in Hell. And I'm still here. There was that one brief moment when Dog killed... _him_. And then Troll came and rescued us. We were out. We survived. But, then we came back down here. And _he's_ not dead. It just goes on and on."

"What are ye saying?"

"I'm saying, I don't think we survived Al'ber Que, Silverdale, or any of it. I think it all ended that final night in Silverdale." Blistered lips trembling, he quavered, "I think this _is_ Hell. And we're all here, because we're dead."

****

"It's a trap!" Star yelled as the ground beneath them gave way. She and the Dog plummeted into a wide chasm of hard ice about eight-feet deep. A slab of rock slid over her foot, pinning her ankle in a very uncomfortable position.

Less than two hours (best as she could wager), after the bargs attacked, things began to look up. Literally. The wind blew much stronger at this elevation. Above, the sky appeared crystal-blue with whisks of clouds whizzing past. The drifting snow shone white and brilliant as ever.

She squinted so tightly her eyes were nearly closed. The throbbing in her head incipiently blossomed into a constant and angry migraine.

Colder up here, and no matter what she did she just couldn't get warm.

On the other hand, Dog, as always, appeared unfettered by the weather.

No sign of the bargs, but she knew they were out there -- somewhere. Plotting their next attack. Moreover, she knew it only a matter of time before the Dog inquired into her knowledge of the bargs.

An amalgamation of anxiety and nausea swirled within her, 'though she skipped breakfast. She gulped a few long swallows from her canteen before realizing it should have been frozen. The cool water soothed her stomach and eased the pain racking at her bones. Why wasn't it frozen?

After nearly an hour of trekking, she heard a crackling sound beneath her. The ground quaked and then gave way. "Ah! My leg!" she yelled. Hot searing pain arched up and down the extremity. "It's a trap! Those fucking bargs dug us a trap!"

Dog pried the slab away, grabbed Star, and bounded out of the chasm.

Growling and whinnying laughs. The bargs emerged from the snow; surrounding them. A barg pounced. Dog thrust her aside. The barg crashed into the Dog and they both tumbled back down into the pit.

Star reached for her shotgun. A barg bit her on the back of the ankle that had been pinned, and pulled her foot out from under her. She flounced face-first into the snow. The barg drug her backward. She clawed at the snow, trying to crawl away. Another barg sank its fangs into her other ankle. Their teeth piercing through her flesh was worse than a million brandings. She wailed out in agony.

Blam-blam.

The bargs dropped her.

Blam-blam-blam-blam.

The Dog stood at the edge of the crevice, firing rounds off the sniper rifle.

The bargs yelped and scattered.

The barg in the pit poked its head out. Slashing and snapping at the Dog. Dog whirled the gun around and cracked the barg in the head with the butt.

The bargs reformed, circling them as they stood back-to-back.

She waffled on her injured ankles but the Dog steadied her. A barg plowed into them from behind and they were sent flying. The barg whinnied in laughter. Star aimed a shooter at the barg. It opened its maw and clamped down on her wrist. She fired into the snow. The barg rocked its head violently, fracturing the joint with an audible _snap._

Gauntlet unsheathed, the Dog slammed into the barg attacking Star, ramming it to the side. He grasped her by the shoulder and hauled her to her feet. She tottered backward, but the Dog caught her.

The bargs regenerated and circled them.

The lead barg slouched through the snow. Many dead-black eyes glared at them. Rivulets of saliva ran down its rotting elongated teeth. Its long, black tongue wagged in anticipation.

The encircling creatures released a sort of whinnying laugh.

This felt familiar.

She remembered a story Troll once told her about his earlier adventures with the Dog; about a dark and stormy night and demon spiders with their many dead-eyes. Lightning saved them that night. Would it today? Highly unlikely.

But just then, a proverbial bolt struck her brains. "I got an idea," she said, rooting through a cloak pocket with her good hand. She didn't usually carry things in her cloak pocket. Then again, until recently, she never owned such a garb. But when she did, she soon realized carrying a thing or two within a coat pocket supplied easier access than a knapsack upon her back \-- Especially in these kinds of scenarios.

The alpha barg crept closer, savoring the moment. The others tightened their perimeter.

She worked her fingers inside the pocket, and fumbled with the cincture.

Mere feet away, the lead barg sat upon its haunches. Panting. Growling. Drooling.

The other bargs stilled and sat as well.

She managed to squeeze a pinch of granules out of the pouch still in her pocket.

The breeze blew. All seemed still. And then even the wind ceased.

"Dog, don't look." She shut her eyes and thrust the flash-powder into the snow.

Fwoom

Even behind the blackness of closed eyelids, she saw the brilliant flash of light.

Yelping. Baying. Howling. The bargs staggered backward through the snow before scampering off.

Waffling to the ground, she groaned, "My legs. Dog, they got me." She sat up and gazed at the bleeding wounds punctured into her boots. The searing pain slithered up her veins and into her heart, as if poisoned.

Dog held his canteen out to her, and said, "Drink."

She batted the receptacle away, and snarled, "No, Dog. That's not gonna do anything. I need some serious medical attention here."

"Drink."

"Why, Dog? Why do you want me to drink? Tell me why I should drink and maybe I'll consider it."

The Dog stared at her with big, brown, puppy-eyes and whined.

Rolling her eyes, she grumbled, "Asshole." She snatched the canteen and shook it. "Big surprise, yours ain't frozen either. Why is that, huh?" She unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow. A tingling sensation radiated around her wounds. The bleeding stopped and the pain replaced by an itchy feeling. She stood. "What the hell, Dog!" Disgusted, she thrust the canteen to the ground. "What the hell have you been doing to me?"

The Dog cast his gaze to the snow.

"Stop that! Just tell me what's happening to me!"

The Dog stared at her with green-grey eyes, and said, "We should move. The army is back on the march."

Foot tapping, arms crossed, she said, "Fuck that! I ain't movin' another step until you tell me what the hell is going on."

The Dog sighed, and said, "Tonight, when we camp, I'll tell you everything. I promise."

"You _swear_?"

"Yes, but we can't stay here."

An exhilarated buzz coursed through her like the one she experienced when she'd imbibed the Dog's blood after successfully resuscitating him. That had to be what he was dosing her with. She just knew it. But why wouldn't he admit it. What did he have to gain from keeping _anything_ from her? Well, tonight she would find out. Even if the Dog broke his promise and remained mute, she would _make_ him talk. But for now, she felt good. _Real_ good. And they had miles to tread.

****

They were walking again.

The fatigue Troll once endured now replaced with a cold, hollow fear.

All seemed quiet. _Too_ quiet.

It started out of nowhere. A child's voice crooned but did not reverberate off the tunnel walls.

Then all the refuges caroled a song they'd never heard before.

Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man

Come and catch us if you can

Trick for treats, smell our feet

Give you something good to eat

Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man...

Then the lanterns went out, as did Troll's torch/staff.

People cringed and cried.

No screaming. Not yet. That came later.

The only question was how did he know that?

How did he know the slaves never heard the song before?

But wait, that wasn't right. They weren't slaves. Or were they?

A faint blue-light burgeoned from some unknown source, and Troll could see.

_He_ wanted him to see.

Meat-doll children shambled out of the darkness, singing,

Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man...

The children fell upon the mob, tearing teeth and ragged claws into supple flesh.

Men, women, and children scrambled and skirled.

No escape.

And then _he_ came. His thunderous footsteps quaked across the land. Madgellaine, the Sweetie-man, emerged from the shadows.

People shrieked.

Madgellaine stormed toward Troll.

Troll froze, muscles petrified.

There was nothing he could do. And he knew it.

Madgellaine knocked people out of his way, snatching others up in its many arms, taking large, hearty bites out of refugees; ripping them in two. Madgellaine closed in on Troll.

He wanted to fight, to flee, to pray -- something. But, he couldn't.

And as Madgellaine closed in, his large, bulbous, and segmented body immersed in shadow. Only glistening-white rows of razor-sharp teeth and many red, narrowed eyes were visible.

Madgellaine grasped Troll, squeezing the life out of him as it tightened its taloned grip.

Troll opened his mouth to scream.

Instead, he awoke.

He sat bolt-right, shivering in cold sweat. His heart raced wildly and the pain in his shoulder returned with a vengeance. Breathing heavily, almost panting, his thoughts turned to his fallen friend and the current where abouts of his love.

Anne asked, "Ye all right?" She and Diego Jr. stood over him. Their collective brows furrowed; thin lips tight.

Troll cleared his throat, and replied, "Yes, quite."

"Sounded like ye were having some kinda nightmare."

"I don't remember," he lied. "What is it, why have ye woken me? Is it time to continue the march?"

"No, Sirii sent for ye."

Rubbing his scar, he asked, "To what end?"

"She didn't say, only that she sent for ye."

"Is it urgent?"

Shrugging, she asked, "Isn't everything down here?"

Diego Jr. nodded in concurrence. Dirt and dust fluttered down from his curly black-hair, like ashy dandruff.

Anne offered her hand to Troll, and said, "C'mon, we'll take ye to her."

He expected that big, beaming smile, but a serious look plastered her young, soiled face.

He quickly wrapped and lit a new torch/staff. This time, no articles or effects fell out of his cloak when ripping the swatch, for he held all that he intended on keeping within a higher cloak pocket. He pried himself to his feet via his torch/staff. He took Anne's hand, and she in turn took Diego Jr.'s.

They didn't speak as they strolled through the camp. Very little to say.

The exiles coughed, sneezed, moaned, and caterwauled. If they weren't all sick yet, they would be soon.

Anne and Diego Jr. ushered Troll to the perimeter of where the valetudinarians were being treated. Then they too trotted off.

Probably so Anne could continue her vigil over Byron.

Hands kneading hem, Sarah minced toward him. She appeared paler and skinnier, cachectic. Dark rings hung from her eyes. Like those found within the bark of a tree, each ring marked an eon endured down here in the gloom.

"Report."

She cleared her throat, and said, "More are sick, healthy men and women. Although I suppose that means they're not healthy now. The children who seemed to recover are still fine. We lost Natiis. She died peacefully in her sleep. Byron's still hanging around, and he seems quite sane."

"What of Montalvo?"

"Keeping to himself. But, he hasn't gone mad or anything if that's what ye'r asking."

A harsh hacking rose above the other coughs and sneezes.

Troll asked, "Is that Khariiff?"

Frowning, she nodded and escorted him toward the frail watcher.

Sirii knelt beside her father and gripped his trembling hand. She appeared slightly cadaverous, as well.

Khariiff smiled and his face folded into leathery creases. He said something and Sirii laughed.

Troll asked, "What did he say?"

Sirii translated, "He says, you look like the old man he _used_ to be."

"Old man?"

She ran her lithe, diligent fingers in Troll's long hair, and said, "You are greying at a rapid rate. The hair around your ears has turned a ghastly white."

"Gone white?"

"And a good many more wrinkles, as well," Sarah chimed.

"I beg ye'r pardon?"

Gaze averted, Sarah released an awkward chuckle, and said, "Sorry, I noticed it when ye first returned with Byron. I just hadn't the heart to tell ye."

Chest convulsing, extremities quivering, Khariiff coughed violently. His face and exposed skin covered in hard, flat brown-spots and small, red dots. He coughed up blood and spoke.

Sirii translated, "He says he is glad to see you once more before he walks alongside the Blessed Mother."

"It is my greatest privilege and most devout honor to see a friend off," Troll replied. "Such courtesies are seldom presented in these dire times."

Khariiff gasped and spoke.

Once again, Sirii translated, "He says he's sorry. But, he could not read the texts."

"Do not fret, my friend." He took Khariiff's hands, and said, "T'was not to be, I'm afraid."

A child cried close-by.

Sarah said, "Excuse me." She curtseyed, and minced off to attend to the youth.

Khariiff spoke. Spitting blood, he erupted in a hoarse coughing.

Sirii wiped the crimson spittle from his lips. Her bottom lip quivered and she craned her head away in an attempt to hide the tears streaming down her face.

Hands trembling, Khariiff handed Sirii the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ , and spoke in the language of his foremothers.

"He says he's leaving the texts in my care, now." She sniffled, and wiped her nose with the back of a hand. "Little good they'll do," she amended.

Troll rested a hand on her shoulder, and soothed, "Take heart, child."

Khariiff erupted in another spasm of harsh coughs and bloody expectorations. Gasping, he leaned toward his daughter and said something.

Sirii's head tilted slightly in a sudden jerk, lips puckered tight, pencil-drawn eyebrows furrowed. "He asks for a word in private."

Troll nodded.

Sirii rose. Head bent, she lingered there a moment, as if searching for something more to say. She rested a hand on Troll's shoulder.

Troll covered his hand over hers.

She said, "If he should..." her voice broke, quavering as tears ran down her dirt-smeared face in thin rivulets.

"Ye shall be alerted to any change in his condition. Immediately."

Sirii glanced at her father. She smiled, nodded, and then plodded off, head down, holding herself, attempting to conceal her lacrimation.

Khariiff motioned for Troll to lean in close.

He did.

Khariiff's breath stank of sickness, rotten teeth, and coagulating blood. "Do you remember seeing the stranger?" he asked in barely a broken whisper.

"Aye."

"This is his doing." Khariiff's voice grew fainter, more distant.

"What do ye mean?" Troll drew closer despite the high-watcher's horrid breath.

"The deal I made. I got what I wanted, after all. After all these years. I finally got it."

"Got what?"

Khariiff exploded in another gargled coughs of blood.

Troll ducked out of the splatter-zone.

Khariiff's breathing escalated, nigh on hyperventilating. His gape grew wide and wild. With quivering fists he clutched onto Troll's shirt, drew him close, and said, "The death I deserve."

Troll shook Khariiff's shoulders, and said, "No man deserves a death down here."

Khariiff coughed again. His head lolled back. "I do," he gasped. "The deal I made. I do. His doing."

Troll shook him more forcibly, and said, "No, this is not _his_ doing."

Khariiff's shivering muscles stilled. Back straight, he sat up and stared directly into Troll's eyes.

The most lucid Troll had ever seen him.

Khariiff reached down into his pantaloons and rooted around.

Perhaps not _so_ lucid.

"No," Khariiff said in a clear, enunciated tongue. "You are right, _easta._ This is not the stranger's fault. It is mine." He yanked his fist out of his pants. Clutching a straight razor, he slit his own throat right before Troll's eyes.

Sirii screamed, as did several others.

"Give me that, ye fool!" Troll wrestled to pry the razor from Khariiff's grip, but all was slick with crimson. He pressed his hand over the gushing cut. Hot blood spurted and seeped through the cracks between his fingers.

People cried and screamed.

"Help me!" Troll roared.

Sirii and Sarah rushed to the aid.

Zashiirii and N'Dora scrambled to settle the children.

"My, Goddess," Sirii gasped, crying, and smothering a rag over his laceration, "what have ye done?"

Khariiff's gaze grew impossibly wide. He smiled and gargled in laughter.

"Help me!" Troll cried. "Help me!"

Through tears and snot, Sirii shrieked, "I'm trying!"

"Help me! Help me! Help me!"

Sarah quavered, "Tell us what to do."

"Help me! God, why won't ye help me?"

And then Khariiff died in their collective arms. He couldn't have looked happier.

****

Mia spotted 'Ro coming and trotted toward him to intercept. Hickey and Fedic draggled behind. She asked, "So, did you tell him?"

Anger flared within 'Ro, but he steadied it. "No," he replied. "I tried telling him earlier, but he wouldn't hear it."

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and asked "Earlier? Where were ya just now?"

'Ro replied, "Just checkin' in on Ally. He's fine by the way."

Nose slightly wrinkled, Mia brushed back her bangs, and said, "Well, you're gonna have to tell him soon."

"Tell who what?" Sandy sauntered toward them.

'Ro combed his fingers through his hair and adjusted his hat. "Nothing," he said, "I was just tryin' to tell Troll something. But, it's not important, so don't worry."

He was worried enough for the both of them. He just couldn't stop seeing it; that cadaverous child with dead, cataract-blue eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth dribbling black saliva. Nothing particularly vile happened. Yet. But he knew that whatever occurred back there was only a precursor. Something really, really bad was about to happen. He just knew it.

Hickey kept scanning the ubiquitous gloom. His hands hovered over holstered grips.

Arms crossed, Sandy said, "Well, if you get a chance to talk to Troll, I'd like to know what the hell happened to Seth and Xaza."

Fedic rubbed the back of his neck, and muttered, "I don't."

Brow cocked, she asked 'Ro, "So, what, is Futnick like, part of our gang now?"

"Not entirely."

Gape wide and spangled with terror, Fedic quavered, "What? Why not?"

'Ro ignored him, and asked Sandy, "Anything else I can help ya with?"

She sauntered closer. Glowering, she asked, "What's goin' on?"

"How do ya mean?"

But he knew exactly what she meant. Sandy was referring to when 'Ro, Mia, and Hickey left with Fedic (with the intentions of murdering him), only to return with him safe and sound.

Her face curled up in an awkward half-smile. She said, "Look, Ally and I both know something happened, so spill."

'Ro sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and replied, "I would if I knew what the hell happened."

"What do ya mean? Ya don't know what happened when you three took off with Fedic?"

Gaze trained on the dark, Hickey expectorated tobacco juice, wiped the drizzle from his square-shaped chin, and replied, "It's complicated."

Sandy snorted, "Complicated my ass. When ya guys came back, ya'll were shaking and as white as ghosts. Something scared the green-hell out of ya'll and if we're in danger, then ya need to say so right here and now."

'Ro pondered over Ally's wound. How long before he could walk again? Run?

Over by the sick bay, children screamed.

Terror coursed down 'Ro spine and radiated out through his bones. He and Mia sprinted toward the scene.

"'Ro, wait!" Sandy called after him, but for whatever reason, she didn't dare follow.

Sarah and the _hermanii_ shuffled children away.

Sirii wailed, holding her father's corpse in her trembling arms.

Troll sat on the ground. Covered in blood. Face pale, gaze distant.

Mia asked, "What the fuck happened?"

'Ro nudged her shoulder, nodded toward the bloody straight-razor in Khariiff's grip, and whispered, "Looks like he decided to check out early."

"Maybe you should try talking to Troll again," she whispered back.

"Are you crazy? Do ya really think _now_ is the best time?"

She peered into his eyes, and said, "I don't think there's gonna be any good time for anything from here on out."

'Ro nodded. Of course, she was right.

He crept toward Troll. He was _about_ to tap Troll's shoulder, but then thought better of it. He hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and said, "Uh, Troll, can I talk to ya for a moment?"

Grunting, Troll pried himself to his feet via his torch/staff. Shuffling away, he uttered, "Not now, perhaps later."

'Ro cleared his throat, and said, "Well, it's kind of important."

Pivoting, Troll snarled, "I said, not now." Then he hobbled off.

All was silent except for Sirii's sobbing and the blubbering of children.

Franz and Diego Sr. ambled toward 'Ro and Mia.

Diego asked, "What happened?"

'Ro replied, "The ol' man killed himself."

"I see you tried to tell Troll something, _easta_."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't hear it. I think Troll's starting to come un-wound."

Diego said "We too had something to tell Troll."

'Ro sneered, "Well, good luck with that."

"What is it?" Mia asked. "Maybe when things settle down, 'Ro and I can give him a full report."

Franz ran his fingers down his goatee, and said, "Some of the refugees have gone missing."

'Ro's bowels felt like they sank in quicksand.

Mia's mouth hung agape, skin pallid.

'Ro asked, "How many?"

"Enough to make people uneasy," Diego replied.

A long, terse moment of silence elapsed.

Franz asked, "So, you will tell Troll?"

"Yeah," 'Ro replied. "Sure."

Franz and Diego nodded.

Franz said, "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to get back and make sure people don't start panicking." Then he and Diego took their leave.

Mia snaked her arm through 'Ro's. He took her hand. She gazed up at him, and said, "We're fucked."

****

Shivering, Star said, "Okay, so spill."

He'd been dreading this since earlier.

Dog took advantage of her rejuvenation. With his blood in her system, they bounded up the peak of the summit and partway down the opposing couloir before the side effects began to wear off.

The sky faded from grey to a pink-orangish hue as the sun fell fast over the mountainous horizon.

No campfire. The wind and snow were too strong up here.

Dog found a small nook among the mountainside that protected them from three sides. Star sat in the snow, munching on MRE while the Dog dug a small dimple in the snow. He covered the hole with a couple tent poles and the tent, but didn't actually set it up. Rather, he built a fox-hole. When done, he covered the hidey-hole with snow, camouflaging it.

The two crawled inside and waited.

Later now. Full dark. No stars. Only snow and the howling wind.

Dog lay on his stomach, peering through the scope of a sniper rifle.

Star lay next to him. She asked, "You've been dosing me with your blood, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Since the explosion that buried Al'ber Que."

"Why? What was it?"

What possible good could come from this? On the other hand, what was there to attain by keeping secrets.

Reluctantly, the Dog replied, "An atomic bomb. When it blew up it spread radiation over the land. I hoped we were far enough away when it happened, but the wind carried it."

Brow cocked, she asked, "That's why you and the army wanted to stay up-wind?"

"Yes."

Cough. Cough. Sniffle. "So, what happened?"

"This radiation made you sick. You know it as the king's disease, or the melting sickness. Back in the old days it was called radiation poisoning. It was treatable -- back then. But you were hit pretty hard, six grays, at least."

Teeth chattering _scrickity-scrack_ , she asked, "Six, what?"

"A gray is a calculated dose of radiation, not to be confused with a rad."

Emerald gape narrowed, mouth slightly ajar, she worked her hands open and close.

Dog continued, "So, anyway, you'd be dead by now if I hadn't been dosing you."

She sneered, "Okay, if your blood heals my wounds, how come I've still got this radiation disease?"

"My blood heals your wounds because you ingest it. But, the radiation spread throughout your entire body. It's in your blood. You tissue. Your organs. Every cell of your body. In order for my blood to cure you it would have to be done intravenously."

"You mean, through my veins?"

"Yes. Somehow we'd have to connect our veins until all the poison was cycled out of your body."

Rolling her eyes, she snorted, "That's fucking impossible."

"Actually, it was a very simple procedure in the old world. It still is. We just need the right equipment."

"Okay, how do we get it?"

Never relinquishing his watchful senses, the Dog gazed into her eyes, and said, "I don't know if such things are even still around."

Cough. Cough. Wheeze. "And I'm guessing that if they are, then the king would have 'em."

"Probably."

She grumbled, "Probably not a good idea to try." Cough. "I'm not certain I'd be willing to even if I knew they _did_ have it."

The keening wind demanded the Dog's attention. He reached out with his senses. No bargs. Not yet.

She asked, "So, why didn't you tell me about this? I asked you flat-out if you'd been feeding me your blood and you said, no. Why?"

"I was afraid of what you would say."

"What do you mean?"

"Because I couldn't cure you, I had to dose you. But, feeding a human my blood can have serious side effects. It increases a person's strength, agility, senses, and abilities."

Cough. Hack. Cough. "Got that right." The wind bayed and she shuddered, _a-rickity-scrackity._

The Dog was about to whine when he stifled it. Not because she'd no-doubt lash out, yelling, "Damnit, Dog, just tell me what you know!" He didn't whine because just then, in that moment, he'd forgotten the vow he'd sworn to serve the remainder of his immortality as an animal. In that instant he saw Beth's face. Almost. The image was hazy, like gazing into a steamy mirror.

" _Got that right!"_ Except Beth was smiling. And it was warm and sunny. In a field somewhere.

The gusting wind drove waves of fresh powder into the foxhole

Shivering, Star drew the furs blanketing her tighter, and said, "So, tell me more about these side effects."

The Dog hitched the rifle taut to his shoulder and peered through the scope. He didn't need to. At that moment, he just couldn't meet her gaze. "Sometimes it can also affect a person's personality. Making them angry, violent, or psychotic. The affects can become permanent if the treatments are prolonged."

"Seriously? Psychotic?"

The Dog shrugged, "Sometimes."

"What d'ya mean sometimes?"

"As in, not always."

"But, I only felt _weird_ twice. The first time was when I slit my wrists to save you. The second was today. How come I never had increased abilities or instantly healed before?"

"I was only giving you very small doses at first. But the more I give you, the more it will take next time to create the same effect."

"Kinda like a whiskey-tolerance?"

"Right. And like whiskey, a human can become addicted to my blood."

"I don't get what that has to do with why you lied to me."

Dog gazed into her eyes, and said, "I was afraid you'd ask me to stop, or that you'd like it and get addicted."

"And you couldn't stop either way, because I would die."

"Yes."

"So, you've been putting drops of your blood in my canteen?"

"I also put it in the food I made you."

"You mean, the stew? What else?"

"In your mouth when you're sleeping."

"But wait, you spiked my canteen. Today, after the bargs bit me, I drank from your canteen and the effects were far more intense."

"My blood wasn't working as well on you as before. I had to up your dosage."

"You were gonna switch my canteen with yours?"

"Yes. It's a good thing I didn't. I put too much in."

Bottom lip protruding, she sneered, "Ya think?"

"Sorry."

A long, terse silence elapsed.

The wind blew, carrying the bays of the bargs.

Dog readied his sniper rifle.

Working her hands open and closed, she asked, "They're coming, aren't they?"

Gazing through the scope, the Dog asked, "What are they?"

"Bargs," she snarled. Cough. Cough. Shivering, teeth chattering, she said, "It was my Grandmere who first told me about bargs. I remember she said she saw one once when she was a girl. It was in the garden, hiding...just hiding...waiting..." she trailed off into silence.

The Dog whined lowly.

She shuddered violently. Her teeth grated together and sang, " _scrickity-rickity-rack._ "

The mountain wall blocked most of the wind, and they were beneath ground level, and their combined body heat trapped within such small quarters kept the foxhole rather warm. Yet, still she couldn't seem to warm her bones. Either that or her memories were the cause for her shakes.

She continued, "I remember my Grandmere used to tell me and Mikhail all about bargs. She was the one who really believed. I guess my mother did too. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. My Grandmere, she used to tell us such tall tales that scared the bejeezus out of us. And still we'd come back, begging for more. Yeah, she used to tell the greatest stories. But not my mother. She didn't much care for story-telling, 'specially when it came to bargs. My mother would just roll her eyes and sigh every time Grandmere got to telling tall-tales. I used to think it was because my mother saw it as nothing more than mere foolishness. Something folks just tell their kids to get a good scare out of 'em. And she didn't have time for that. I can still see that look in her eyes, on her face. I didn't recognize that face then, but I sure as hell know it now. She knew. All those scary beasties folken tell their youngins. Demons. Vampires. Bargs. That shit's all real. And she knew it. She knew it all along."

Howls and baying rose above the keening wind.

They were coming.

The Dog closed his eyes and reached out with his senses.

A subtle, crisp crunching noise and then thumping of paws through snow.

Panting. Growling. Grunting.

They moved fast. Gaining on their location. Still, they had a few minutes. And that was the worst part. The waiting.

Star continued, "Grandmere said, one time, when she was a child, she was in her mother's garden. The very same garden Mikhail and I had been picking turnips in the day we heard about..." Shuddering, she trailed off a moment. Cough. Cough. "Anyway, she was in the garden with her three sisters and brother, Jorge, the youngest. Grandmere saw it first. Just lying in the grass outside the garden. She said it was the eyes. That's it, that's all she saw -- at first. Those dead-black eyes, like polished coal. It stood on its quarters. Grandmere said it looked like a wolf, but larger. Bigger snout. More teeth. It was covered in a heavy, matted coat that looked like grass. Underneath it, you know, down 'round its belly and legs, she said it looked like crumbling dirt. Worms wriggling n' all."

A lonesome howl rose above the roaring wind.

Star didn't seem to notice. Her gaze glazed over like she was back in her grandmother's garden.

She continued, "It jumped out and snatched Jorge up in its mouth. Carried him off. The children just stood there screaming, pissin' themselves, least, that's the way Grandmere told it. They just stood there screaming. Not knowing what to do until their mother, my great Grandmere, came out to see what was what. Grandmere told her mother what happened. Her mother said, Jorge? Who's Jorge? When my Grandmere's father came home from fishing that night, he claimed he didn't remember any Jorge, either. After a while, my grandparents convinced their children that there never was a Jorge. That they never had a brother. After a while, the children accepted it as truth. But not my Grandmere, as oldest, she remembered what really happened. She _always_ remembered."

Head tilted, Dog gazed at her.

She met his gape, smirked, and said, "According to legend, or, my Grandmere, of that I could never tell, bargs are savage beasts sent from deep within the bowls of the Earth. They say sometimes, a child is born that ain't supposed to. Or, sometimes a person walks away from death when they should have died. And when that happens, a barg is summoned to collect, and bring those people who are _supposed_ to be dead back to the underworld. Today was the first time I've ever seen a barg, let alone five of 'em."

The Dog asked, "Are you saying these things are hunting us because we should be dead?"

She shrugged, and chuckled, "Wouldn't that be something?" Cough. Cough. Hack. Wheeze. She spat.

The salty aroma of blood melting packed snow blossomed within the Dog's sinuses, causing his adrenaline to spike.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, and said, "Anyway, I didn't recognize 'em as bargs 'cause they didn't look like mud and grass. But when they slid off the cliff and I got a closer look at 'em, then I remembered something my Grandmere told me; bargs blend in with their surroundings. I don't know why, but it just...sort'a...popped into my head, you know?"

Growling and grunting. Elongated legs slouched through the snow.

Dog scanned the horizon through the rifle's scope. Even with the night-vision on (the king possessed such wonderful toys), he saw nothing but snow gently falling upon the drifting piles of white (or in this case, green).

Dog reached out with his senses. He _felt_ the bargs out there, lurking about, coordinating their attack. He should be able to see them through the scope. But no. Nothing.

"Careful, Grandmere said, bargs are wicked clever and awful good problem solvers."

Dog snorted. _He_ was an awful good problem solver too.

Huffing. Sniffing. Snarling.

Dog scanned the area again. Nothing. But, his senses told him otherwise. He asked, "Grandmere say how to kill a barg?"

She sneered, "You _can't_ kill a barg. Let alone a pack."

Dog growled lowly.

The soft crunching of snow and snarling drew nearer.

The scope still showed nothing.

The Dog whispered, "I can't see them."

"Well, yeah." Cough. Cough. Hack. Spit. "That's the point. You ain't supposed to see 'em until they attack."

The Dog turned the scope off, closed his eyes, and hunted with his senses. He locked-in on the closest barg; aiming the barrel at the beast. Growling, the barg skittered away.

The trampling of paws receded beneath the wailing winds.

Dog lowered the rifle, but not his guard.

Shivering, teeth chattering, she asked, "What happened?"

"I think I scared them off."

Star laughed so hard she snorted, coughed, and then sneezed a few times.

Dog groaned.

"Sorry." Cough. Cough. "I wasn't laughing at you. Just the situation. But they're not gone. I'd bet me life on it. They probably just realized we got ourselves boxed in a secure location and scurried away to figure out another way to get at us."

The wind howled.

They waited in silence, listening for the faintest of sounds.

Teeth chattering, Star shivered and shook. Face scrunched, she asked, "How long would I live if I stopped taking your blood?"

"Why?"

"Humor me. If I was to stop right now, how long would I have? Would I make it over the mountains? Back to Krin? To Troll?"

"Couple weeks, maybe less. Maybe more. Hard to say. If you quit cold turkey your symptoms may return more severely, you might deteriorate more rapidly. It would probably be best to taper off the dosing's. But, there's also the army and the bargs to consider. The bargs especially, they just keep attacking, and will probably continue to. You'll need all the strength you can get."

"Maybe so." She sighed deeply and gazed out at the drifting piles of snow.

Dog's stomach tied in knots of anticipation as he awaited her reply to all he had divulged.

"Dog," she said. "I want you to stop dosing me, completely, and right now."

What? No! He couldn't do that.

"I know what you're thinking, but I need to fight this thing on my own terms. Whatever happens, understand?"

Dog weighed his options.

" _Understand_?"

"Yes," he replied.

She coughed wetly into her hand.

Dog whined lowly; it was starting already.

She stared at the blood in her gloved palm. She gazed up at him, and said, "As Troll would say, it's in God's hands now."

They lay there quiet for a long time; until Star fell asleep and chortled loudly.

Still, no signs of the bargs. If they're plan was to eat away at the Dog's nerves then the bargs were clever indeed.

Many hours passed. Still Dog kept watch, rifle in arm.

Moaning, Star stirred in her sleep.

Her symptoms were returning.

Dog brushed back the hair from her face and felt her forehead. No fever. Not yet. He ran a thumb down her cheek. But, it wasn't her face he saw, but Beth's.

He'd spent a dozen life-times attempting to wipe that face clear from his memory. Yet, still it haunted him. All he had to do was protect Beth, save her. But despite his best efforts, her blood was forever on his hands.

Could he save Star?

The last time only a few slack-jawed yokels came after the Dog. And he lost Beth, their unborn baby, _and_ Uncle Jim. Now, one hellion, an entire army, and five bargs pursued them. The Dog was deluding himself if he thought for one second this time would turn out any different.

Just like the bargs, those town's men took his baby before it was born, a child that would no-doubt have been an abomination.

And what about the Dog? Should he have ever been? What of Star? She should be knocking on death's door by now if not for the Dog.

Perhaps that's what drew the bargs. They'd come to collect the warrior who should, by all accounts, be dead, and the beast in the form of a man; an anathema that should never have existed at all.

What could he do? Nothing.

Oh, well. As Star or Troll would say, "It's in God's hands now."

****

Anne's voice shook Troll from the realm of slumber.

She said, "Ally suggests, given his deteriorating health, that Grey rides with 'Ro."

He awoke sluggishly, wiping the sweat and sleep from his eyes. He sat up and glanced around. Surrounded by sick exiles. Every fiber of his being ached.

Anne continued, "I ain't gonna ride with no man. I don't care if it is my son. I'm a man and I ride my own horse..."

Children giggled.

Anne sat along the tunnel wall, a flickering lantern in one hand, and the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ spread eagle in her lap.

Byron, Diego Jr., and a few other children sat around her.

Anne continued, "So, Sarah rides with 'Ro. Maybe it makes Dog a little jealous. But, then he realizes she's better off with her own kind..."

"What is that ye'r reading, Anne," Troll asked, hobbling toward them.

"The _Nou'heim-Du'tawa,_ " she replied.

"Ye can read it?"

"Of course," she chimed. "The hand writing is chicken-scratch at best, but t'is written in English all the same."

"Read me some." He settled next to Byron and the other children. He recognized Reyna and one of Diego Jr's little sisters. He nodded at Byron. Byron smiled and nodded, and Troll patted him on the back.

"Let's see," Anne replied. Tongue slightly protruding, she flipped through the crinkly pages. "Ah, here's a good one." She ruffled her short hair, cleared her throat, and read, "And after the fall of Al'ber Que, and the crushing defeat of Krin, the Wraith took the trinity upon a bluff, where Troll would decide which path to take, and which lives to save." She closed the book, peered up at Troll, and said, "See. According to this, the Dog isn't dead. At least, not yet."

He sighed, and said, "I'm afraid the texts are wrong."

Rage spangling her gape, she snarled, " _Ye'r wrong_!"

Byron and the children lurched back in fear.

In a calm tone, Troll said "I told ye, the Dog _is_ dead. I felt it. Star did too. That's why she's not down here with us, because she went after him, but it was too late. I _felt_ it in my heart, and the pain was so intense I suffered a heart attack. Is _that_ in ye'r beloved texts?"

Anne said, "Come on guys." Glaring at Troll, she amended, "Some people are just too hard-headed to talk to."

The children shuffled off.

Byron forced a chuckle, clapped, smirked, and said, "What are ye gonna do? Children, am I right?"

"Where is Montalvo?"

Byron nodded back the way they came, and said, "He went for a walk."

"How long has he been gone?"

Byron shrugged.

"Very well, I suppose I should go check on him. No one should be left alone down here." He helped Byron to his feet, and said, "Go on now, find a group."

They shook hands (though he couldn't meet Troll's gape), and then Byron took his leave.

Troll strolled through the camp and back down the tunnel. He didn't have to search too long before finding Montalvo sitting along the wall, a flickering lantern rested beside him. He hobbled toward Montalvo and sat down next to him.

They sat there in silence for a long time before Troll spoke.

"What is this new-found aggression ye'r experiencing toward me?"

Montalvo sighed, and said, "You are not the man that I remember."

Rubbing his scar, Troll asked, "How do ye mean?"

"When you came to the mountain, I said that you looked like you hadn't changed a day. And you assured me quite the contrary."

"Aye, I remember. I believe those were my words exactly. Excellent memory."

Montalvo gazed at him, and said, "You were right. Many years have passed by your eyes and it has changed your heart."

"I beg ye'r pardon."

"The choices you've made. Having us all retreat down here--"

Troll blurted, "It was the only chance we had for survival."

Nodding, Montalvo slowly exhaled through his nostrils, and said, "It's not just that. I'm also talking about preparing that blow-hard, 'Ro to be your right hand."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy? Have no fear, for I have many hands."

"That's another thing," Montalvo snorted. "The way you talk about yourself as if you were some high and mighty prophet."

Troll opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't think of anything to say.

Fists clenched, Montalvo murmured, "I can't believe I wasted all those years waiting for you. All you have led us to is death. The others just can't see it yet, but they will."

"I assure ye, others feel the same as thee."

"Why do they not speak of it, then?"

"People would panic if they knew they were doomed. Bedlam would erupt."

"Bedlam _has_ erupted!" Montalvo's gape shimmered in anger. His lips curled into a trembling snarl.

Scratching his beard, Troll replied, "I see thee doing very little to quell it, or help lead. Yet, I distinctly remember ye chastising 'Ro for not doing those very same things. Since then, 'Ro has stepped up. Where are ye?"

" _Those_ people don't want me to lead anymore then they want me around."

"What people are ye referring to? The Al'ber Quearians? The _teran-oht_ , comprised of refugees, deserters, and drifters from all over? The turn-coats, who only took on the mark of the king because they enslaved, and then had the courage to turn and fight? I pray of thee, tell me exactly which people ye are referring to?"

Montalvo glared at Troll, and said, "All of them. All of those people you mentioned. They all have some sort of comradre. A bond that unites them."

"Aye, and ye have it, as well. That bond was known as the battle of Al'ber Que. And ye were right there beside me upon the front line, fighting for a home that was not ye'rs. Do ye not see that?" He rested a hand on Montalvo's shoulder.

Montalvo shrugged it off, and said, "I see it. But, _they_ don't," he nodded down the tunnel, and toward the refugee camp.

Troll sighed heavily.

Just what was wrong with Montalvo?

Had something within him snapped, like Byron?

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and sighed once more. "Ye said, that I am not the man ye remember. But, how well do ye remember me? How well do ye know me? We knew each other ever-so briefly. Perhaps it true I'm not as ye thought I would be. But I look at thee, an old man sitting on the ground like a pouting toddler. I look at thee and I think to myself, no, I don't know this man at all, let alone remember him."

Montalvo hopped to his feet. His entire body shook, and his gape boggled with rage. His left cheek twitched. Fists trembling, his mouth worked open and closed, as if trying to find the perfect condemnation.

Troll sat, back against the wall, hands folded upon his lap.

Montalvo admonished a quavering finger. Glowering, he uttered, "You would do well to curb such insults to me. You are not invincible. Down here in the dark, anything can happen to a person. _Anything_."

Montalvo had no idea how right he was.

Montalvo grabbed his lantern and stormed up the tunnel.

Before the lantern light faded, Troll ripped a strip from his cloak, and fashioned another torch/staff. Something small and light clattered upon the cavernous ground. His pipe. He'd forgotten all about it. How long had it been since he enjoyed a good smoke? He fumbled around for his pouch of tobacco. Nothing. He felt around at his feet until his fingers brushed against the fustian fabric. Good thing he hadn't been walking. He packed the bowl and fished around his pockets for matches. Nothing. He could use his flash power, but that would alter the tobacco's rich taste. So he used his torch/staff, taking great precautions to keep his face (but more importantly, his long hair and beard), away from the small, flickering flames.

He inhaled a whooper of a hit, and his lungs ballooned with rich, astringent smoke. He spiraled into a fit of drooling coughs.

Aye, it had been a long time indeed since his last toke.

He drifted back to Reverend Lowell's porch; sitting out in the sunshine and fresh air with Brother Byron. Byron had coughed spasmodically, as well. And oh, how Troll laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Ah, those were the days.

He stuffed the tobacco pouch into an inner breast pocket. The only place he could store things without worrying they'd fall out. The back of his hand brushed against the cracked, leather bindings of his journal.

How long since he'd written in it? How long since he'd even felt the desire to?

He could write now. But no, he hadn't the spirit for it.

He prayed, dear Lord, thank ye for the little blessings we receive, however sparse they may be. I pray for all those we have lost, and all we shall lose before the end of our exodus.

He wanted to pray for more. But that pretty much summed it up. Even his faith was dwindling down here in the dark.

"The little things," he said, taking another toke. "Amen."

He sat there for some time; cerebrating, smoking. Until his thoughts interrupted by a sudden presence, as if something glaring at him with many, hungry and _angry_ eyes.

****

No doubt about it, this was a _bad_ plan. But both Star and the Dog knew the bargs wouldn't stop unless they _made_ them.

The morning started off like any other except for two key factors. First, the skies were clear and blue. Hell, it even felt a little warmer. The second difference; no bargs.

Odd, those devils should have been all over them by now. Perhaps they were setting another trap.

Star hacked up another blood-loogie. She wiped the freezing drizzle from her chapped lips, and her thoughts whisked back to the desert and coughing up dirt clods. Back then, it felt as though her throat a desiccate well. Now, it felt like her esophageal walls were ripping apart. Gasping upon the thin, mountainous air, she asked, "Can ya sense the bargs?"

"No," the Dog replied.

"Is that good?"

Brow raised, the Dog shrugged.

She opened a fresh MRE and ate sparingly.

With the wind at their backs and the sun beaming off fresh snow, traversing down the other side of the summit grew precarious. Snow-blinded, the Dog led her by the hand.

They traveled for many hours. No sign of the bargs or the army.
After a while, the skies greyed as the snow resumed falling.

Her legs, feet, and joints throbbed in agony. Her head pounded like a large kettle drum. She'd been coughing steadily, and the cold, dry air burned her throat and lungs. Her bowels felt tied in nauseated knots.

A lonesome howl echoed over the mountains.

She pivoted and nearly fell.

The Dog (squatting on his haunches, sniper rifle aimed), steadied her.

The baying continued as the other bargs joined in.

"Look," the Dog said, pointing to the right, to a spot a few hundred feet below, where a valley carved into the mountains' face. Within the couloir stood a small forest of twisted bramble and dead, orangish leaves.

Frowning, she said, "Yeah, what about it?"

"Looks like a good place to make our stand."

Foot tapping, arms crossed, she sneered, "Are you kidding me?" Cough. Cough. "We can barely see 'em now and you wanna fight those things in a forest?"

"They're faster than us. We can't out run them. They're also bigger than us, they'll get caught in the trees."

"If they don't surround us and kill us first!"

Head tilted, gaze glittering gold, and braided beard whipping in the wind, he said, "I don't think they want to kill us. They had plenty of chances to do that already."

"All right smart-guy. What do they want with us?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to find out." He peered into her eyes, and asked, "Do you?"

Well, no she certainly didn't.

The Dog continued, "There's lots of places for us to hide down there and set traps. If we can't kill them, maybe we can contain them."

"All right," she said after a moment's hesitation. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

Dog carried her down the tree line and pushed through twisted branches until they were fairly deep in the woods. The Dog built a small campfire out of twigs and bits of fabric.

She hadn't seen someone start a fire the old fashioned way (via rubbing sticks together), in a dog's age.

Bargs howled in the distance again.

Working her hands open and closed, she asked, "How much time ya think we got?"

The Dog leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Not long," he said. "They sound pissed."

She sat by the fire as the Dog went to fetch some large branches. When he returned, she helped shave the ends into sharp points.

Her thoughts drifted back to whittling next to Roger out on Reverend Lowell's porch.

"How many shotgun shells do you have left?"

Checking her knapsack, she said, "About a dozen, why?"

"Give them to me."

She did.

The Dog tore a small patch from his shirt and placed it in his lap. He bit down on the end of the shell and opened it.

"Hey! What the hell are ya doing?"

"I need the gunpowder."

She scoffed, "So, use you're rifle rounds."

"Trust me, we'll need those."

Brows furrowed, she sneered, "Did it ever occur to you that I might need my shotgun?"

"You still have your shooters. Plus, you can always get more shells later."

After a moment's consideration, she said, "All right, fine."

When the Dog constructed his pouch-bombs, he stuffed them in his pocket, grabbed up the stakes they carved, and set off to set his traps.

Star sat huddled by the fire, dozing in and out until the snapping of twigs roused her.

A low growling.

Shooter in hand, she scanned the forestry around her.

Nothing.

God, this was stupid. How was she supposed to spot anything in all this?

"Dog?" she whispered. "That you?"

Nothing.

Where they hell did he go?

Another twig snapped. Black, opal eyes opened. A barg slithered out of the trees. Its fur now looked like snow and dead leaves, while its body resembled twisted branches.

Star aimed at the bargs' head, but she didn't fire. No use wasting ammo. "Dog, where the hell are you?" she muttered.

The barg growled; creeping toward her.

She slowly backed away. Her heel snagged on something (probably a branch or root), and toppled backward.

The barg pounced.

Twang.

An arrow (with two pouch-bombs tied to the tip), sailed out of the trees and toward the campfire.

Star rolled over and covered her head just in time.

Boom

The ground erupted in snow and cinder.

No sign of the barg, but the others bayed in empathy.

They sounded close, all around her.

She scurried to her feet, but she didn't see anything but smoke and tortuous bramble. Both shooters cocked and ready to rock, Star crept through the trees.

Low growling and whinnying laughs

The others were close.

Where the _hell_ was Dog?

Growling. The snapping of twigs.

She pivoted and fired into the trees.

Four-dozen black, opal eyes opened. Growls. Long, prehensile tongues licked foaming maws.

She turned and ran; hopping over fallen trees and branches.

The bargs gave chase.

She tripped again and rolled on her back. The bargs closed in and she fired. No use.

Dog rushed out of the trees and drove a branch-spear through the side of the alpha barg, pinning the beast to a trunk. The barg howled and bayed, thrashing about, but it couldn't get lose. Dog bounded up into the trees and skittered away. The bargs snarled and raced after the Dog.

Star glanced at the pinned barg, still snapping and clawing in futility at the spear. She reloaded.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Star dove to the ground, but the explosions emanated from deeper within the woods.

Bays and howling.

She rose to a kneel; pivoting and aiming her shooters at the slightest of breezes. Nothing.

A barg leapt out of the trees and drove her to the ground. Its long, prehensile tongue wrapped around her throat and squeezed.

The Dog bounded from the trees and cut the bargs' tongue off with his hunting knife.

Pawing at its bleeding mouth, the barg reeled back.

The barg speared to the tree managed to pry itself loose.

The Dog hauled Star to her feet, pushed her shoulder, and said, "Run!"

She stumbled through twisted bramble.

The Dog bounded back into the foliage.

The tongue-less and freed bargs chased after Star, but were soon caught in the bramble.

She holstered her shooters and grabbed her shotgun (slung over her back). She loaded the two shells she kept (without the Dog's knowing), and crept toward the snapping bargs.

Branches broke. Leaves crunched.

She whirled around.

The Dog emerged from the trees.

She cried, "Behind you!"

The Dog pivoted.

Black, opal eyes opened amongst bark and snow. The bargs lunged.

Star fell backward, firing into the air.

Blam

She scrambled to her feet.

The bargs gnashed and clawed at the bramble that ensnared them. A branch snapped and a barg lurched forward, nearly free.

Star aimed.

The Dog rested a hand on her shoulder, and said, "No." He unslung the sniper rifle from his shoulder, turned in the opposite direction, and aimed at something among the trees. "Have any flash-powder left?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Drop it, now."

"What?"

The bargs roared in anger. Tongues whipping. Branches splintered.

The Dog iterated, "All of it. Drop it. Now!"

Star fumbled in her cloak pocket and dropped the pouch of flash-powder in the snow.

The Dog fired into the trees.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.

The ground shook in a chain reaction of explosions.

The Dog grabbed Star, threw her over his shoulder, and bounded away.

The trees collapsed around the bargs, trapping them in a prison of twisted bark and bramble.

Outside the collapse-zone, Dog gently placed her on the ground.

She jumped to her feet and pushed him away. "You fucking asshole, you used me as bait."

The Dog shrugged, and said, "It worked. They're trapped."

Immured within their anfractuous prison, the bargs howled and bayed.

She asked, "Then why the hell d'ya make me ditch the flash-powder?"

"For this." The Dog aimed the rifle and fired.

Boom

The entire forest exploded into a ball of fire so bright it hurt her eyes despite the fact them closed. The ground quaked. Avalanches raced down the mountains. Luckily, they valley they stood in was spared by the sliding rock and snow.

In her mind, she heard Furion and the bargs scream, " _Screeeeeeeeeee!"_ A searing pain tore through the hollows of her temples. Teeth clenched, she hissed, "Ah!" She held her head as if it would cease the ululating roars in her mind.

All grew silent and still.

Sweating, breathing heavily, Star bent over. Nausea swirled her intestines around like mashed taters in a mixing bowl. The shrieks in her mind abated, yet still her head throbbed like the king's war drums.

The Dog asked, "All right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she replied, steadying herself. "I think we just killed 'em." She smiled, ran her fingers through her hair, and said, "Who says ya can't kill a barg, huh?"

The Dog smiled a fanged grin.

She twirled her golden locks and several strands of hair spindled around her fingers. "What the hell?" She gazed at the Dog, and said, "I think my hair's falling out."

****

"It's Futnick!" 'Ro roared. "He's the one responsible for this."

Men shouted. Women screamed. Children cried. The cacophonous caterwauling just would not end.

Troll had heard _this_ song before. And he didn't like it. He pushed through a sea of crowded people until coming to the source of the hoop-la. His heart beat like a droning kettle drum. His pulse raced. Dark splotches formed in his vision, but he surged onward.

A group of people gathered around five corpses that appeared drained of life.

He thought he recognized their desiccate, necrotic bodies.

'Ro pushed through the rabble. "It's Fedic!" he roared. He swept a hand through the air and ordered the turn-coats to, "Fan out! Find that little son-of-a-bitch!"

The turn-coats trotted off.

Troll, 'Ro, and Doctor wearily approached the corpses.

"It's gotta be the cave rot!" a woman cried.

Conceding his palms, Doctor said, "Now, now, we don't know that. None of the sick display any symptoms close to what killed these men."

"Then what did kill them, _easta_?" asked a man's voice.

Doctor opened his mouth and, said, "Uh--"

"It was the cave rot!" someone cried.

A woman screamed, "It's gonna kill us all!"

The people erupted in a wave of panicky shouts and shoves.

"Get rid of the sick!" someone roared.

Troll's chest tightened. Breath shortened. A cold sweat poured profusely from his pores. He roared over the clamoring, "Quiet all of ye!"

The crowd settled, but he felt the intensity in the tunnel was about to explode.

Troll, 'Ro, and Doctor crouched over the cadavers. He _knew_ these people. He just couldn't reconcile the corpses with the live souls he once knew.

Grimacing, 'Ro hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and grumbled, "I've seen this shit before."

Troll had seen this before. But when and where had 'Ro?

Another small skirmish erupted among refugees.

"Silence!" Troll roared.

And all fell silent.

Scratching his crumpled forehead, Doctor said to 'Ro, "I would like to know where you have seen such a mysterious affliction before. Do you know what caused it? Is it viral?"

"Not, what," 'Ro replied, "I know _who_ caused this."

"Please," Troll gestured, "do not keep us in suspense."

'Ro regaled them all with a tale about finding a cargo train that appeared abandoned in the desert. But it wasn't deserted. The soldier's quarters were littered with bodies that looked exactly like the ones lying at their feet. And of course, the only survivor onboard was Fedic.

"I don't understand," Doctor said. "How could Fedic do this?"

"I don't know," 'Ro replied. "But I fully intend on asking him."

"Here he is! We got him!" Thomas Archer declared as he and another turn-coat dragged Fedic into the center of the tunnel. "Found him cowering in a corner," Thomas declared.

The rabble celebrated with boos and jeers.

"Settle down people," Troll called again.

They turn-coats thrust the whimpering Fedic to the cavernous floor.

'Ro grabbed Fedic by the ponytail, and snarled, "What the fuck have you done?"

"Me?" Fedic whined. "I was off in the corner taking a shit."

'Ro pried Fedic to his feet, and asked, "How come weird shit always seems to go down when you're around."

Wide gape trembling in terror, Fedic stammered, "'Ro, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Father? Mother?"

The crowd silenced.

Diego Jr. and Anne emerged from the rabble. Diego Jr. fell to his knees, and cried, "Father! Mother!"

Then Troll finally recognized the twisted bodies lying before his feet. The Diegos.

'Ro throttled Fedic, and snarled, "You little chicken-shit-piece-of-shit!"

The throng thundered in approval.

Troll's thoughts drifted back toward Silverdale; him and Star spying on the town meeting to decide the Dog's fate. The doubt and dread he felt in his heart. Somehow, this seemed infinitely worse.

'Ro pulled a shooter and held it to the back of Fedic's head.

The crowd roared like pealing thunder.

Heart palpitating, Troll roared, "Stop! What do ye think ye are doing?"

'Ro nodded toward Fedic, and snarled through clenched teeth, "What? He deserves this."

Troll strode forward, grabbed 'Ro by the neck and thrust him away.

Refugees caught 'Ro. Lip twitching, he glared at Troll, and uttered, "You stupide son-of-a-bitch." He marched toward Troll. "You really have no idea what's going on, do ya?"

Troll said, "I see--"

"You see nothing! You march along, and order us around just like _they_ do, but do you really care about us?"

"Aye," Troll replied.

"Do you?" 'Ro asked. "'Cause last I counted, I came to ya twice, trying to talk to ya about some really vital shit. And twice ya blew me off. You didn't care. You didn't care!" Sighing, 'Ro thrust out his arms in an act of despair. He stepped away from Fedic. Mia emerged from the crowd and 'Ro took her hand.

Troll's heart sank like a heavy stone. 'Ro was right. He hadn't cared for a long time. Before, he wrote in his journal regularly, and with such vigor. Now his reports seemed dull, lacking. Since Star and the Dog parted from his side his life seemed empty, and it affected his relationships with others.

Arms crossed, Montalvo approached, and said, "I agree. You haven't made a good decision since the first time I met you."

Troll said, "I understand, but ye must know the decisions I made were based upon--"

Montalvo pressed the tip of his spear into Troll's jugular.

"Really?" Troll asked. "After all this time, it is ye they send?"

Montalvo growled, "Do not think for one moment that you did not force my hand against you."

The ringing of Al'ber Quearian steel echoed through the tunnel. Anne trounced forward and pressed the tip of her blade deep into Montalvo's wrinkly neck. "Let him go," she said.

Montalvo blinked and stammered, "Young one, you do not understand--"

Anne belted, "Perhaps not, but I said back off -- _now_."

Montalvo complied.

'Ro and Mia stood their ground.

Anne roared, "All of ye!"

Once more, Troll's thoughts turned toward the Dog, and thusly, Star.

A man rushed out of the darkness and grabbed Anne, restraining her.

The mob continued its restless clamor. Closing in. Bearing teeth and nails.

Troll knocked the man restraining Anne on his ass. He scooped up Anne and set her on his shoulder.

Amidst all the chaos, a small band of turn-coats stormed up to Troll.

He didn't recognize any of them.

The lead-man shouted, "What happened to--" the rest was drowned out by the crowd.

"What?" Troll asked, hand cupped over his ear.

The man yelled, "Xaza, Seth, and Ian. Where are they? They left with you and didn't come back? What did you do to them?"

The mob pressed in.

Troll (via his torch-staff), stood steadfast.

Anne (atop Troll's shoulder), swiped Al'ber Quearian steel at the refugees; fending them off.

The lanterns flickered.

Over yonder, Byron danced in place. Singing, and clapping, "Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man..."

Anne cried, "He's singing the song! Stop him, Troll!"

Yells. Cries. Screams.

Anne bent down, cupped a hand over Troll's ear, and said, "He's coming."

The lambent lantern light fluctuated ever-more.

Clamoring turned to pushing and shoving.

Troll (Anne on his shoulder), backed into the tunnel wall.

Bedlam erupted as the refugees turned on each other.

An ululating shriek that did not echo broke the exiles from their madness.

The people stilled.

Muscles clenched, Anne clung to Troll, and said, "It's too late. _He's_ here."

His thoughts turned to the dream he had where the... _he_ , shambled out of the gloom and ripped the exiles into edible portions.

The lanterns (and Troll's torch/staff), flickered and then went out.

And all was dark.

****

6

"Well, they're all dead," said a young turn-coat with bushy eyebrows and a shaved head. Piercings and battle scars blotched his round face.

Troll didn't know him. But with so many of his closest friends infuriated with him, who could he trust to turn to than total strangers? "Every single one?" Troll asked, running a hand down his scar and scratching his bearded chin.

"Unfortunately," the turn-coat replied. "Even the spare lantern batteries are drained."

Just as he feared. But when all the lanterns went out simultaneously, Troll worried his nightmare about to come true. But, that didn't happen. Despite Byron singing, calling _him_ out, no children shambled out of the darkness. The house master did not come. So, at least that was something.

People screamed, whimpered, and panicked. But Troll (with a little help from Anne), managed to retain order. With trembling hands, he fashioned another torch from a swatch of cloak, his staff, and a pinch of flash-powder. Then he instructed the others to make torches as well, which they refugees constructed out of whatever they could find. Unfortunately, everyone wanted a torch for themselves. But, Troll felt the contents of his once bottomless pockets dwindling. Plus, all the smoke from that many fires would no-doubt result in the death of them all. This decision was met with a round of gripes and grumbles, but at least they were all still around to complain.

"Thank ye," Troll said to the turn coat.

The soldier still stood there at attention.

Aye, of course.

"Dismissed."

The turn-coat pounded his chest, and barked, "Ar - ar!" Then took his leave.

Troll scanned the campgrounds. People just milled around in the flickering, diminutive orangish light. Some of the exiles, while still covered with dots and lesions, no longer displayed the other symptoms of cave rot. Which ones were still ill? Did it even matter?

Ally, Sandy, Fedic, and Doctor ambled toward Troll, and the pain throbbing in the hollows of his heart dulled.

Sandy held Ally's hand as he hobbled along, the other palm pressed against his wound.

Shaking with Ally, Troll said, "T'is good to see thee on ye'r feet."

Grinning dopily, Ally chuckled, "Happy to be here." Cough. Cough. Hack. Trembling, he doubled-over.

Slender face wrinkled in concern, Sandy asked, "You all right."

"Yeah, fine, fine," he replied.

Troll asked, "Ye have not fallen ill with the cave rot, have ye?"

"Don't matter." Ally stood tall, back straight. He slithered an arm around Sandy's trim shoulders. She smiled and leaned into him. Grinning, he amended, "'Cause we're gonna make it out of here. All of us."

Doctor appeared aged and cadaverous. Dark rings hung from his eyes. His broad forehead creased in wrinkles. His sinuous, veiny hands trembled. He ceased sucking his teeth, cleared his throat, and said, "Like I've been telling everyone, I'm fairly certain whatever this thing is, we all have it. Even if we don't show symptoms."

Troll nodded toward Fedic, and said, "Ye'r looking dapper, my good man."

Fedic smirked. Gaze downcast, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Troll amended, "I'm glad to see ye'r face where it should be, and not on a pike." He glanced around, and asked, "Where are the rest of my friends? Are they that infuriated with me?"

Ally replied, "I don't mean to come off as an unappreciative ass, but what's going on is bigger than you."

"No!" Troll said, startling the others. "This is all because of me."

Thin brows furrowed, Sandy stroked Troll's shoulder, and said, "Oh, darling this ain't your fault."

"But, it is, my dear," he replied. Sigh. "I have failed thee all."

Ally hobbled within inches of Troll, peered into his eyes, and said, "Then we need to get of here, and redeem ourselves. All of us. We all took a whoopin'. Shit, soldiers, slaves, outlanders, Al'ba kwakkans, we pretty much been kicked around and beaten our whole lives."

"Aye," Troll replied. "I would agree".

"So, then let's get the fuck out of here so we can do a little whoopin' of our own. Last I knew, Furion and the king are still strutting around, and Star and Dog are trying to meet us on the other side."

Troll's heart sank into his bowels.

"Who told ye that?" he asked.

Squinting, mouth slightly ajar, Ally replied, "Right now, down _here_ , does that even matter?"

Fedic quavered, "Yeah, I also think we should get out of here while the getting's good."

Troll asked, "What do ye mean by that?"

Doctor chimed, "I agree, we should keep moving."

"Me too," Sandy replied.

Why weren't they answering his questions? Were they hiding something? Why?

Fedic asked Troll, "So, are we moving out?"

"First, a quick council. Where is the rest of the gang?"

Ally replied, "'Ro, Hickey, and Mia are wandering around the camp, keeping an eye on things. At least, that's what they told me. They seem real jittery ever since..."

"Ever since what?"

"Well, that's what 'Ro's been trying to talk to you about," he replied.

Troll glanced at Fedic, and said, "Aye, that." He ran a hand down his scar, scratched his beard, and said, "Perhaps I shall find time to speak with him, after all. And Montalvo, what of him?"

Rubbing his elongated jaw, Doctor replied, "I saw him skulking around in the shadows."

"He hasn't strayed too far from the camp, has he?"

"No," Doctor replied. "No one has, not since the lights went out."

Troll's heart fluttered painfully.

Sandy brushed back her long, dirty, stringy hair. Soot sifted softly to the ground. She said, "Sarah and the _hermanii_ are still attending to the sick. The boy, Diego Jr., he's been a wreck. Kinda like a trance or what you did to Byron. Anne's been keeping to his side."

"And what of Byron? Has his condition returned? I have not heard him sing that dreadful song since the lights went out."

Doctor replied, "He seems lucid -- _now_. But, who can tell. His sanity changes like the weather."

Sandy asked Troll, "What are you gonna do? I mean, I thought you were having Anne keep an eye on him. But, it seems down-right cruel to strip her away from Diego Jr., and put her on sentry duty."

"I could not agree more," Troll replied. "Leave her to her business. I have complete trust in her." He asked Doctor, "Do ye know what caused the death of the boy's family?"

"Not yet," he replied. "So far these drained corpses don't share the same qualities of those who've died from the cave rot. So far, I'm out of ideas." He glared at Fedic, and said, "Although, 'Ro has a theory."

Slouching, head hung low, Fedic gulped and rubbed the back of his neck. His nervous gaze dithered from face-to-face.

Troll said to Ally, "Gather everyone and prepare to march on." He turned to Sandy, and said, "Do me a kindness and fetch Byron for me. I want him at my side for the remainder of our time down here."

Ally and Sandy nodded, and then took their leave.

"Ye, as well," Troll said to Doctor. "Off with thee."

"What about him?" Doctor asked, nodding toward Fedic.

Troll replied, "He shall stay at my side, as well."

"Why?" Fedic asked.

Troll huffed, "Don't be dense, boy. For ye'r own protection."

Doctor soughed, and then took his leave.

Troll scanned the refugees. Where was Byron? Was he sick? Was he mad? Did it matter? Were _any_ of them going to make it out of there alive?

"He's coming for you," Fedic said in a low, eerie monotone.

"What did ye say?"

Recoiling, arms shielding his face, Fedic stammered, "I said, don't worry, Byron will come."

****

Night. The bitter winds blew stinging, freezing snow over the mountainous terrain. Thin wisps of stone-colored clouds whizzed past the night's starry sky. Up here, at the top of the world, it seemed the entire universe zoomed by.

Once more the Dog reached out with his senses.

No sign of the bargs or the advancing black brigades.

Dog and Star's gambit (blundering as it was), had bought them a sizeable lead. For now. But, it had taken its toll on Star.

They did not rest after their encounter with the bargs. They marched on. No breaks. They did not eat. Star said she didn't feel like it, and the Dog would starve before he ate those blasted MREs; yet, how his stomach rumbled for flesh.

She refused to drink from either canteen, and ate snow instead.

Dog knew she needed to rest and eat, or take from his blood. But she would not. She slogged on without gripes, grumbles, moans, whines, _or_ complaints. She had chosen this path. Now it was hers to walk.

Dog sensed her deteriorating with every step, every mile. He _felt_ her falling apart, rotting from the inside out. Every so often he whined in empathy, and she shot him a furious glance. But, the emerald fire within her eyes had faded.

They trudged over the mountains as day dissolved to dusk to starry night.

Star plodded on as long as she could, until she collapsed in the snow; wheezing upon the thin air, hacking up blood.

Then the Dog carried her piggy-back.

Were the bargs truly dead? Would they return with a vengeance? Would Star be able to hear them in her mind?

The Dog reached his senses out over the tall, misty peaks, feeling the army's pounding feet tremor through stone and snow.

The army was still more than miles upon miles away (traveling in large groups in these mountains could be a bit tricksy), but advanced obdurately.

Carrying Star piggy-back, the Dog scaled across the mountains in literal leaps and bounds.

She held tight, but the battering winds, relentless cold, and the impact of jaunting across the mountains took its toll on her. Again. It started with grunts and groans every time they landed. Still, she held on; arms around Dog's neck, legs wrapped around his waist.

Dog's thoughts zoned in and out of memories of a life once loved and then abruptly lost. Reveries of when he carried Beth piggy-back around the farm. Her snorting, yet, somehow infectious laugh. The way she squealed in delight. It reminded Dog of pigs. That cerebration always disgusted him. Firstly, Beth's uncle Jim didn't have any pigs on his farm. And Beth was the farthest thing from swine. She was divine. An angel that knew what Jimmy, a.k.a., the Dog, was (more or less), and loved him anyway. Even when the town's men came for him, she still loved him. When he tore those bastards apart with his own claws, when he learned to master (what Troll called), his _shifting_ , she _still_ loved him. And even after the pyre set the bog ablaze, and the gators slithered toward the blood saturated waters, and he couldn't find her body despite how desperately he sought to cling to her scent, he _knew_ she still loved him.

Dog landed hard (but safe on all fours), into crunching snow. Star lost her grip and tumbled back-first into the compact powder. Hyperventilating, rabid breaths escaped her lungs in plumes of steam as her chest rapidly rose and fell.

Grunting, she propped to her feet.

Dog continued hauling her. Every so often her grip slipped and he hitched her back into place.

Night went on as the stars blew and the moon sailed across the sky.

Her quivering muscles incipiently dwindling, she constantly lost hold of him, and tumbled to the snow. Every time, she'd crawl to her hands and knees, get up, and allow the Dog to resume totting her around.

After a time, she no longer had the strength to latch onto him.

After landing hard on her back, Star laid there, gasping. "Go," she panted. "Just go without me. I'm only slowing ya down and Troll's counting on you to meet him on the other side."

"Yes," the Dog replied, "with _you_."

"I know, I know." Cough. Cough. Hack. Spit. Blood trickling down her chapped and blistered lips, she wheezed, "But, I don't think I'm gonna make it outta these mountains a second time. You go on without me. You'll be better off. Troll will be better off." She pulled a few loose clumps of hair from her scalp. Face twisted in disgust, she murmured, "No way he'd want me now."

"No," Dog growled. "You don't get to do that, not to _me_. Not _now_."

"What the hell you talking about?"

"When I was out there dying in the desert. You probably think I don't remember all the things you said to me. But, I do. You told me I couldn't give up. That I didn't get to. And neither do you. You don't get to quit on me. You don't get off that easy. I _won't_ let you."

Cough. Cough. She huffed, "Let's say I do survive over the mountains. Let's say we do get across and reunite with Troll and the others. How long would I have to live then? What use would I be to him?" Her voice broke, tears streaming down her trembling face, she quavered, "Why would he even want me?"

Anger and frustration whirled within the Dog. He felt his ocular orbs goggle in rage but he steadied it. He leaned toward her, and growled, "You don't get to do _that_ either. Now get up."

"I can't."

Very well, then.

Dog picked her up in his arms and sprinted on as fast as he could. Gazing into her face, he saw Beth's. He would _not_ lose her. Not again. He would not lose _anyone_ again. Not if he could help it.

****

When Troll called for the exiles to finally repose, a squall of relief flushed through Sarah. Her entire body ached, especially her feet, shoulders, back, and neck. She'd been coughing and sniffling steadily since first recommencing their endless peregrine. She even hacked up blood.

She leaned against the tunnel wall and nearly collapsed in exhaustion. She gasped for air, but her phlegmatic lungs attained no oxygen.

Red, itchy, burning dots speckled her hands, arms, and legs.

Troll, Ally, and Doctor perused the campground, and when they passed by, Sarah jumped up to talk to Troll. She didn't know why. She had nothing to say.

Troll and the others nodded as they passed, but apparently didn't have time to make small talk.

Sarah felt lost, alone.

She coughed wetly into her hand and moaned.

A passing turn-coat with short, flat hair, and beady gape, leered at her, and said, "What's wrong, pretty lady? Feelin' poorly?"

"Aye," she replied, wiping the sweat beading her forehead. Her febrile skin felt clammy and hot.

Smirking, he loomed closer, and said, "Well, come bunk with me and I'll cure what ails ya."

"No, thank ye," she replied. Her thoughts turned to the sultan and she shivered.

He reached for her shoulder, and said, "Aw, c'mon baby, don't be like that--"

The ringing of Al'ber Querian steel pulled from scabbard back-plates rang in the stagnant air.

Both Sarah and the turn-coat pivoted.

Zashiirii and N'Dora held the tips of theirs blades to the turn-coat's throat. Both scowled, lips drawn tight. Zashiirii in particular, glared contemptibly at the man; her lazy-eye drifted toward the side.

"Show some respect, _easta_ ," N'Dora snarled. "She is a _Madirii_ , you cannot treat her like that."

Gape wide, hands to the sky, he said, "O...kay." He slowly backed away.

"Thank ye," Sarah said to the _hermanii_.

"No worries, _Madirii_ ," N'Dora said. "You are _hermanii_ , you are one of us."

Nodding, Zashiirii chimed, " _Si_."

Cough. Cough. Wheeze. Sarah said, "But, I am not Al'ber Querian."

N'Dora smiled. Her round face seemed to brighten. She said, "That does not matter, _Madirii_. You are strong, courageous, and think of others before yourself. You are every bit _d'el hermanii_."

Sarah was touched at the notion of sisters, but her heart longed for her only _true_ sister, Anne. What was her problem? Why was Anne so mad at her? She didn't know. And it infuriated her and weakened her heart.

"Come," N'Dora said, taking Sarah's hand. "Let us aid _Madirii_ Sirii and _Easta_ Doctor in attending to the sick."

****

'Ro patted Ally's leg, and asked, "How ya feelin', bro?"

"Can't complain," he replied. His soiled ranger's clothes hung loosely upon his emaciated body. The scruff sprouting from his princely, pallid face had blossomed into a beard. Like the rest of them, dark rings and crow's feet burdened his weary eyes, yet he grinned dopily.

The gang huddled around their respective campsite of sleeping bags and a torch. Ally rested upon his portable cot/stretcher until his wounds fully healed. Lucky bastard. Sandy sat in his lap, hugging him tightly.

Biting her nails, Mia sat close to 'Ro.

Fedic sat on the other side of the torch's glow. He reclined propped up by his elbow. Smirking, as he munched away at a bit of MRE.

Troll said he wanted Fedic by his side, but frankly, 'Ro just didn't trust Troll's judgments, and managed to convince Troll that he could watch over Fedic.

'Ro was surprised he acceded so readily.

Hickey stood sentry; chewing on a plug of tobacco, gaze darting, hands hovering over holstered hips.

Ally asked Hickey, "Gonna eat something?"

Scanning the camp, he replied, "Not hungry."

"Sure?"

"Yeah," Hickey replied. "Think I'm gonna take a stroll around the camp, keep an eye on things." Then he ambled off.

"Don't wander too far," Ally called after him. He stroked Sandy's hair and kissed her.

'Ro glanced at the MRE in Fedic's trembling hands.

He should probably eat something, too. But, he didn't want to drop his guard for even a second.

Mia sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, slurping at a cup of coffee. The caffeine surging through her veins caused her to shake and bite her nails.

Doctor started brewing coffee during their breaks; utilizing the drink as a steroid to keep the inflicted marching.

When the others finished their meals, Ally and Sandy stretched out on the cot and fell asleep within moments.

After a time, Fedic snored, as well.

Most of the refugee camp slithered off to slumber. But not 'Ro. He was gonna stay awake the whole time and keep an eye on Fedic. Make sure no more drained bodies showed up.

Mia stirred. She turned toward 'Ro, nestled close to him, and whispered, "I can't sleep."

"Me neither," he whispered back.

She smiled, and her nose wrinkled. Eyes glistening in the torchlight, she coquettishly walked her fingers along his chest, and asked, "Wanna fool around?"

"What!"

"Relax," she giggled. "I'm just fucking with ya."

"I hardly think this the time for jokes," he replied.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I think we're all going a little bit crazy down here."

"Shh," he said tenderly. "Just get some sleep."

"Come here," she cuddled close, and threw her arm around him.

"Okay...this is new."

"Shh," she whispered. "Just let me listen to the beat of your heart."

"Help ya sleep, will it?"

"When I was little, I used to have terrible earaches. My mother would press my ear against her breast like this." She nuzzled her head on his pectorals, and said, "It's the most soothing thing in the world." She moaned and pressed her body to his.

At first, 'Ro felt awkward, but after a moment, it seemed second nature, like shooting a gun.

"See," she said, yawning. "Nice, right?"

"It's all right," he replied.

Before long, Mia drifted off to sleep.

'Ro glanced at Fedic, snoring on the ground. He was gonna watch that son-of-a-bitch all night if it the last thing he did. But with Mia there in his arms, his eyelids seemed very heavy, indeed.

****

Smirking from the sanctity of the shadows, Anne watched as Troll conversed with the darkness.

He uttered, "Ye have no business here, low spirit. Depart, for this is not ye'r realm."

But that wasn't true -- _at all_. And soon, very soon, Troll and everyone else would find that out first-hand.

After most of the refugees ate and settled down for a nap, Troll hobbled back the way they came. Not too far; just enough to be alone with the darkness.

Curious (and because Byron out cold), Anne crept after him.

"Do ye hear me?" Troll waved his torch/staff amidst the gloom, and murmured, "Leave these people be. In the name of the one-true God I command thee. I am God's servant and my staff my shepherd's crook, and I _will_ lead these people out of here. And you will _not_ interfere. Do ye hear me?"

"What are ye doing?" Anne asked.

Troll jumped in a start. Gape wide, breathing heavily, and hand on his chest, he said, "Why, Anne, thee nearly were the death of me. Shouldn't ye be watching Byron?"

"Snoring away like everyone else," she replied.

"Are ye sure?"

"Aye." She nodded toward the darkened tunnel, and said, " _He_ 's not there, ye know. Ye'r talkin' to yourself."

"How do ye know?"

"Because, if ye want to talk to him, ye'll have to call him."

"How do I do that?"

She stepped combatively toward him. Hand on the hilt of her dagger, she glared up at him, and said "Ye _know_ how. But _don't_ do it. There's no talkin' to _him_."

"Are ye threatening me?"

"Just don't do it," she reiterated.

Troll cleared his throat. He opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it; clamping his teeth audibly. He nodded, and said, "Good night." Then he hobbled back toward the camp.

She might have to keep a keen eye on him, as well.

Anne stared deep into the cavern depths; making certain _he_ wasn't really coming.

After a time, she crept back toward the camp, constantly glancing over her shoulder. Her stomach growled. Out of instinct, she squatted on her haunches and sifted through the earth with her dagger. Memories of digging for sustenance washed over her mind. She'd counted each and every time she had down so during her tenure in the dark. Had tallied each succulent and of what kind: spider, beetle, grub, the occasional unidentifiable (though surprisingly tasty), insect. Yet, somehow, she'd lost count. Perhaps on purpose, she still hadn't decided.

Hadn't she sampled something tastier once? A game leg, perhaps? No, that was dream. It had to be.

Her thoughts returned to the task at hand when unearthing a small centipede-like creature. She popped it in her mouth and chowed down. " _Mmm,_ " she moaned over the soft crunching of teeth on exoskeleton. She rummaged around for more vittles, but found none. So, she tip-toed through the slumbering camp and toward Byron.

He slept by his self, away from anyone else. He carried no torch. He had no need of one, nor did she.

She backed against the tunnel wall and sat on her haunches, watching the slow, methodical rise and fall of Byron's chest.

How long since she slept? She probably wouldn't find a peaceful night's rest until dead or she got out of the dark, and maybe not until many years after that.

****

Troll stood alone in a maze of tunnels. Dark. But, somehow he could see down here. _He_ wanted him to see. The cavern walls appeared to emit a soft purplish-glow. There were doors down here; portals of solid, blue light.

He scanned the labyrinth of tunnel options. Which path to take? He didn't see any doors around here, but they were down there somewhere. So was _he._

Lurking around every corner. Looming in every shadow. Watching Troll with its many, red eyes.

The fear in Troll's heart radiated outward, venting from his pores, making the air sticky and thick.

_He_ emerged from a tunnel. Black, leathery wings draped over its body and mouth like a cape. Its many eyes narrowed on Troll. So much anger in those dead, red eyes. So much hatred. Its face appeared the soft-purplish hue of the walls. Its long black-hair cascaded down its head like drizzling tar.

Terror gripped Troll's heart and he felt hollow. He pivoted and ran. But there _he_ was, emerging from another tunnel. Troll whirled and sprinted down a murky corridor. All dark. No light. Many, red eyes appeared in the gloom and Troll screamed. No escape. He turned to run, but the darkness held him. No escape. _He_ shambled closer. Taking its time. Growling in anticipation. Troll's thoughts turned toward the Dog. Star. No escape. The Sweetie-man's wings slid back like a beetle's shell. Petrified, Troll gaped at the monstrosity before him. But, his mind couldn't articulate what his eyes witnessed. No escape. Grinning, _he_ lurched back, exposing rows of or razor-sharp teeth so white they glistened in the dark. No escape. No escape. No--

"No!" Troll screamed, waking in a cold sweat, and shivering. His heart galloped arrhythmically in his chest. Once, he only had two dreams. But he no longer dreamt of Star or the desert. Now, he only endured nightmares about _him_.

Troll prayed, "Dear, Lord, give me strength."

Anne snorted.

Troll sat bolt-right and glanced toward Anne and Diego Jr., sitting on their haunches along the tunnel wall. With her short hair and the Dog's olive-green jacket, he almost thought it the cur. But no. His friend was dead.

Struggling to keep his voice from trembling, he said, "I thought ye watching Byron."

"I am," she replied, nodding.

Troll glimpsed behind him.

Byron and Sarah fed sick children.

No-doubt, Doctor and _d'el hermanii_ were around attending to others. But, unfortunately, there were a lot of sick to care for.

Coughing. Moaning. Bleeding. Cadaverous exiles lingered about, just waiting for the agony to end.

Byron and Sarah chatted. Sarah tottered wearily. She sweated so much she was shuddering. Red dots freckled her arms, cheeks, and forehead. Except for looking like a haggard lunatic, Byron appeared fine.

Then it hit him. Byron wasn't around when this mysterious plague first arose. His insanity may very well have spared him of this curse.

Troll uttered, "God, help us all." He peered up at Anne, and asked, "Have ye been watching me all night?"

"Aye," she replied. "Someone's gotta watch ye'r back."

"What of Byron, I thought ye keeping an eye on him. Ye were very adamant toward me as such."

"I got two eyes."

He asked Diego Jr., "And what of ye? How have ye been..." he wanted to ask how the boy was holding up. But, he already knew the answer to that. He cleared his throat, and continued, "...sleeping, Diego Jr?"

Diego Jr., stared at Troll. Face stoic. Gape un-emotive.

Anne said, "He don't like that name no more. It's too painful. I've been calling him DJ. He likes it."

Troll blotted the perspiration from his face, and forced a chuckle. "Very well, DJ, how have ye been sleeping?"

Frown etched deep in his round face, DJ shrugged. He couldn't even meet Troll's gaze.

The plodding of feet.

Troll glanced behind him.

Montalvo and 'Ro marched toward him, and Troll's heart fluttered in fear.

He slowly rose via the aid of his staff. His bones creaked and popped. He stretched and yawned. God, he felt old.

'Ro and Montalvo approached, and Troll said, "Well, since I see the both of ye walking alongside each other, I presume ye bring me important news. Have ye buried the proverbial hatchet, then?"

'Ro and Montalvo exchanged a smirk. "Not exactly," 'Ro replied.

Troll asked, "Well, what have ye to report? Any more dead?"

"Not drained," 'Ro replied. "We lost quite a few kids to the cave rot. 'Bout a half-dozen more gone missing."

"And what of the sick? Any more cases."

'Ro squatted on his haunches.

The others followed suit.

Troll feared his legs might give out altogether should he kneel, 'though he did so all the same.

"Hold on," Anne said. She took DJ's hand and led him toward the others.

"Are ye certain that wise?" Troll asked.

Brow cocked, she asked, "So, you _don't_ want him to live?"

The others gawked at Troll.

He nodded, and acceded, "Very well, then."

'Ro cleared his throat, and said, "So, anyway, Doc's literally pulling his hair out over this plague-thing. More youngin's and the elderly showing symptoms. More seem to have their symptoms disappear." He opened his mouth to say more. Gaze averted, he ran a hand through his hair.

Troll prodded, "And..."

'Ro sighed, and said, "Doctor's sick."

"As I feared would happen." He turned to Anne and DJ, and asked, "How are ye feeling?"

"Not like the sick," Anne replied.

DJ nodded.

"Any rashes or bumps?"

They shook their heads.

'Ro chimed, "Like I said, Doc's at a total loss of ideas. Poor guy's pulling his hair out over it. I mean, like literally, fistfuls of hair."

Troll said, "Very well." Sigh. "I suppose we should continue."

Montalvo said, "Wait, did you not hear 'Ro, people are missing."

Troll ran a hand down his scar, scratched his beard, and asked, "How long have they been gone?"

'Ro and Montalvo exchanged an uneasy glance, and then shrugged nearly in unison.

"They're dead," Anne chimed, without a hint of empathy or remorse.

Scowling, Montalvo scoffed, "You don't know that."

"Do you _know_ if they're alive?" she asked.

'Ro and Montalvo exchanged another quick glance.

At least they were uniting against a common nemesis. Unfortunately for Troll, that enemy was him.

Troll said, "I know it's not worth risking the living to search for the possibly deceased."

Face shriveled in a sea of angry wrinkles, Montalvo sneered, "You can't be serious."

'Ro crossed his arms, and snorted, "I'm no saint, but even _I_ think that's cold."

DJ chimed, "If my family were still alive and missing, I would not go looking for them. Not down there." He gestured toward the darkness behind them, and said, "I know how that must sound, but it's true."

'Ro scoffed, "That's fucking bullshit, kid."

Troll asked 'Ro, "Would ye go down there and search for the missing?"

'Ro gazed down the tunnel.

Montalvo said, "Fine! I will go." He pivoted; back straight, arms swinging, chest puffed out in pride, he marched into the gloom.

"No, wait, Monty," 'Ro said, clasping Montalvo's shoulder. "You don't know what's down there."

Montalvo's gaze darted among them. "You are all cowards," he said. And then he stormed away.

'Ro combed his fingers through his hair and exhaled a gale of relief. He hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and said, "That shit was tense."

"Agreed." Troll nodded toward Montalvo's dissolving silhouette, and said, "Keep an eye on him." He peered into 'Ro's hazel gape, and amended, "Keep an eye on all of them."

'Ro proffered a thumbs-up, and said, "You got it."

Anne asked, "So, are we moving on or what?"

Troll gazed off into the gloom. He didn't want to leave _anyone_ behind. And the weight upon his heart became more burdensome by each loss. But Anne was right, the missing were dead. And if not, they were only bait to lure others down into the deep, deep dark.

"Aye," Troll replied. "Let's get the hell out of here."

****

They peregrinated for a long time, longer than Sarah's bones could bear. But she trudged on, 'though steadily draggling behind, further among the crowd. It seemed they would not rest until they made it out from underneath the mountains and on the other side.

Sirii leaned on Sarah's shoulder. Panting, she wheezed, "Are you all right?" Her face splotched with red bumps.

"Aye," Sarah replied. But she wasn't all right. She felt certain that at any moment she would simply collapse and die.

Cough. Cough. Hack. Sarah spasmed. Her chest rattled. Her thoughts turned toward Mayor Godfrey and Silverdale. A simpler life. She expectorated blood into her quivering palm. "How do ye feel?" she asked Sirii.

"About the same as you appear," she replied.

They both chuckled and spiraled into another set of rattling, wet coughs.

They plodded on.

Sarah and Sirii fell further toward the back of the mob.

_D'el hermanii_ passed them. As did Doctor and the Jessips; all of which asked if Sarah and Sirii all right.

Where were Troll, Anne, and Byron? Didn't they care about Sarah? Had they forgotten about her? Why had the ones closest to her abandoned her? She was going to die, as would Sirii. As would a _lot_ of them. She knew it. All she wanted was to be with her _true_ friends. Her _real_ family. But, they had forsaken her. Why?

After what felt like days of marching, the exiles entered into a crypt-like chamber.

Stalagmites. Stalactites. Vaulted sedimentary formations and ponds of stagnant water furnished the sepulcher.

Troll and Byron waited by the entrance of the catacombs, seeing everyone in. He nodded at Sarah, but feigned to gaze upon her, _really_ look at her.

"Are you ready, _Madirii_?" Sirii asked, supporting Sarah.

"Aye," Sarah replied.

Aiding each other like Troll utilized his staff; the two followed the others, and waded out into the frigid waters.

****

Ally said, "You know, this shit, all this has really opened my eyes." He barely held his wounded gut anymore.

'Ro asked, "How do ya mean?"

The two waded through frigid, waist-deep cave-water. They'd been sloshing along with the other Jessips but fell back on purpose so they could share a heart-to-heart.

The others seemed to pick up on this and let them lag behind.

They all slushed through opal-black water, shivering, and clutching themselves.

Lips drawn so tight they nearly erased, Sandy shot Ally a troubled glance, but he smiled, blew her a kiss, and then waved her off.

Ally said, "I'm tired of all this shit. Robbing, running, hiding. I'm done with it."

'Ro punched him in the shoulder, and said, "Aw, c'mon, I thought you was the greatest outlaw that ever did live."

Grinning, a reminiscent gleam spangled Ally's gape. He chuckled, "I _was_ , but now I just wanna live."

"Ain't ya alive, now?"

"Is this living, 'Ro? Is it really?"

"So, what are ya saying?"

"I'm saying, that all Troll's faith has got me thinking."

'Ro sneezed. He clutched himself tighter. Shivering, he sneered, "Yeah, well, I'd say our fearless leader's faith's been dwindling as of late.

Teeth chattering, Ally replied, "That don't matter. "The point is I've been touched. I've changed. I see things more clearly now."

"Oh, yeah? So, tell me, what is it that you see, exactly?"

Gaze distant, Ally smiled, and said, "I see me and Sandy settling down some place quiet, peaceful. Ya know, no one 'round for miles. I see us having a whole litter of youngins."

'Ro scoffed, "Yeah, visualization is key. The ol' man taught us that from day one.

Nodding, Ally parroted "From day one."

"But, let's stay focused on getting out of here first."

Trembling in silence, they waded on.

Ally said, "Sandy's pregnant. She told me after we all reunited in the mines."

"I thought I saw her whispering something to ya. Do ya think that's a good idea? Having kids right now? I'm mean, even if we do get out we still got a war to fight."

"Not me, bro. I'm done fighting. When Sandy told me she was pregnant, that's when it all changed for me. Now, I've got to think about my family. I need to protect them."

Usually, such a statement would percolate 'Ro's temper. But, his legs and feet incipiently numbed from the icy waters, and his focus primarily aimed at not stumbling head-first into the placid, murky liquid.

Teeth chattering, 'Ro asked, "What about me? Ain't I your family? What about Hickey?"

Rubbing his forearms for warmth, Ally scoffed, "Ya know what I mean. Besides, ya'll can protect yourselves. And if you choose to keep fighting then I understand, and I wish you and the others all the luck in the world."

"What do ya mean, _if_ I choose?"

"Baby needs an uncle," he said, matter-of-factly.

"You really expect me to turn tail and run with ya? Thought you said you was done with running and hiding?"

"You don't understand bro. This isn't running _or_ hiding. I'm just choosing not to be a part of all this bullshit."

"Uh-huh, so tell me, what if you manage to pull this off. We get outa here. You and Sandy take off, find someplace isolated. Ya have a whole litter of youngins. Ya live happy, peacefully for a number of years. All the while, we stand against the king and lose. What's to stop him from coming for you?"

Back straight, chest puffed out, for a moment Ally strode through the freezing, black water, as if strolling through a meadow on a warm, sunny day. He smiled, and said, "If they come, they come. I'll defend my family to my dying breath. Those old enough to handle a weapon will stand beside their mother and me. And whatever happens, happens."

A violent shudder surged through 'Ro's spine. He tottered on torpid appendages, but maintained his footing. He asked, "Well, what if we get out of here and the baby's born, but it's got the cave rot? Doctor said he was worried about people passing this down."

"Not like people never lost children before. If we lose this one, we'll try again. And if we lose that one then we'll just keep trying."

"And what if it never happens? What if ya'll keep having kids and they're all born with the cave rot and die?"

"As Troll would say, we'll worry about that when the time comes."

"You're really riding this Troll trip, ain't ya?"

"I have to. He's our best chance of getting out of here."

He ruminated over Troll's disregard for the exiles and his haste for escaping the mines to reunite with his friends; the poor choices he'd made. Suddenly, 'Ro realized he might have more in common with Montalvo than he thought.

Shivering, 'Ro rubbed his forearms, and grumbled, "Yeah, well, my money's still on Star."

Teeth chattering, Ally replied, "Well, she ain't down here. Hell, we don't even know if she's still alive."

Carrying a torch, Sandy waded back toward them. "Ya'll all right? You've been talking for some time."

"Everything's fine, darling," Ally called. He blew her a kiss and she caught it.

Muscles tense, gape wide, Sandy halted. Her bottom lip trembled.

Smiling, Ally asked, "What's wrong, hon?"

"So sweet," croaked a gravelly voice.

'Ro froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on-end. He pissed himself, and it warmed his benumbed appendages some.

People screamed and tried to run through waist-deep water.

'Ro pivoted.

A large, dark figure loomed behind Ally.

'Ro cried, "Behind you!"

The figure grasped Ally's shoulders with talon-like hands and pulled him under the water so fast Ally didn't even have time to scream.

Sandy shrieked, "No!"

'Ro leapt into the water, swimming, and searching for his brother. He couldn't see. The water too dark. He broke through the surface calling Ally's name.

Sloshing toward him, Sandy cried, "Oh, my God, where is he?"

"I don't know! I don't know! Help me look!"

They dove into the icy pool and frantically searched. No use. They couldn't find him. Ally was gone.

****

The Dog asked, "Ready?"

"No," Star replied.

Dog sensed her racing heart. No, she was not ready for this at all. But, it had to be done.

The sun shone bright, but up here, that didn't matter. The wind blew in gales. Wispy, white clouds whizzed past above.

The Dog carried her in his arms for the better part of the last two days. Stopping only briefly to eat and void bowels. She suffered from a nasty case of the runs, 'though she hadn't eaten in days. Dog constantly fed her snow to keep her hydrated.

"No," she'd say.

"Either that or drink from the canteen."

"Make me."

Turning slightly feral, the Dog growled lowly.

"Fine, fine," she'd reply.

The Dog didn't sleep. Technically, he didn't need to. But, my, how he yearned for a nice, long nap. His stomach constantly gargled, calling for either blood or flesh -- something. But he had to get Star over the mountains.

For two long, cold, arduous days they journeyed like that. And then they came to the canyon; too far for the Dog to leap across (even if he didn't have to carry Star). Fifty-feet, at least. They couldn't go around it. They chasm stretched further than the Dog could sense (in either direction). Dog inched toward the cliff edge. Hit thoughts turned to both the time outside Silverdale, where he tumbled off a ridge not long after startling Sarah at the pond; and the first barg encounter, where he and Star nearly slid off the mountains. He couldn't see the bottom through all the mist. The Dog reached out with his senses. About a five mile drop. Small ledges and outcrops jutted out of the sheer ice wall. Chancing climbing down with Star was insane; out of the question.

A chorus of howls rose over the battering winds.

Dog reached out with his senses. Bargs. Five of them.

Cough. Cough. Gasp. Star wheezed, "They're coming."

"I thought you said we killed them?"

"I said, I _thought_ we got 'em. But, I guess Grandmere was right, you really can't kill a barg."

They both leaned over the edge and peered down.

"Think we can make it?"

Removing his cloak, the Dog replied, "Maybe."

Shuddering, teeth chattering, she said, "I was joking, in case ya couldn't tell."

The Dog fetched two knives from his belt. He held one out to Star, and said, "Help me."

Squinting, nose wrinkled, and bottom lip protruding; she worked her hands open and close, and then took the blade.

Dog cut his cloak into long lengths. Star assisted. Then the Dog braided the strips together, making rope, which he used to fashion a harness for Star.

Now the Dog stood at the cliff's edge, strapped back-to-back with Star.

The Dog loaded and fired his gauntlet. Frozen. He banged it a couple of times and it broke free. With his other hand he grabbed his hunting knife, and prepared to jump.

"Whoa, I said, I'm not ready."

The bargs bayed over the keening wind. The Dog sensed them growling, fangs drooling, and weeping prehensile tongues, as their massive clawed paws pounded through snow and ice.

The Dog said, "They're close."

"I know, I know, just give me a moment. It's not every day I go jumping off a mountain."

"Technically, I'm taking the plunge. You're just along for the ride."

"Right, right, that's all it is. It's just a ride."

Her breathing steadied and her galloping heart slowed to a trot. Was she meditating? 'Cause this was _not_ the time.

The Dog urged, "We need to do this _now._ "

"Shut up, just let me clear my head a bit."

The wind died down. Snapping and growling. They were closing in. What the hell was she waiting for?

"Star?"

"Okay," she said. "Do it."

The Dog jumped. They sailed over and down through the frigid air. The Dog drifted within feet of the opposing wall. With blades and crampons, he clawed at the jagged surface, like a cat clinging to a tree trunk. Icy debris splayed as they skid rapidly downward. The Dog rammed the gauntlet into the wall. He remembered his battle with Shadeem in the desert and imagined the blades shattering upon impact. But they didn't. They slid another few feet before halting in a sudden jerk.

Star grunted as she bounced in the harness.

The Dog nearly lost his lock on the wall, but he held fast, muscles clenched.

Nipping and yapping sounded form above.

Dog and Star peered upward.

The bargs paced anxiously around the cliff's edge but would advance no further.

Star pumped a fist, and yelled, "Yeah! Fuck you!"

The gauntlet blades slipped out of the ice a few millimeters. Dog said, "Please, don't do that."

Heart palpitating in her heaving chest, she panted, "Sorry, but that was fucking insane. We just jumped off a mountain!"

Muscles quivering, Dog replied, "I know. Gotta do it again. Ready?"

"Yeah, let's do it." Heart beating faster, she tensed up. "Oh, shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"I just looked down."

Shivering in strain, the Dog groaned, "Don't do that, either." He kicked off the ice wall, back-flipping, and sailing back toward the other side. They glided several meters before coming close enough for the Dog to claw at the wall. Once more, icy debris pelted his face. They skidded to a sudden halt.

Star grunted, "Uh!"

The echoes of trickling pebbles resonated through the chasm.

The Dog took a deep breath and backed-flipped the other way. Once again they soared through the air. But, the opposing wall closed in faster than the Dog could fully rotate. Star drifted toward the jagged, stony surface.

The Dog cried, "Kick off the wall!"

She tried to comply, but her movements spun them off course. Strapped together, they both slammed shoulder-first. She yelled as they bounced off; drifting back the other way.

The Dog flailed his arms, swimming toward the wall they'd just collided with.

He desperately scratched at the sheer mountain face. The tips of gauntlet blades briefly clattered along rock. Sparks flew. The Dog thrust out his extremities, grabbing hold. The sudden stop jostled Star and then drove her head into the back of the Dog's. The rope harness stretched and slacked.

The ice cracked. The gauntlet blades sliced through the ice, and they fell at a rapid rate.

The Dog rammed his blades back into the wall, and kicked out his feet. Crampons found precarious purchase. They skidded to a halt.

Star slammed harder into the Dog's back. "Uh!"

"You all right?"

Panting, she groaned, "Fine." Cough. Cough. Wheeze. "We can't stop now. Just get us down. And fast."

Again, the Dug back-flipped toward the other side. A small outcrop jutted from the ice and rock. Dog aimed for that, landing flat on his feet.

"Nicely done," she gasped.

The ledge crumbled and broke. They went free-falling.

The Dog navigated their descent back toward the wall, clawing at it with his blades and crampons. Ice and stone splintered off as they slid several meters before halting once more. Star bounced in her harness. The rope stretched and broke. She plummeted. The Dog pitched his knife and grabbed her wrist just in time. His gauntlet blades slid fractions of an-inch out the wall.

Gasping, the Dog called, "Hold on!"

Stone and rubble pelted them from above.

Dog peered upward. The ledge they crashed through was collapsing. Rocks and pebbles rained from above, followed by a large boulder. Dog tensed up, muscles clenched. Star dangled; his hold loosening. The blades slipped further out of the wall. Stone and ice fell like hale. The boulder barreled toward them. The Dog gazed down at Star. She met his gape. He had to toss her. Their only hope.

"Do it," she said. "I trust you."

With all his strength, the Dog swung her a few times until his reach extended as far as it would, and then dropped her. The boulder came within meters of the Dog. He brought his feet up and kicked out, back-flipping off the wall once more.

Belly-up, Star plummeted; arms and legs trailing, eyes closed, her face appeared at peace.

Maximum velocity exceeding his, the boulder closed the gap on the Dog. The Dug tucked into a ball and spun upside-down. The chasm narrowed ahead. The boulder came to Dog's feet and he sprang off, shooting downward, flying through the narrowed interstice.

Star rocketed through the haze and mist, and the Dog lost sight (but not sense), of her.

The boulder too big, it slammed and lodged between the sides of the canyon. Rock and ice rained down. Straight-lining his body, the Dog descended faster than the rubble. He broke through the mist line. Seeing only off-white, the Dog closed his eyes and zeroed-in on Star's heartbeat. Almost there. They fell many more meters. The Dog slammed into her.

"Uh!" she grunted again.

Dog wrapped his arms around her and furthered his senses. Nearly at the bottom. Dog flipped over, holding her above over him.

They crashed into tall standing pines, through thick, tangled branches; tumbling over and over and over again until the Dog lost all sense of up _or_ down.

The ground closed in. Dog spun once more before colliding into the ground. And then all was black.

****

Anne stood on a rock, reading aloud from the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ , and slightly balancing it on her chest. Her other hand held a torch.

Still in the catacombs, but the exiles finally made it out of the water.

Troll called for repose and then wandered off. Probably to go sulking in the darkness. Possibly pleading to _him_.

Like the rest of the refugees, Anne was bordering on hypothermia when emerging from the underground bogs, but the miles of thick mountainous bedrock, torches, and lingering body warmth soon made the tunnel sultry.

'Ro and Sandy held each other and cried.

More were missing.

Something had to be done. But, the only thing she _could_ do was instill a little hope in the people; the proverbial torch against the dark. Fortunately, hope had been delivered into her very hands simply because Sirii couldn't read the texts.

Anne didn't believe that. Sure the script appeared penned by an epileptic drunkard, but the words were clearly legible. Perhaps, Sirii just didn't want the texts because they reminded her too much of her father; a loss too fresh to face. But, how come Khariiff couldn't translate them?

She hopped on a stone soapbox, and cried, "Hey, everyone, listen to this!" She leafed through the book until locating a specific page, and read, "...And the trapped survivors of the battle of Al'ber Que grow disheartened. The mysterious plague. People keeping secrets. People going missing. Some should even be at each other's throats..."

At first, those around merely gawked at her with squinty gapes and frowns. Others ignored her out-right. Anne inhaled and pontificated in the voice she once summoned to unite the entire empire of Al'ber Que.

"...Things just get worse and worse. People are found drained of life. Fights. the Swe... _him_ coming back."

Byron and DJ shuffled forth and sat down before her. Soon, the few remaining children joined in on story-time. A few healthy adults lingered on the outskirts, but mostly the crowd composed of valetudinarians. Sarah and Troll were nowhere in sight. Good.

Anne continued, "Many exiles fall along the waste-side. Some are even taken, never to return in future books. We'll lose characters we've known and loved, or, at least tolerated."

The children giggled, even DJ. The adults chuckled. Byron just stared up at her, his bearded and tar-smattered face devoid of emotion.

All those sullen eyes gazing at her like that. This must have been what it felt like to be Reverend Lowell, or, Troll, back when he _used_ to preach to the masses. That was something that instilled a lot of faith and courage in her heart. The way Troll and his friends came to the rescue, showed them the path. But, something happened to Troll. In a way, he never survived the desert. But, someone had to keep the group going, elevate the exiles' collective spirit. And if Troll would not, then Anne would.

"Troll will have to...ye know what, let's skip that part." She thumbed to the next page, scanned down a ways, and read, "...And then they were out. Sunlight. Fresh air. A salty, early-summer's breeze. All-in-all, about 200 enter the escape chamber beyond the slave mines, a little more than fifty come out."

She gently closed the texts, and cried, "You guys see? That's about how many of us there are left. You see? We make it out." She hefted the tome in her hand, and said, " _This_ says we make it out! And I'm gonna prove it!"

****

Troll sat against a sedimentary formation, dozing for what felt like a _long_ time. His weary bones demanded rest. But, he didn't want to sleep. He feared his nightmares were becoming reality.

Booted feet marched toward him.

Montalvo, Sarah, and a tear-streaked 'Ro presented themselves before Troll.

The new council, he supposed.

Sarah represented the _hermanii_ and the sick. She appeared stricken with a fairly nasty case of the cave rot. Her cachectic, febrile skin beaded with perspiration and red dots.

'Ro spoke on behalf of his gang and the turn-coats. He too appeared pallid and emaciated, but he displayed no symptoms of the cave rot. Also, his beard was coming in nicely, though as greasy as his hair.

Montalvo begrudgingly represented everyone else, namely the Al'ber Quearians. He also spared from the mysterious scourge, but his wrinkled, leathery face seemed cemented in a scowl of disdain.

Franz went missing in the catacombs.

The three officials sat on their haunches; reminding him of the Dog and Star.

'Ro sniffled, wiped the rheum from his face, and said, "Look, I don't how else to say it, so I'm just gonna come on out and say it. We gotta do something. I know we voted to leave those missing behind, but that was before them bastards got my brother."

Rubbing his scar, Troll asked, "What bastards are ye referring to?"

He blubbered, "Them freaky little kids."

What children was he talking about?

Cough. Hack. Wheeze. Sarah soughed, and a string of saliva slithered down her chin. She blotted the sweat glistening upon her brow, and said, "We've had many deaths by cave rot." Gaze averted, bottom lip trembling, she quavered, "There's so many...we...we didn't know what to do with them." Wheeze. Cough. Cough. Spit. "And even more are missing."

"Yes," Montalvo added. "A _lot_ more."

Phlegmatically, Sarah gasped, "Anne among them."

"What?" Troll asked. "Since when?"

Montalvo replied, "She was last seen reading to the sick. No one knows where she went after that."

"My heart is burdened by her loss."

Teeth barred, Sarah scoffed, "Is that all ye'r going to say?" Cough. Cough. She momentarily swooned, but no-doubt the rage brewing within her kept her steady. She snarled, "I thought ye wanted to save as many lives as possible?"

"Indeed, I do. But, those taken are not alive."

Fists trembling in anger, 'Ro snarled, "You don't know that."

"Ah, but I do. Ye'll just have to trust me." Troll wanted to tell them that _he_ didn't take prisoners, _he_ devoured them. But, how could he tell 'Ro that his brother had been eaten alive? How could he tell Sarah Anne had been torn to pieces?

'Ro combed shaky fingers through his hair, and said, "I do trust you, but I can't leave here until _I know_ one way or the other if my brother's still alive."

"Nor I, Anne," Sarah said. Cough. Cough. Sniffle.

'Ro continued, "All I wanna know is if you're gonna help me look?"

Troll hung his head in dejection. He just couldn't go back down there. He wouldn't.

Montalvo clasped 'Ro on the shoulder, and said, "I will help you."

Cough. Cough. Sarah swooned, but 'Ro steadied her. She gasped, "I will help, as well."

'Ro said, "I'm not sure you should be goin' anywhere in your condition--"

She blurted, "I said, I'm going."

Shrugging, 'Ro said, "Fair enough." He asked Troll, "Well, what about you?"

Their gazes fell upon him. "I'm sorry," he said. Sigh. "But, I can't. I just can't. I have to keep those still here alive."

'Ro growled, "And how do ya think it's gonna look that we're searching for the others and you're hiding with you tail 'twixt your legs?"

"Yes," Montalvo said. "It might turn the exiles against you."

"So, be it." Gaze averted, Troll stood, and hobbled away.

'Ro asked the others, "Is he really just walking away from us?" He called after Troll, "You keep turning your back on people, and one day someone's gonna stick a knife in it."

Troll strolled around the camp, not recognizing a single face.

Refugees cried, coughed, and bled.

Could he really save any of them?

Over yonder, a group of turn-coats sat around torches.

He ambled closer but didn't dare gaze upon the men. He feared if he did and they died, their faces would forever haunt him.

A turn-coat said, "I remember the time Star pulled Commander Valcor out of his tent by the scruff of his neck, and then the next thing ya know -- blam! Valcor's out. And that's it. She took the camp just like that."

"I remember being freed," said another. "When she told us we could stay or go. I just stood there, frozen. Not knowing what to do or think. I hadn't been given a choice on _anything_ , let alone freedom, since...well, I can't remember."

Another said, "Hindsight bein' what it is, we all should'a just ran for it."

They laughed. Coughing and wheezing.

"Naw, seriously," the second added. "Like I said, it was my choice. The only choice I ever got to make. And 'though we may die down here, I don't regret it. Not even for a second"

"Here, here!" called another.

Their kind words instilled a bit of strength in Troll, the will to carry on, go a little further. Though the turn-coats recalled tales of Star's strength and courage, Troll only remembered her velvety skin. Her pouty lips. The smell of her hair. Like strawberries and spring-time dawn. Their bodies pressed together. The beating of her heart.

But, would he search for Star if she'd been taken? Of course, no question. Even if it meant going down _there_ in the deep, deep dark.

He glanced over his shoulder; into the gloom. He could not let the others venture off on their own. They needed him. Troll was the only one who'd dealt with _him_ before.

A low ominous sound echoed throughout the catacombs, like an ululating yaw. The cavern walls trembled. A long, cold breeze blew and all the torches went out. _All_ of them.

****

Fumbling around in the dark, 'Ro asked, "What the fuck's goin' on, Fedic?"

"Why do you keep asking me?" he replied from somewhere close. "I keep telling you, I have no idea what's going on."

After Troll literally turned his back on them, 'Ro returned to the gang to inform them of the impending search for Ally and the others.

Weeping, Sandy blurted, "Oh, thank God!"

Hickey, Mia, and Fedic looked worried. Exchanging darting glances, their collective lips quivered.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Fedic quavered, "Ya really think that's such a good idea?"

Hickey spat, "Shut up, you fucking coward."

Sandy sniffled, wiped the tears from her long, dirty face, and asked, "When does the search party head out?"

"I really think ya outa stay here," 'Ro replied.

Sandy glared at him, and snarled, "Don't you _dare_ do that. You know damn well that I'd help Ally look for you."

'Ro sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and said, "The situation ain't as easy as looking for a lost person. Ally was...taken."

"So," Sandy said, "We'll get him back."

Then an ululating yaw echoed throughout the catacombs, shaking the walls. A cold breeze arose and all the torches blew out.

"What the fuck's going on?" 'Ro asked Fedic.

"How should I know," Fedic replied.

Hickey murmured, "I don't like this."

'Ro wrapped his arms protectively around Sandy.

Trembling, Sandy sobbed.

"Shh," 'Ro said, brushing her hair. "It's okay. It's all gonna be okay."

An ominous blue-glow filled the catacombs. But, from where did the light emanate?

Hickey quavered, "What in the green-hell?" Shotgun in one hand, the other shielded his eyes from the first light (beside torch or lantern), any of them had seen in a _long_ time.

Children shambled out of the darkness.

"Oh, shit," Hickey said, cocking the hammer. "It's happening again."

Sandy asked, "What's happening?"

A child shuffled toward a middle-aged, native woman.

"Marii?" the woman asked. "Oh, Marii, thank the Goddess!"

"We gotta go," Mia said, tugging 'Ro's arm.

"Go where?" Sandy sobbed. "I don't understand, what's happening?"

The mother opened her arms and leaned in to kiss the child.

The child reared back. Its head distorted and elongated, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Eyes black as coal. Face pallid and brachiated with black, necrotic veins. The mother screamed. The child drove serrated teeth into flesh and ripped the woman's face off. It spat the meat on the ground before digging its mangled fangs into the piping hot mess of flesh that had once been her face.

People screamed and ran.

More children shambled out of the darkness. Eating many. Maiming more. Taking others.

Mia cried, "Let's go!"

"C'mon," 'Ro said, hauling Sandy to her feet.

They pivoted.

Ally shambled out of the darkness. Flesh veiny and white, he glared at them with black, sunken eyes. Black tar drizzled like saliva from his crooked, toothy grin.

Trembling, Sandy asked, "Ally?"

'Ro's thoughts turned to the desert. Furion's tent. Zeke transformed into some kinda hideous ghoul, and then donned the guise of his father.

Hickey fired. The gun jammed.

Ally lurched forward.

Sandy screamed.

'Ro froze.

Fedic and Mia ran.

Hickey leapt at Ally. Hissing, Ally batted him away, as if a fly. Hickey crashed to the ground. Children scurried out of the gloom; skittering on all fours, like roaches. They clawed and gnawed at Hickey.

Ally grabbed Sandy. Shrieking, she pissed her pants.

'Ro gripped Sandy's arm and kicked Ally aside. Ally staggered back a few steps but quickly found his footing.

More children feverishly crawled over Hickey, but he fought back with fist, foot, and head-butts.

Ally glowered at 'Ro. Head slightly canted, he grinned, and said, "Please, son, just put me out of my misery."

"Pop, is that you?" 'Ro asked.

Ally's face contorted in rage. In a voice like rusty nails in a mason jar, he screamed, "Kill me you fucking ass dill-weed-pussy-fagot."

"Stop it!" 'Ro drew, but there was no gun in his grip. Just what in the green-hell was going on? "You're dead! You're dead, you ornery ol' man. Stop haunting my dreams. You're dead!"

"Oh, we're all dead down here, little brother. For, this is Hell. And down here, we all dine on _ash_." Ally lunged at Sandy.

'Ro drew from the other hip. Palm glided into holstered grip. He fired, carving a small crater in Ally's forehead, one that drizzled black-sludge.

Ally's muscles twitched and tremored sporadically. He gazed at 'Ro and grinned a manic smile.

"Come on!" Hickey said, grabbing 'Ro and Sandy by the arm.

They ran, but 'Ro glanced back.

Ally pointed and skirled at them in a high-pitched roar; his mouth impossibly ajar, exposing rows of glistening-white teeth.

Another long, ominous yaw tremored the catacombs so fiercely it drove 'Ro, Sandy, and Hickey to the ground. A cold breeze blew through the caverns and the torches all came back on. Ally and the monstrous children were gone.

Gaze darting, whirling in circles, Hickey cried, "What the fuck was that?"

Sandy curled up on the ground, crying and shrieking.

'Ro tried to console her, but no use. She just kept skirling. The sound bore into his brains like phantom bullets through the head.

Before long, he too was screaming.

****

Troll stood before...well, he didn't know what to call it. Bodies lay strewn about, as if the cadavers were once being neatly set alongside one another, then, after no-doubt, exhausted, those moving the corpses to this particular area appeared to give up, and just tossed the dead upon the others.

Phrases like, open-grave, or mass-grave, came to mind. But such sepulchers were usually a bit more uniformed, somewhat dignified.

What Troll observed was simply...careless, disrespectful.

The mound of cave rot victims piled high. Pale, blighted bodies wore hemorrhage rings around their mouths, nostrils, and oculars. Their gaping mouths forever twisted in excruciation.

Everything seemed so still; not a sound stirred.

Troll had witnessed corpses before. Even among the dead, live things such as maggots and flies flourished. But, not down here.

Heart aching, his eyes shuddered as if on the verge of lacrimation. He wanted to cry, his soul yearned for some sort of emotional release. But, for whatever reason, he just couldn't.

After the lights went out and children shambled out of the darkness and took people, and Ally returned and attacked the Jessips, 'Ro and Sandy sang a different tune. They now knew what Troll did. Ally was gone. And he was never coming back. Now, they just wanted to get out. They all did.

Troll called for the exiles to make a mad dash for the exit, and for once, not a single person disagreed. The people hurriedly trounced on in an orderly fashion, but he knew if the lights went out again, it would be every man for himself.

Troll lingered behind. For some reason he just couldn't leave. This didn't feel right; there was no conflict-resolution. He had to do the one thing he feared the most \-- call _him_ out. But he couldn't do that either. He stood at a fork in the road: either flee like a coward and hope for the best, or face _him_ and try to win back those taken. Only two paths stood before his sandaled feet, but he dreaded treading either one.

Visually perusing the corpses, he thought he recognized some of their contorted features. He scanned the cadavers more thoroughly, and he spied Doctor's body lying haphazardly atop a few others. Troll's eyes rested upon tawny, native girl he once knew, but couldn't reconcile.

"That's Reyna" said Sarah.

Troll started, his heart beat an arrhythmic beat.

Cough. Cough. Hack. Cough. She wheezed, "Sirii's _dischaag_."

Troll pivoted.

Sarah and _d'el hermanii_ stood behind him.

Grasping at his chest, Troll gasped, "I thought ye'd be fleeing with the others."

Sarah staggered forth and clutched Troll's croak.

She reeked of rot and decay.

But of course, down here, even the living festered.

Cough. Cough. Wheeze. She gasped, "I tell ye, Anne is still alive."

"I'm sorry," Troll replied. "But she's not."

Sarah sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and said, "Back in Silverdale, after the slaughter at the shelter, I thought Anne was dead." Cough. Cough. Hack. Cough. She wheezed, "But, the Dog didn't. He knew she was still alive. Ye told me that, remember?"

"Aye."

She swooned but retained her footing. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, and said, "But, I think ye all knew she survived the shelter's massacre."

He ran his fingers down his scar, scratched his beard, and said, "Perhaps."

"And the morning after the fall of Silverdale, when Anne disappeared, I feared the worst. But she was fine." Cough. Wheeze. Hack. "And when she went missing in Al'ber Que, only to turn up at the end and unite the empire. All the things she has done. She's a survivor. She's special. And that's why they want her, isn't it?" She tottered and he steadied her by gently grasping her emaciated shoulders.

" _He_ has her."

She peered into his eyes, and said, "So, we'll get her back."

"Impossible," he scoffed.

She softly touched his cheek, and said, "Don't lose ye'r faith. Not now. Do ye remember when we sat upon the great wall while the others placed barrels of flash-powder around the empire?"

"Indeed, I do."

"Do ye remember what ye said to me?"

"I said many things. As I recall, ye just had a miscarriage and were quite distressed about everything that was happening to us."

"Aye, ye told me to hold on, be strong for a little while longer. And then to learn and let go once it all over."

Nodding, he replied, "Aye, good advice to anyone."

"So, follow that advice!" Cough. Cough. "Let's go rescue Anne as ye did on that final night in Silverdale, and let's get the hell out of here!"

He glanced at _d'el_ _hermanii_ , and asked, " _Madiriis_?"

Chin held high, "N'Dora said, "We are with you."

Cough. Hack. Wheeze. Sniffle. Sarah gazed into his eyes, and said, "So, what do ye say? Should we go settle this or not?"

He drifted back to Silverdale and the evening after the Dog's re-purification. Star was so mad at him. And then he divulged to her the depths of his machinations. Star kissed him, and said, "Now, let's go get Dog." God, he wished he felt that confidant now.

Sarah smacked Troll across the face, returning him to the here-and-now.

Rubbing his cheek, he asked "What was that for?"

Cough. Couch. Hack. Spit. "Sorry, t'is the fever." Murmuring, she amended, "I suppose."

N'Dora coughed wetly into her fist, and asked, "So, shall we rescue the young empress?"

Troll exhaled a heavy sigh, combed his fingers through his hair, and said, "Aye."

In search of Anne (and many others), they ventured back toward the catacombs.

Troll's heart thudded louder with every step he took.

Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_ wore armor and wielded swords and torches. And while Troll carried his torch/staff, for the first time in his life, he felt disarmed, utterly defenseless.

An ominous mist arose as they trekked back toward the bogs.

Troll sensed rapacious shadows lurking among the haze, still he plodded on. He had to remain strong for the benefit of the others. He glanced back, his comrades slogged on; their faces awash in determination. God, Sarah had become so strong. Did she even know it?

They neared the murky sepulcher and Troll (and the others), slowed to a crawling gait.

There, at the water's edge stood a little girl with long, ratty hair that cascaded over her face; concealing it. The girl swayed and hummed.

It reminded Troll of Byron under hypnosis.

The tune she hummed sounded like the song from his nightmares.

Waving, she greeted, "Oh, hello. The house master has been expecting you." Her voice sounded like Anne's.

Sarah quavered, "Anne, is that ye?"

"Shh," Troll said. "I will do the talking."

But it _did_ sound like Anne.

He gestured for Sarah and the _hermanii_ to stay put. Heart galloping, he inched toward the girl, and asked, "Anne?"

"Anne? Who is Anne? My name's Quinn."

"So, tell me, Quinn, where is my friend, Anne?"

Giggling, she replied, "With _him_. Down here. Where she's always been."

Troll pounded his torch/staff thrice, and said, "I demand ye release my friend, this instant!"

"I told you, _he_ has her, and I would think twice about barking demands at _him_."

Troll bellowed, "If ye'r so-called master is brave enough to face me, I will."

"So, call him out."

"How?"

"You _know_ how."

Quinn's head bent impossibly to the side so far Troll thought her neck would snap.

She said, "Sing the song."

"I will not!"

"Come on, I'll sing with you, Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man..." she crooned, swaying to-and-fro.

"Enough!" Troll reached for Quinn.

She batted his hand away, and floundered backward. He grasped a fistful of for her hair, pulling it off, as if a wig. Anne sat on the ground, grinning wickedly up at him.

Troll peered at the gnarled wig in his hand, and said, "What the?"

"Do you like it?" she asked. "That little, bitch, Anne cut off all my pretty hair. So I scalped one of her precious, little friends. I didn't even know her name."

"My God, Anne, what have ye done?"

Anne scrambled to her feet, and snarled, "The same thing I'm going to do to you!" She snatched the dagger from her belt and leapt at Troll.

"In the name of God, I demand thee out, demons!" He smacked her across the face as lightly as possible.

She tumbled backward, slamming the back of her head on the ground.

Sarah shrieked, "You killed her!"

"Silence," Troll roared. "Stay where ye are!"

Anne moaned, and rose wearily in a sit. Rubbing the back of her head, she asked, "Where am I? What happened?"

Precariously, he inched toward her, and asked, "Anne, is that ye? Be thee well?"

She stared at the scalp in Troll's hand. Her bottom lip protruded, trembling. "I'm so sorry. Ye have no idea the things I've done."

"T'is all right. Ye were not in ye'r right mind."

Unable to restrain themselves any longer, Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_ rushed over and embraced Anne as she sobbed.

"So sweet," croaked a gravelly voice.

Troll's heart skipped a beat.

Just near the water's edge, the pool rippled and bubbled. A giant, reptilian head with many red eyes emerged from the murky, earthen waters.

Anne cried, "Run!"

Troll picked her up and raced off with Sarah and _d'el_ _hermanii_ sprinting at his side.

Peering over his shoulder, Anne said, "Faster!"

He felt the house master closing in. Troll raced as fast as his muscles would allow, yet he appeared to gain no ground, as if caught in a living nightmare, one from which he was unable to escape. Terror ensconced his heart as it galloped at an arrhythmic pace.

They ran until they caught up with the refugees.

"Run!" Troll bellowed, sprinting past them.

The refugees gawked at them.

Anne hopped out of his arms, and called, "Seriously people, fucking run!"

The catacombs shook with a cacophonous laughter.

Exiles skirled.

Anne grabbed DJ's hand, and said, "Come on, let's go!"

"You heard her," Troll roared. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

And then they ran for their lives.

****

Star said, "Good grouse." She bit a whopper of the stringed flesh, and wiped the grease dribbling down her chin.

Night. She and the Dog camped in a lush forest of sequoias, pines, and viny foliage. Crickets chirped. Nocturnal creatures chattered.

The Dog sat on the other side of the fire, sharpening his hunting knife (he'd pitched it during their fall, but retrieved it shortly after).

She was pissed at him earlier, but felt much better now.

When she awoke after their plummet down the canyon, the Dog crouched over her. He'd slit his palm, squeezing rivulets of his blood into her mouth, and working her chest with his other hand.

Shoving him away, she snarled, "What the hell, Dog! I told you not to do _that_!" She sat up, and it felt like her hair stuck to the rocky ground.

"I had to," he replied. He pointed, and said, "Look."

She turned around. Her head had been immersed in a pool of blood. Her hair felt tacky and the back of her head itched with a slight tingling sensation.

The fall had cracked her skull open. She would have bled out if not for him. But at that moment, she didn't care. He disobeyed her. Anger flared and her skin felt hot and flush.

The Dog said, "Calm down."

"Excuse me?"

"Your eyes are glowing. My blood's stirring you up. Take a few deep breaths and steady yourself."

Teeth grinding, snorting steam, she glared up at him. He was right. His blood _was_ agitating her. Right then she could've ripped him apart with her bare hands. Memories of the fields, Mikhail, Diamond, and the duel swirled within her mind. She forced those reveries away. She sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, and meditated until calm.

She glanced around the grey, misty maze of pine and goliath red woods. Roots tortuously coiled around the rocky terrain like desiccate veins.

"Better?"

"Much," she replied. The Dog helped her to her feet. She combed her fingers through blood-caked gnarls of hair, and semi-coagulated blood slithered between her fingers. Disgust curdling her innards, she uttered, "Shit." She examined her gory hand. Clots of dried blood and a few strands of hair smeared her palm, but at least her locks weren't falling out in clumps, like before.

Angry howls and bays echoed from above.

She (and probably the Dog), sensed the bargs pacing among the cliff's edge. They wouldn't jump. They weren't as desperate as she and the Dog were. But, they _would_ find another way down.

"Come on," she said.

They traveled for hours and at great speeds (thanks to the Dog's blood).

The rocky terrain grew lush and green. The few tall standing pines that managed to jut through the stone became a deep, thick forest. Much warmer down here. The air smelled sweeter.

She was closer to home than she'd ever been. Two day's journey -- tops. And if she didn't know better, she'd guess the season near summer. And that was a fine time to return to Krin.

After a while, her belly gurgled. But it wasn't from nausea. The Dog fed her a _lot_ of his blood.

Rubbing her stomach, she asked, "You as hungry as me?"

Donning his Cheshire grin, he replied, "You have no idea."

"I think I have a little MRE left," she said, ruffling through her pack.

"Let's go hunting."

"Oh, yeah. Can we just do one quick thing, first?"

"What?"

"Can we pray?"

The Dog's face contorted in confusion, brows furrowed, lips curled. "What for?"

She sighed, ran a hand through her hair (relieved to see none falling out), and said, "It's just that we've come so far, against impossible odds. I just think that if Troll were here, he'd give thanks for all we've overcome and pray for a fruitful hunt."

"He would," the Dog replied.

"So, in honor of him, will you pray with me?"

Squinting, he said, "I thought you didn't know how to pray."

She snorted in amusement, and replied, "I've been around Troll long enough. I think I can wing it."

The Dog gazed at her in uncertainty.

"Please," she said. "You don't have to say anything, just take my hand." She offered her hand and he took it. She knelt and bowed. The Dog just stood there. She tugged at his arm and the Dog knelt, but did not bow his head.

Star prayed, "Dear, God, or whatever, thank you for keeping us safe. Thank you for the Dog. Thank you for everything, the good and the bad. I pray Troll and all the others meet up with us safe and sound. And I pray for fruitful hunt. Let's see...uh, shit, how does it end?"

Ears twitching, gazing around, he said, "Amen."

"Right! Thanks," she bowed her head once more, and said, "Amen."

Off in the distance a tree fell with a loud crunching, splintering sound. Birds squawked and took flight.

The Dog opened a compartment on his belt that she'd never seen him use before.

He leapt a good ten-feet in the air and threw three disc-like objects. The discs appeared to expand, tripling in diameter as they swooped and sailed through the air, severing the heads off the birds. Their bodies plummeted into the brush.

Senses heightened, she quickly retrieved and cleaned the fowl as the Dog built a small campfire.

She picked the bones clean and tossed the carcass into fire. "I'm sorry I got so angry with you earlier."

The Dog shrugged and continued sharpening his knife.

"I know why you did what you did. But from here on out, don't feed me your blood _ever_. I don't care what happens. Just promise me you won't do it anymore."

The Dog gazed into her eyes, and said, "I promise."

****

Troll called, "Look, there's light up ahead!"

"I see it too," cried another.

Anne yelled, "Come on, guys, we're almost there!"

Troll led the exiles on a mad dash that seemed to last for hours. Finally, they entered a large mist-filled chamber, a dull light shone at the other end. They advanced a few meters into the haze before Troll slipped and waffled to the ground. Others fell, as well. The ones pouring in from behind stumbled over those fallen. A lot of shouting and cries of anguish. Troll rested a hand on the tabular ground to prop himself up. A cold slickness and his palm slid out. Ice.

"Slow it down!" he bellowed. "It's ice."

Some refugees helped the fallen. Others rushed past, staggering to keep their feet under them. A few of the exiles were trampled during the melee.

Troll wobbly arose, cautiously hurrying across the ice.

"So sweet," croaked a gravelly voice.

The exiles halted. Some backed away. Others slipped and fell.

Byron emerged from the shadows and stepped into the light.

"T'is all right!" Troll called, "T'is only Byron. Come on chaps!"

A large, dark shadow rose behind Byron, blocking the exit.

Pity, Troll could almost taste the fresh air.

Byron cried, "The house master wishes to know where ye all think ye'r going?"

"Step aside, Madgellaine, we are leaving."

Grinning like a madman, Byron replied, "Ye poor, fool, there is no leaving. Ye've always been down here. And down here, ye'll always be. _All_ of ye."

The chamber quaked. People screamed, falling to the ice.

Troll managed to retain his footing via his staff (the torch had blown out while'st running).

Cackling, Byron yelled, "Ye'r dead! Ye hear me? Ye'r all dead! And this is Hell!"

Troll carefully strode forth, and said, "Prince Madgellaine, the Sweetie-man, I demand ye leave this place at once!"

Anne emerged by Troll's side. She read from the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_. The words she spoke were the same as his and in exact unison. Together they declared, "I demand ye depart, for this is not ye'r realm!"

Troll stopped speaking. He pivoted and gazed down at Anne.

She continued reading, "But, the house master did not leave, for _this was_ his realm."

"Anne, what in heaven's name are ye doing?" Troll asked in unison with Anne.

"I'm reading from the texts."

"Why?"

"Because it says I do."

"Hogwash," Troll said in unison with Anne.

"Look," she chimed. "It even says you say that." She gazed down at the pages, and said, "And then...oh, shit."

"What?" he asked. "What happens next?"

The house master roared in laughter. The chamber quaked ever more.

Children shambled out of the darkness. Hissing, clawing, and pulling screaming people into the shadows.

Anne read, "Troll glanced back toward the exit, finding it unblocked."

He did. And it was. Both Byron and Madgellaine were gone.

"Quickly, everyone run!" Troll cried in unison with Anne. He twirled his staff and knocked Madgellaine's "children" away. People fled as he and some of the others fought off the demonic avatars of lost exiles.

Anne read along with everything that occurred.

Troll bashed the ice over and over again with his staff.

Battling with his spear, Montalvo asked, "What are you doing?"

In tandem, he and Anne said, "The only thing I can. Anne, stop reading that cursed thing and get the hell out of here!"

"I'm watching ye'r back," she replied.

Children shambled toward them. Anne pitched the torch in her left hand and drew steel, slicing the children's heads off in one fell swoop.

Troll continued hammering away at the ice until it broke, cracks webbed across the frozen ground. "Run!" He grabbed Anne and skated over the fracturing terrain toward the exit.

The ice broke. People screamed as they fell into freezing, black water.

Troll and Anne made it to the other side moments before the shelf collapsed into the placid, opal drink. They glanced back.

Dozens of people slithered down into the watery abyss. Once their heads dipped below the surface, they never floated back up, as if instantly drowning.

Madgellaine roared in laughter.

There, standing on a platform of ice amidst the settling waters, was Byron.

Troll waved him over, and called, "Come on, Byron. Just paddle that ice-raft over. Ye can make it!"

Anne said, "He's not coming."

"Ye don't know that." He pivoted toward Byron, and cried, "Come on, Byron."

Drooling black-tar, Byron grinned, and waved goodbye.

It reminded him of the stranger in white, waving as Troll led the survivors of the battle of Al'ber Que into the depths of Hell.

"Don't do this, Byron." Troll's voice hitched. Tears welled within the hollows of his eyes. He quavered, "Please, my friend. Don't make me leave thee."

Head downcast, Anne shuffled away.

"Where are ye going?"

She peered into his eyes, and said, "Trust me. Ye don't want to see what happens next."

"Why? What happens next?" Troll glanced back.

Madgellaine stood behind Byron; its claws on Byron's thin shoulders. It glared at Troll with its many red eyes.

Suddenly, that look of madness washed completely from Byron's face. Brow furrowed, mouth ajar, he gazed around. "Where am I? What happened." He peered at Troll. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, and asked, "Troll, is that ye? Is it really ye?"

Shoulder throbbing, Troll's heart just sank.

A smile incipiently crawled across Byron's haggard features and he sighed a gale of relief.

Madgellaine growled like boulders grinding together.

Byron's lip quivered. His entire body shook. His gaze filled with a sense of dread. With the slow malaise of a nightmare he turned around.

Troll could only watch.

Byron screamed. Madgellaine grabbed him, and plunged into the murky waters faster than a bullet barrels out of a gun.

The ice platform teetered in the settling ripples.

An indescribable torment ripped at Troll's soul as he hobbled out into the sun. He made it. He survived. But, at what cost? He ambled away from the cave. His eyes immediately burned in the light. He winced, and hissed through clenched teeth. When he could see, they stood in a lush, green forest; the foot of the Sie Mountains behind them. He made his way from the mouth of the cave. He inhaled deeply, nearly choking on the fresh air. Refugees sat on the ground, crying, praying, and reuniting with any of their comrades still alive. Troll collapsed to his knees. The blades of grass never seemed so sharp. On and on people cried and coughed. But, all Troll heard were Byron's screams moments before the Sweetie-man finally took him. That skirl would haunt him until the day he died.

****

7

Troll bellowed, "All right, everyone, let's get ready to move out!"

The first thing he did after their harrowing escape from under the mountains was close the cave, so that nothing got out. He ordered a couple turn-coats to toss grenades into the tunnel entrance, sealing it off. _Then_ they rested. Troll didn't know the turn-coats. Nearly ten thousand resided in Al'ber Que, but after the battle, and the collapsing of the mines, he was left with around 200 souls to protect. Of those 200, a little over fifty remained. He glanced around the camp. He hardly recognized any of them. Most of the people he knew died of the cave rot, mysteriously drained of life, or were taken. Their loss bore down upon his heart, like heavy cumulonimbus clouds over a quaint, sleepy hamlet. No-doubt, he'd be hauling that weight around until the day he died. And yet, he still couldn't get Byron's screams out of his head.

Seeking solitude, he wandered into the ubiquitous forestry, 'though he didn't trudge too far.

The western face of the Sie Mountains was simply breathtaking. Toward Al'ber Que, the ranges were riddled with sand-colored stone. But from this side, the base of the mountains ripened into rolling hills of tall standing conifers; redwoods, sequoias, and pine. Poppies, laurels, and bulbs lovingly entangled amid vines and other succulent vegetation. Birds caroled in unison with the gossipy buzz of insects. Warm, yellow rays of sunshine beamed through bald spots in the canopy of foliage. Branches swayed in tandem with the briny, ocean breeze.

Troll sat cross-legged in a patch of tall-grass. He folded his hands and bowed his head. He meant to pray, but soon as he opened his mouth to converse with the Good Lord, he sobbed uncontrollably.

He sat there blubbering for a long time before sensing a presence behind. He whirled around, expecting Prince Madgellaine; instead, he found Sarah.

She stood there, head bowed, hands kneading fabric. The dots on her hands and face flattened into hard, brown blemishes. Her skin regained a slightly less cadaverous hue. Gaze averted, she stuttered, "I...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

"That's quite all right." Sniffling, he wiped the rheum from his bearded cheeks, and asked, "How may I assist ye, my dear."

"I haven't seen Byron since just before we escaped." Gape spangled with tears, lips trembling, she asked, "Did he...not make it?"

"Anne did not tell thee?"

"Frankly, I hadn't the heart to ask." Voice hitching, she amended, "I suppose he's at peace now."

He pictured that one moment of brevity when lucidity washed over Byron's face. That look of dread as he turned around. His scream.

Byron claimed he'd always been down there, and there he'd always be. Troll highly doubted Byron at peace, but he couldn't tell Sarah that. He _wouldn't_.

He said, "Ye look better. How are ye feeling?"

Cough. Cough. She soughed, and replied, "Physically, I'm okay. Many of us who were stricken with the cave rot began recovering not long after our escape. But, I'd be lying if I told ye I felt good."

Hand-in-hand, they trounced back to camp in total silence.

At one point she peered up at him, and said, "Ye seem taller."

"I had to stoop most of the time under the mines. To be honest, now that I can stand straight, my back hurts a little." And it was true. But the mild spasms paining his muscles veiled in comparison to the aching of his heart.

The refugees lingered about. Their tattered, soiled clothes suggested they'd all just dug themselves out of the grave.

An exile asked, "Where is Star?"

The others grumbled in agreement.

Another cried, "Where is the other prophet? Where is the beast in the form of man?"

"Where are we to go?"

"What will do, _easta_?"

Where _was_ Star? She should've met him on the other side. Did something happen to her? Had she died? If so, he didn't feel it like when the Dog passed.

He held his hands above the crowd, and called, "T'is true the plan _was_ to meet my friends on the other side."

Bow strung around his lean body, Thomas Archer stepped forward, and asked, "So, where are they?"

"T'is obvious to anyone that going _over_ the mountains would be far more treacherous -- I mean, t'would take longer for them to cross the mountains than merely going under them. But, since we have arrived at our destination before them, we have no choice but to continue on to Krin, as per, the original plan. There, we will wait for them while'st breaking bread with the Krinians."

Squinting, lips curled, Hickey spat tobacco juice, and asked, "Ya want us to go traipsing through the woods in a part of the world _none_ of us have ever been before?"

At least he recognized _some_ of them.

"Exactly."

Gripes and grumbles spread amongst the exiles like a case of the cave rot.

He added, "Unless ye'd all rather stay _here_ , and see if the barricade holds after nightfall."

A wave of anxious glances and nervous murmurings surged through the rabble.

He didn't want to take another step until Star by his side, but he saw no alternative. "Well come," he called. "We've rested enough, and we have many miles to tread."

Of course, he had no idea where Krin was, but Star mentioned it was the furthest thing west. So, west they went.

They marched for hours through rich tangled forestry and mine fields of tall-standing sun flowers.

Troll drifted back to the early days after first meeting the Dog and Star. They journeyed through country much like this before any of _this_ ever happened.

Many of those stricken by cave rot appeared much better out in the sunshine and fresh air; less coughing and sneezing. The bumps and rashes receded, leaving dull, brown splotches that resembled birthmarks. Troll's thoughts turned to Natiis and many others he'd lost. Byron. Ally. Khariiff. All of them. They placed their lives in his once-capable hands, and he failed them. His one saving grace was liberating as many souls as he did.

After a time, Montalvo strolled up to Troll and strode alongside. Silently, he peregrinated, utilizing his spear as a walking stick. His long, silvery hair fluttered in the gentle breeze.

They marched a while before Montalvo said, "I have been very angry with you lately."

Stroking his scar and beard, Troll replied, "Aye, I could tell."

"It's true I didn't agree with many of the decisions you've made since your return. But, I had no right to turn my back on you. 'Ro and I threatened you, and I'm sorry."

"Think nothing of it. We all had to make many tough choices down there. I thank God we made it out with as many as we did."

"What made you change your mind about going back for Anne?"

"T'was Sarah who convinced me," he replied. "She has become _very_ strong."

"That tends to happen to people who spend large amounts of time around you," Montalvo chuckled.

They both laughed. If felt good to laugh with Montalvo (or anyone), again.

Troll cleared his throat, and said, "So, after we arrive at Krin. Will ye stay with us and continue the fight. Or have ye chosen a different path."

Montalvo gazed off into the distance, and said, "I don't know. I have thought a lot about it. But, I honestly just don't know. I have already seen so much of the world. But, Krin's beauty is legendary. I would very much like to stand upon the great bluffs and gaze off into the ocean. Perhaps, when I stand there I will decide."

"Perhaps."

They treaded on in silence for another couple of hours.

The sun lethargically rolled across the sky. Rays of fading sunlight pierced through the trees and foliage.

A voice thundered, "Halt!"

Startled, the exiles halted, jittering nervously.

Troll scanned the trees and bushes. Nothing.

"Who goes there?" the voice called.

Troll replied, "I would prefer to make introductions in person."

Silence.

Troll glanced at his men and shrugged.

Montalvo leaned over, and whispered, "There's more than one. In the trees."

Troll scanned the forest again -- thoroughly. "I still see nothing."

"Trust me," Montalvo replied. "They're out there."

"How many?"

Wearing a leathery frown, Montalvo gazed into Troll's eyes, and said, "We're surrounded."

"Very well, then." He coiled his hands tightly around his staff, turned to the refugees, and said, "Prepare thy selves."

"For what?" Someone asked.

Troll heard 'Ro reply, "For anything, numb-nuts."

The bushes rustled twenty-paces ahead and a man in his mid-twenties stepped out. He wore brown-leather clothing covered in leaves, sticks, and moss. Camouflage. He wielded a spear, but didn't brandish it threateningly. His face a dark, chocolate brown. He had short, curly, golden-blond hair. He easily could've been Star's brother (had he survived). He assessed Troll's party with diamond-blue eyes, and said, "What is this? I came out to make introductions, and I find a small army, ready to attack."

"Ye took a while to respond to my invitation," Troll replied. "We thought us on the verge of battle. I'm glad to see only thee." He motioned for his people to lower their weapons.

After a moment's hesitation, they did.

The man said, "Your words are strange, giant." He scanned the exiles, and added, "And many of your group bears the mark of the king."

"Aye, I'm praying to add another of the mark to my group."

The man nodded, and asked, "Who are you people? Where do you come from? What do you want?"

Troll sighed. He ruffled his greasy, mangy hair. Braids and beads shucked and jived. He inhaled, and said, "Well, we are a smattering of peoples, hailing from parts all over. A good chunk of us came from an empire on the other side of Sie Mountains, called Al'ber Que."

"I have never heard of such an empire." Gape narrowed, he asked, "Are you spies of the king."

"In my experience, the king's spies don't travel in vast numbers. And they're a bit more discreet about their doings."

"And what would you know of the king? I don't see the mark on you. Were you a slave or soldier?"

"Neither," Troll replied.

"What do you want?"

"We are weary exiles seeking asylum in a place called Krin. Ever heard of it?"

Dancing in place, the man readied his spear, and stammered, "What do you know of Krin? It doesn't exist anymore. It never did."

"Well, which is it? Does Krin no longer exist, or is it that it never did?"

The man's gaze darted nervously back and forth. He danced in place all the more.

It reminded him of Star's rocking.

The bushes rustled and an older man appeared at the younger's side. He was also of dark complexion and fair hair. He patted the younger man on the shoulder. Both men were of average stature; fairly tall, and fit, but not overtly muscular. In fact, the younger man appeared the spitting image of the elder. No-doubt, they father and son. The younger man eased off his spear and stepped behind the elder. The elder gazed at Troll, and asked, "How do you know of Krin?"

He replied, "The love of my life was born there. I'd like to say she raised there, as well. Unfortunately, Krin was sacked by the king many years ago, and she taken into slavery, escaped, and found me and my friend."

Scanning the crowd with faded blue-eyes, the elder said, "I see no children of Krin with you, giant."

"As I said, I'm hoping to see her soon. She and my friend were caught up in another matter and have been detained, temporarily, of course."

"Oh, and just what matter would that be?"

"Fighting the king," he replied. Troll turned to the exiles, held out his hand, and said, "As have these fine people."

Gape narrowed, mouth drawn tight, the elder peered at Troll, and asked, "Who are you? All of you. Who are you, _really_?"

"As I said, most of these people came from the empire of Al'ber Que. Others are, as we've dubbed them, turn-coats; those who _were_ soldiers amongst the king's ranks but united against him."

The elder scoffed, "Small band to fight the king."

"There were more of us," Troll gravely replied.

"And who riled these people against the king, you?"

"Actually, it was a woman by the name of Myriam Star, a child of Krin."

The elder's gape grew wide, jaw slack. The younger man frantically whispered something to the elder. "Hush, child," he said to the younger. Rubbing his ovoid chin, he asked Troll, "And who is this other friend you mentioned?"

"He's..." Troll _almost_ told him the Dog was dead. He chuckled, "He is what he is. Let's leave it at that for now. But tell me, my good man, I have answered each and every quandary without delay. Who are ye fine folks?"

The elder said, "My name is Greggoire, and this is Daneal. Who are you?"

Troll replied, "That depends on whom ye ask. To some I am called prophet. To others, a beast of a man. And some call me a bit of a braggart and an ass."

"I think it's him," Daneal said to Greggoire.

"I said, hush." Greggoire said to Troll, "I'm not asking those people. I'm asking _you_."

Bowing, he replied, "Troll, at ye'r service. And I apologize for startling ye. I can appreciate why you Krinians would be so weary of strangers."

Back straight, chest puffed out, Greggoire asked, "So, you know I'm Krinian?"

"Of course, I told thee, my woman is Myriam Star. And though she not here presently, she _is_ from Krin."

"And you are the man in the form of a beast?"

Troll spread his arms out and gestured as if saying, "C'mon, look at me."

Greggoire stroked his ovoid chin with his thumb and index-finger for a moment, and asked, "And your _other_ friend, he is the beast in the form of a man?"

"I've heard him referred to as worse."

Greggoire whistled a bird call.

Twenty camouflaged Krinians emerged from all around them.

Montalvo was right. They _were_ surrounded.

Fidgeting with their weapons, the exiles jittered.

"Easy," Troll called.

Greggoire marched up to Troll, peered into his gape, and asked, "Can I trust you and your people?"

"Aye," he replied. "But, why take the word of a stranger? Let's look at the facts. My people greatly outnumber ye'rs, and we've been well-seasoned in battle. We could crush thee if we wanted, but that is not our intention."

"And what are your intentions?"

"Peace, and nothing more."

Greggoire held out his hand and Troll shook it.

"Okay," Greggoire said. "Come with us."

Greggoire led Troll and his group (closely watched by the Krinians), through thick forestry for a little less-than-an-hour. The sun incipiently sank over the horizon, but below the foliaceous canopy, all grew dark and gloomy. They came upon a thicket of twisted grape vines. Greggoire pulled the bramble aside.

Below, a lush, green valley dotted with simple huts. Beyond that, lay trees and marsh land. Past that, rolling green bluffs. And further out, the sun was setting over oceans bluer than Troll had ever dreamt.

Greggoire smiled, and said, "Welcome to Krin."

****

Day. The air warm and humid, just shy of sultry. Fauna caroled along with the purling of rushing water. The sun stood high in the unblemished sky as sequoias and goliath red woods kept sentry among the ubiquitous forest. Behind them and off in the distance, the Sie Mountains dissolved into nothing more than a fading memory.

Star and the Dog stood before a wide, rushing river.

Foam licked and lapped rocks jutting out of the water's racing surface.

Good, she _needed_ to wash her hair.

She glanced to the other side. The shore seemed leagues away

She didn't remember the river being this wide _or_ deep.

She was getting sick again. She could feel it. Nausea swirled in torrential waves. She constantly suffered massive migraines and every fiber of her being just ached. Her bones felt as spongy as moldy cordwood. Red soars speckled the exposed parts of her flesh. She shuddered to think what she looked like underneath her cloak, armor, and clothes. Her hair hadn't started falling out again -- but it would. She thought of Furion's mirror and her reflection that withered and decayed before her very eyes. She was falling apart. Soon, nothing would remain of her but dust and bones.

She slept little through the night as the Dog stayed ever at her side. Hours before dawn (and with no rest in sight), she suggested they press on.

For hours they trounced through dew-soaked bramble and brush littering the coniferous maze they negotiated.

They rested a little after dawn.

Star coughed and wheezed, hacking up blood. She didn't dare toy with her hair.

Dog sat on his haunches, watching her with glittering, golden eyes. Every so often a bird would call, or a squirrel scurried across a branch over-head. Dog tilted his head, elongated ears twitching, but his gaze stayed glued on Star.

At that moment, she loathed him. But no. She pushed that thought away. T'was the sickness (and a bit of the Dog's blood), that kept her in such a foul temperament.

They pressed on without a word.

After a time they came to a swift, wide river. The Sac Krin River. She was nearly home. "Well," she asked the Dog. "How do you suggest we cross it?"

"Is there a better place to cross?"

She replied, "We could look, but that would take time. Plus, I ain't been back this way in years. Who knows what might have happened to the landscape since then."

"Then we cross here." The Dog slipped off his boots and stuffed them in his pack. He shifted slightly feral, until his feet became ragged claws; better for traipsing through the river bed.

Nodding at the swift waters, she asked, "How deep ya think it is?"

"Does it matter?"

She snorted, "Kinda."

He peered into her eyes, and asked, "Why? Don't you know how to swim?"

"Of course, I can swim!" she sneered. "Just not very well."

"Too bad the harness broke coming down the canyon."

"Fuck the harness! I don't need to be carried. I'm not a baby."

The Dog carefully waded into the current, and held his hand out to her.

She took it and sloshed precariously into the swift, frigid waters. "Whoa," she said as the coldness penetrated through her clothing and armor. Her thoughts turned to a memory long buried, about fishing with her brother and father in this very river.

The Dog leaned to the side.

Probably feeling around with his feet.

"How deep is it?"

"Deep enough," he replied. "Probably even deeper toward the middle."

Hand-in-hand, they waded further out until the water level rose to the Dog's neck (or, half-way up Star's torso).

"Dog! Behind ya!"

The Dog pivoted slowly through the water. Not fast enough.

Wham

A man-sized log barreled into them.

The Dog's skull thudded off the bedraggled wood.

The wind knocked from her lungs, the log rolled over her, driving her under the rapids. A swift undertow swept her feet out from under her. She zoomed through the water and slammed into a jagged rock. Her shoulder took the brunt of the blow; instantly going numb. She howled in pain, but as soon as she opened her mouth dirty, river water poured in; choking her. She tried to push off the river bed. But which way was up? The water too murky. She swam for the direction she _thought_ up; hitting her head and cutting herself on sharp stones. She choked. Running out of air. Summersaulting, she kicked off the river bed, and sailed upward. The surface seemed leagues away. When she finally broke through she coughed and spat foul-tasting water. Muck blurred her vision as she zoomed down the river. She flailed and kicked but couldn't swim against the racing current.

"Dog! Where are you?" Hack. Hack. Cough. "Help me! I'm drowning!" Cough. Cough. Hack.

"I got you!" he called, sounding close. He slammed into her and they briefly dipped under the rapids.

She swallowed more water; hacking up river as soon as they broke the surface once more.

The Dog said, "Get on my back!"

Vision blurred, she maneuvered around him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. Once she had a firm hold on him, she wiped her eyes with her arm and the crook of her elbow. She didn't want to chance letting go of him.

Up ahead, large, jagged rocks protruded from foaming rapids.

No way, they'd make it through.

The Dog said, "Take a deep breath."

"No don't!"

They zoomed closer toward the rocks.

The Dog yelled, "No time. Just hold your breath."

She inhaled until her lungs felt as if they'd burst. Then she held it.

The Dog dove underwater, dropping to the bottom. Her feet hit the river-bed before the Dog's. But when he did, he drove forward, sailing through the current at a slight angle. Dog stroked through the water, legs kicking; the toes of her boots drug against silt and stone. The Dog kicked upward, and they popped out of the water mere feet from the bank.

They closed in on the stone barricade. Dog reached out. No use, his arms too short. "Reach for it!"

She cried, "For what?"

"Anything!"

She thrust out her arm and clawed at mud and weeds. They halted briefly, before bouncing away from the bank.

The Dog spun 'round, and drove a dagger into the soft earth. He grabbed her and pulled her toward the bank. The blade slipped through the mud.

She crawled ashore a shivering, wet mess.

The Dog's dagger slipped out completely.

She caught his hand. "I got ya," she said, pulling him onto the embankment.

They collapsed on their backs, gasping, and spewing river water.

The Dog growled lowly.

She panted, "I know, I know. That sucked. I'm just glad--"

Wait. That wasn't the Dog's growl.

She rolled on her stomach.

One of the large, jagged rocks stirred, rising in stature.

No, not a stone, a barg.

This one's "fur" appeared as sharp stone, while its undercarriage consisted of rippling river water.

Her heart sank. A tingling of adrenaline coursed through her. Her bowels trembled. She said, "Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

She drew her shooters and fired. Nothing happened; her weapons water-bogged. "Dog, do something!"

The Dog hopped to his feet and bayed toward the heavens.

The barg slithered through the waters, whinnying in laughter, and licking its elongated snout with a long, black, prehensile tongue.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, glaring at the Dog. "Do something else!"

The barg pounced.

The Dog leapt in front of her and shoved her out of the way.

Star reeled to the side, crashing into the soft undergrowth. "Uh!" she grunted.

Claws extended, the barg barreled into the Dog, driving him backward. Dog went fully feral and the two beasts fought tooth and nail.

She thought of the log that slammed into them. She quickly fetched a fallen branch, and raced toward the grappling bestials.

The barg pinned the Dog to the ground.

Star yelled, "Hey, Furion!"

The barg glanced up, and she bashed it in the head with all the strength she could muster.

The barg glared at her with its many red eyes and growled.

The Dog rolled to his feet, pushed his shoulder into the barg's belly, and drove it to its back.

Unbalanced, the barg clawed wildly at the air.

She called, "Dog, to me!" She held the branch at one end. Dog took the other. The barg tried to roll over, but they rammed the branch into the bargs' exposed undercarriage, pinning it in turn.

"Quick," she roared. "Push it into the river."

With all their might, they shoved the barg into the racing current. It crashed back-first into the water, submerging under the branch's weight.

The barg's head broke the surface. It whined and yelped, pawing at the jagged rocks, gaining no traction. Completely helpless, the barg howled as the river swept it away.

Star collapsed on her fanny, wheezing, spittle flying. "Holy shit, that was close," she gasped.

The Dog closed his eyes and craned back his head. No-doubt, reaching out with his senses.

For the utmost of brevity, she yearned to wield such abilities again, and toyed with the notion of asking to take from the Dog's blood. But no. She couldn't do that. She _wouldn't._ She was stronger than that.

Ears twitching, the Dog gazed down at her, and said, "We should keep moving."

"Bargs?"

"No," he replied. "Furion's army."

****

Greggoire asked Troll, "How long do you think it would take Star to get here?"

"As I said, I'm not certain. But, I hope soon."

Troll and Montalvo sat in a simple hut constructed of twigs, straw, and mud. The only furnishings lingering within were a round, wooden table and wicker chairs enough to accommodate the council of elders and their guests. This was no average Krinian domicile, t'was where the village leaders held conclave.

Troll and Montalvo made their introductions and then disclosed everything he could remember, starting from the very beginning.

In a raspy voice, Etta asked, "And what if Star never returns? What if she died like this Dog?" Etta, the only female elder appeared well in her late fifties. A simple, brown cotton dress hung loosely over her short, boney frame. She wore her curly, silvery hair tied up in a bun. Her skinny face bore a grimace that accentuated the hairy mole dotting her beak-like nose.

"It is certainly possible," Troll replied. "But my twinklin's tell me otherwise."

Peteir, a bulbous man with a hunched back, slouched in his chair, and asked, "And what if she does?" Edentulous, he smacked his gums when he spoke. "If the beast is dead, then what good is half a prophecy?"

"Better than none at all," Troll replied.

Burly, hair fingers interlaced, Peteir replied, "We shall see."

"We shall see nothing!" cried Viktor. "If what the giant says is true, then the king is not far off. We should leave before they armies get here -- again." Viktor appeared in his sixties; a tall, lanky man whose greying hair receded in a horseshoe-pattern. He assessed their guests through one green-eye, the other a cataract-blue.

Viktor's elongated hands trembled, 'though Troll surmised it not in anger.

Troll sighed, and said, "The king is not concerned with Krin. They are after me and my friends, and they will pursue us no matter where we run."

Gums smacking, Peteir said, "Then, lead them someplace else, away from Krin."

"There is nowhere else," Troll replied. "The king has driven us as far west as we can go. Our only chance is to stand and fight."

Etta steepled her boney fingers, and in a raspy voice, grumbled, "That's what we thought the first time. Lot of good it did."

Viktor's narrow face creased into a sea of wrinkles. He sneered, "I don't recall you fighting."

Greggoire said, "None us did. We _all_ ran. If we hadn't, we'd be dead just like all the rest."

Troll said, "But, just think how different things might have turned out were ye all united."

Peteir replied, "We were united." Sigh. "But, we were no match for the king. No one is." A dour frown soured his round, flabby face.

The smacking of his gums was beginning to irritate Troll; it made him think of a worm burrowing its way into a ripened apple, thusly poisoning it.

Troll said to Peteir, "I beg to differ."

Fists trembling, Viktor scoffed, "You said you started with an entire army. Now, there are a little more than fifty of you. What match were you to the king. You got thousands of people killed in this battle, and for what? You barely slowed the king down."

His dichromatic gaze sent an uneasy feeling surging through Troll's body.

"Are ye sure of that?" Troll asked. "Before, the king raided villages and sacked towns just because he could. Now, his sole focus is upon me and my friends. In my opinion, that slowed the king's madness from spreading quite a bit."

Voice husky, Etta said, "Even so, but we Krinians are not warriors. We never were. Oh, sure, we hide our homeland behind forest and bluffs. Yes, we send out scout-parties to patrol our lands. And we have learned much since the first siege, but we are not soldiers."

Troll said, "But my men are."

Nodding, Montalvo concurred, "It's true. We have waded through much blood shed, and still we are here."

Greggoire rubbed his ovoid chin with his thumb and index-finger, and asked, "So, you mean to train us for battle?"

Stroking his scar, Troll replied, "Not me, per say. I suggest ye train each other. Teach ye'r camouflage technics to my men. In turn, the Al'ber Quearians shall teach ye their fighting style, which they call, _d'el falanjii._ And the turn-coats will teach ye how to fight as an unit, and show ye the armies weaknesses."

Scratching the hairy mole on her nose, Etta asked the others, "Would that even work?"

Gums smacking, Peteir replied, "It might."

Dichromatic gape narrowed, Viktor said, "No. There is no way we can defeat the king."

Troll asked, "How many people live in Krin?"

"Around three hundred," Greggoire replied.

Viktor added, "That's nothing compared to the king's forces."

"No, it isn't," Troll replied. "But ye'r land is well hidden and hard to get to. Surrounded by marsh and sea, the army will no-doubt come from the east as they did before. The opening from the forests to ye'r valley is quite restrictive. Perhaps, we could draw them in, bottle-necking them, as it were, and take them out."

Kneading burly, hairy hands, Peteir said, "I don't know, that doesn't sound like a very good plan."

"Better than our fathers had," Greggoire replied.

Troll combed his fingers through his hair; beads and braids shucked and jived. He sighed, and said, "T'is not a decision to take lightly. I understand ye have ye'r own people to protect, and I understand that standing against the king a second time may seem foolish."

Voice raspy, Etta blurted, "That's putting it mildly."

Troll continued, "But, I have rattled the king's cage many times before. I honestly think we can win."

Viktor hissed in vexation. He massaged his bald spot, flakes of dandruff twirled and danced in the staunch air. Conceding shaky palms, he said, "Let's stop dancing around the shrub, we're not talking about defeating the king. We're talking about defeating Furion and his army."

Gums smacking, Peteir replied, "I agree. Even if we did win, there's still the king to contend with." Bushy eyebrows arched, he asked Troll, "Do you mean to take the fight all the way to him?"

"He drove me across the country. And I would relish the chance at returning the favor."

Scowling, Viktor asked, "How? With a wayward Krinian, who may not ever come home, half a prophecy, and fifty men? Because, we haven't agreed to help you, yet."

"I understand," Troll replied. "And as I said, I know ye must all mull it over in great detail. Perhaps when Star arrives, ye'll have made ye'r decision. But remember, Furion _is_ coming, so I wouldn't think about it _too_ long."

Emerald gaze dithering, Peteir asked the others, "What do we do in the meantime?"

Boney fingers steepled, Etta replied, "Now, we have much to discuss." She turned to Troll, and in a husky voice, said, "Your people are safe here. We shall give you food, shelter, and attended to any wounded or sick."

Troll proffered a slight bow, and said, "We thank thee for it."

Rubbing his chin, Greggoire said, "I think our search parties should extend their reach and search for Star. If she is still alive, I would love to see it, even if the beast is dead."

Etta croaked, "I agree. I trust you're volunteering to lead these search parties?"

Greggoire replied, "It would be my honor. We shall start at dawn."

Troll and Montalvo thanked their gracious hosts and took their leave.

Night, but the air still smelled of honey and sea-salt. The breeze blew low, and cool.

Greggoire exited the hut and Troll hobbled toward him.

"May I ask ye something?"

Greggoire pivoted. Hands on hips, he smiled, and said, "Sure."

Montalvo left them to converse.

Stroking his scar and beard, Troll asked, "The boy, Daneal, he's ye'r son, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do ye and ye'r boy know Star?"

"Not exactly. I didn't know Star that well, she was very young. And I don't how much Daneal remembers from that time either." A reminiscent gleam spangling his faded-blue-eyes, he said, "But, I knew the family well. Star's father, Heinrich and I were neighbors and good friends. I still remember the look on his face when I told him I was taking my family north before the king arrived." Head hung in shame, he added, "I suppose you think I'm a coward."

"Not at all," he replied. "Ye must understand, when I began my journeys I was a young man with no attachments. No one to tend to, nor to me. I felt I could tackle any obstacle because it did not matter what happened to me. But, a man with a family must put his wife and children first. Surely, I would not be where I stand today if I had a family back when all this began."

Bottom lip quavering, Greggoire uttered, "I had a wife, and many children. Now, all I have left is Daneal."

He clasped Greggoire's trim shoulders, and said, "That's not true. Ye have nearly three hundred souls who look to thee as an elder. And that is not a responsibility to take lightly, tending to others, believe me. I know."

A reflective moment passed between them. The breeze blew low and sweet.

Greggoire cleared his throat. Tears welling in the corners of his eyes, he said, "Well, I should get some rest. It's been a long day and I've got a search party to organize."

Troll bowed and bid him, "Good night."

Greggoire ambled away. He halted, whirled around, peered at Troll, and said, "I don't know what the others will decide. But, if Star is alive I _will_ fight."

****

Mia said, "It's beautiful here." She gazed up at the stars; her upturned face seemed preternaturally pale under the moonlight. A foudroyant smile painted her slender features. She appeared the only one in high spirits.

Ally's loss left a hungry, gaping whole within 'Ro's soul, as if a part of him had been ripped out.

Sandy lay curled up in her sleeping bag. For a while she had been inconsolable. Now she merely sat quite, often weeping silently.

It reminded 'Ro of the way Paulie's death affected Zeke.

Hickey masticated tobacco like a cow on its cud, and cleaned the grit beneath his fingernails by campfire light.

Fedic was still with them, but only 'cause 'Ro didn't want to lose sight of him even for a second.

Fedic sat by the fire, dipping a bit of brown bread into a bowl of soup.

The Krinians opened their homes and kitchens to the exiles. And while everyone accepted fresh food, most people elected to camp outside as adverse to stay with strangers.

'Ro couldn't speak for the others, but after the mines, he had no intention of going inside anywhere or anything for a _long_ time. Like many of the exiles, he and his group camped out in an open field in the center of the village, where convivial gatherings were held.

"Wow," Mia said, gazing dreamily up at the sky. "I wish I'd been born here."

Hickey expectorated, wiped the dribble from his chin, and said, "Play your cards right and ya just might get to die here."

"What're ya saying?" 'Ro asked. "That ya ain't gonna fight no more."

Shrugging, Hickey replied, "I dunno. If Star comes back I might. But I gotta tell ya, after what went down in the mines, I really don't see Troll leading us to victory on his lonesome."

"I'll fight," Fedic chimed. "You can count on that."

Rolling his eyes, 'Ro sneered, "Whatever."

He shot back, "Hey screw you, man. I'm sick of the way you treat me. I saved your and Mia's lives down there, remember? You guys were gonna kill me and I saved your sorry asses." Arms crossed, Fedic sat straight, his chest puffed out in pride. "I didn't have to, but I did."

Sandy blotted the rheum from her eyes. Sniffling, she asked, "What's he talking about?"

'Ro patted her blanketed hip, and soothed, "Nothing to worry 'bout. Not no more."

Unkempt hair cascaded over her face, she nodded.

'Ro crawled next to her and whispered, "How ya doing?"

Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, and mumbled, "Fine, just fine."

'Ro glanced at the others, who returned to what they each were previously doing.

Steeping bread in his soup, Fedic muttered something.

'Ro cleared his throat, and whispered to Sandy, "Listen, Ally told me about the baby. I just want ya to know, that no matter what, I'm here for ya."

She peered up at him.

"I don't want ya to get the wrong idea. I got no intentions of taking Ally's place, none _at all_. But he was my brother, and your one of my closest and oldest friends. I'll help ya raise the baby, okay."

She nodded and pulled the covers over her lithe shoulder.

'Ro settled back on his respective sleeping bag, and slipped his harmonica out of a shirt pocket. Polishing it with his thumbs, he admired the instrument by way of moonlight.

Mia said, "I've never heard you play it."

"I couldn't out in the desert or it'd give away our position. And then Star took Furion's camp and so much was happening. Then under the mountains, I don't know, I guess it just didn't seem right. Ya know, the merry sound of music and all that death."

Hickey said, "Well, play something now. Something that'll take me back to the good ol' days."

Mia chirped, "Yeah, 'Ro. Play it."

"Uh, I don't know. It's been so long. I'm not even sure I still remember how."

Hickey replied, "Aw, c'mon, it's just like shooting a gun. Ya never forget."

Sandy mumbled, "Please, 'Ro."

Fedic just sat there slouching, and methodically dipping bread into not-so steamy soup.

'Ro replied, "All right, let's see here." He gently blew through the mouthpiece, and the instrument blared to life with a honking vibrato. "Sorry 'bout that. Like I said, I'm a little rusty." He licked his lips, inhaled, and blew through the mouthpiece again. This time the harmonica hummed a harmonious diatonic vibrato. Between riffs, he sang,

Oh, sweet Mary Jane

Won't ya come home to me?

I've put down the bottle

I've cleaned up my ways

Oh, sweet Mary Jane

Hickey slapped a knee, and said, "Oh, that sweet Mary Jane."

Please come home to me

And I'll give you the stars above

I'll grant all your dreams

Even Fedic bobbed his head along to the beat.

When 'Ro finished the others clapped.

Blushing, Mia adoringly stared at him.

They sat there in silence listening to the crackling of campfire.

Sandy asked, "Hey, 'Ro. Can you lay with me for a little while? Just 'til I fall asleep?"

"Uh..." He glanced at Hickey, who shrugged. "...Yeah, I guess so."

He curled up next to Sandy and draped his arm over her, but he didn't get in the bag with her.

Crickets caroled an assuaging melody.

Hovering fireflies blinked their mating rituals.

'Ro sighed and gazed up at the sky.

Mia was right, truly beautiful in this part of the world. But, Mia no longer stared at the heavens. Now she glared at 'Ro (Sandy in his arms). Mia's brows furrowed, gaze beady and narrowed. Her lips twitched in jealousy.

But, he couldn't worry about that now. He had Sandy and Ally's unborn baby to take care of. Right then and there, in light of everything, he felt uncertainty curdling his insides. With Ally's family to look after, would he even continue to fight alongside Star and Troll? He just didn't know.

****

Sarah, Anne, Sirii, DJ, and the two remaining _hermanii_ sat at a wooden table in a quaint Krinian home. One of the Krinian's on the search party invited Anne and DJ into their house, because he also had children, and thought they'd get along. Naturally, the offer was extended to Sarah and _d'el hermanii_ , as well. It had been a long time since Sarah set foot in any kind of domicile, and it reminded her of home.

The Krinian, a doughy, bow-legged man by the name of Samson, appeared in his mid-twenties. His calloused hands, broad forehead, and brutish physique juxtaposed the kindness lingering behind his emerald gaze.

Samson resided in luxurious two-bedroom log cabin he built himself after the first invasion. Before, he farmed chickens, goats, and pigs. But the king's legions confiscated most of the livestock, and though small animal farms still thrived among the village, Samson turned to harvesting, beats, turnips, radishes, carrots, and potatoes. In fact, Samson proclaimed farming veggies much more lucrative.

Word of the exiles' arrival had already spread among the village like a serious case of the cave rot, and Samson and his guests where met at the door by his wife, Hannah, a humble, buxom woman also in her mid-twenties. Hannah wore her golden locks tied up in a bun. She greeted them with a wide smile full of crooked teeth.

Their two children hid behind Hannah; warily gawking at the new-comers as they clutched their mother's apron.

Anne and DJ were introduced to Malcom, a pudgy, five-year-old, and Aemelia. At age seven, Aemelia was all elbows and knees.

Samson toured them around the house, a quaint and humble domicile, yet immutably cozy. Very few fixtures furnished the home. Only Samson and his wife had a proper bed. The kids slept on stacks of hay littered with blankets and comforters, as did many Krinian children.

The kitchen was the most decadent chamber; comprised of a table, chairs, kettle-stove, wash basin, a stone cutting board, and a large cauldron for boiling.

Anne remained silent and withdrawn during their guided tour.

Samson suggested the children go outside and play while he and Hannah prepared dinner. Squealing in puerile innocence, DJ trotted off with Malcom and Aemelia, but Anne sat with the other women on the open-roofed porch; silently reading the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ while Sarah and the other guests sipped sweet-tea and watched the sun set behind the bluffs.

It hurt Sarah's soul to see that Anne could no longer enjoy such simple things as gaiety.

Their hosts prepared a succulent dinner of steamed vegetables and ham, and they dined like Sarah once did within the sultan's chambers.

After dinner Anne got up from the table and went outside without a word.

Why was she _still_ so cold? Had she been hardened that much? Was the Anne she once known really dead and gone?

N'Dora patted Sarah's hand, and said, "I'm sure the young empress has a lot on her mind, give her time, _Madirii._ She'll come around." Hard, brown patches blotted her face.

Except for Anne and DJ, they all still bore the scars of the cave rot.

Would the blights ever fade, or was she, like so many others, tarnished forever?

Wide green-eyes spangled with wonder, Aemelia asked, "Is she really an empress?" She'd incipiently revealed herself as quite the loquacious and inquisitive girl over the course of their meal; constantly asking about their guests and where they hailed from. She also possessed a tendency to shake her leg uncontrollably while in a seated position, as did her mother, Hannah.

"Aye," Sarah snorted, "She rules over the tall-grass beyond Tooker's barn."

Brow furrowed in wrinkles, N'Dora asked, "Do you doubt the greatness within her, _Madirii_? All that she has done and overcome, you still think she's just an ordinary child?"

Aemelia craned her head upward. Gazing at her mother, she giggled, and whispered, "I like the way they talk."

Sarah dabbed her mouth with a napkin and excused herself from the table. She sauntered outside (Krinians had no use for doors) and out onto the open-roofed porch. Her thoughts whizzed halfway across the country and back toward Reverend Lowell's porch, to a time when she and Anne were still naïve girls.

Anne stood on the deck, gazing toward the starry horizon. Gape glued to the skies, she sighed, and said, "I prayed for this, ye know."

"What?"

"When Troll, Star, and Dog came to Silverdale, I prayed they'd take me with them when they left. I wanted to journey the world. See everything. Meet everyone. Now, all I want is a peaceful place like Silverdale we can call our own."

"This could be that place for us," she replied.

"Can it?" Anne peered into Sarah's eyes, and said, "I'm almost done reading the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa._ "

Shrugging, Sarah asked, "And?"

"I think this is where we die. Here in Krin. Troll lives. Star lives. The Dog, who is _still_ alive despite what Troll says, lives."

She shuddered.

Anne continued, "But I think you and me die."

She kneaded the hem of her tattered dress, and said, "Well, in the meantime, I just want ye to know that I love ye, not as a daughter, but as a sister. If we die here, I'd be happy as long as we were together."

Wearing a fragile smile, Anne replied, "I'd like that too."

Sarah sauntered toward Anne, took her hands, and said, "I know ye've been mad at me."

Gaze averted, Anne replied, "I wasn't mad at ye. I mean, at first I was. But, then it all came down to surviving. And ye have to be strong to survive down there."

Sarah squeezed her hand, and said, "Ye _are_ strong. So much more than I."

"Sirii told me what ye did for me when I went missing in Al'ber Que. The things ye went through. I...I just...thank ye."

"And I would do it all again. And I do not say that lightly. I would do anything for you."

Anne smiled, as did Sarah.

She felt a _huge_ weight roll of her chest; hand-in-hand the gazed up at the twinkling heavens as fireflies hovered around them.

Anne sighed, and said, "Well, I suppose this as a good a place to die as any."

They laughed. Sarah didn't know why. She just did. And it felt _good_.

****

Star prattled, "Me and Mikhail used to play in these woods. We'd play seekey-hidey and climb trees. Mikhail was real good at climbing. Hell, that kid started climbing things 'fore he could walk."

The midday sun shone down through the forest canopy in gleaming beams. Birds sang, bees buzzed in harmonious unison, and wood-land creatures chittered.

She added, "We're almost there."

After trouncing onward in soaked clothing, the two managed to attain a comfortable distance from the army (according to the Dog), and camped late afternoon in a small clearing between the ubiquitous conifers and goliath red woods. They field-stripped their weapons and laid them out in the sun, as they did with their clothes.

At first, Star hesitant to disrobe in front of anyone than Troll.

The Dog shifted as he undressed. And by the time all his clothes removed he was fully feral. Then he scampered off on all fours into the forest.

She struggled to remove her bedraggled garments. She hung them on a nearby pine tree (one of three in the field), as she did with the Dog's. Then she stretched out on the long, yellow reeds and let the sun dry her smooth skin. Red blotches and rashes had blossomed on her arms, legs, chest, and buttocks.

Totting two hares, the Dog returned shortly before sunset.

Fortunately, her undergarments had dried, and she partly dressed before he arrived with dinner. But, the rest of her clothes (excluding her armor), needed to hang overnight.

She thought she was hungry until the Dog built a small fire and began roasting the meat. The smell of gamey grease violated her nostrils. Nausea swirled her stomach and she felt faint, light-headed.

The Dog made her eat a little meat and she soon fell asleep.

But this was a brand new day.

She was closer to home than she'd ever been. Memories long-forgotten rekindled an odd excitement in her, almost to the point of nervousness. But she felt no pain, no nausea, only a dull throbbing in her temples, a slight migraine at best.

The forest thickened into a gloomy mire. The sun's rays couldn't impregnate the dense foliage. For hours they traipsed through bramble, brush, mossy vines, and a sultry haze teeming with skeeters.

Star said, "You know that river we nearly drowned in. It's not the first time I almost drowned in it. Our father used to take me and Mikhail fishing there. Most folks fished off the shoreline, or as close to it as they could get, anyway. But, my father had a secret spot. Best fishing in all of Krin, he'd say. Said, it was a family secret. Well, one day when I was about...Uh, shit." Smirking, she said, "Well, I can't quite remember how old I was. Real young. Like five, or six. Possibly seven. Like I said, I just can't recall. But anyway, we was out fishing, and Mikhail caught one on the line. Big one, judging by how much he was struggling with it. Anyway, damn fish pulled him in. I remember my father just laughing and laughing. Now, remember how I said I didn't remember the river being so wide or deep?"

The Dog nodded.

"Well, it wasn't. And we was at a gentler part. But, as soon as Mikhail fell into them waters, I panicked. I didn't know why my father was just standing there laughing. So, I jumped in head-first, thinking I was gonna save the day. I soon realized why my father was laughing, 'cause I didn't fall to deep. Hit my head. Luckily, only on mud. But I was kicking and panicking, choking on water. My father pulled me out. He just walked right over. Shit, the water was only up to my waist." She chuckled and shook her head. "Man, how I cried and cried.

"The funny part is Mikhail had already climbed back on solid ground. Ever since then, I've always been afraid of drowning. But when I look back on it, I guess I always was. I mean, Krin is surrounded by water, and yet every time the other children wanted to go for a dip, I whisked Mikhail off to the woods. He always wanted to go swimming, but I never did. Looking back, I probably should'a taken him at least once before..." she trailed off. She didn't want to reminisce on _those_ thoughts.

A long silence elapsed as they forged onward.

Yellow gaze scanning the haze, the Dog said, "I'm also afraid of drowning."

She snorted, "Really? _You_? You're afraid of drowning."

"And open water," he replied. "I've also had bad experiences, I think."

"Anyway," she brushed back her hair. A few strands went with it. "I think what I'm trying to say is -- ah!" She descended into the ground with a _plooshing_ noise.

The Dog sprang to the side, semi-feral by the time he landed on all fours.

Her first thought was that the bargs set another trap. But, the more she struggled to free herself the more she sank into thick, viscous mud.

Shit. Forgot about those.

Scrambling to crawl out, she clawed at nearby tree roots. But her hands too slick with mud. Struggling, the ground sucked her down until her waist-deep. Her thoughts circled back to when she stood sopping wet in a gentle river; covered in mud. Mikhail and her father laughing until she burst into tears. She stilled. Fighting would only sink her faster.

Shifting human, the Dog scrambled to her side.

"Stop!" She sank a paltry amount.

The Dog skittered to a stop ten feet away, at the edge of the mud-pool, and _well_ out of arm's reach.

She grumbled, "Mortis-mud. Pools of it all over the place, 'specially in the marsh. Fuck, I should'a been watching my feet. Even out here in the forests, from day one, we always watched where we stepped. Damn, why didn't I remember _that_?" She pounded a fist in the mud and descended a few inches deeper. She squealed; feeling very much like a frightened, panicky child again, and _oh_ , so stupid.

Eyes glistening gold, the Dog sat on his haunches at the edge of the pool. He unslung his sniper rifle, held it out to her, and said, "Reach for it. I'll pull you out."

Barely moving her lips, she uttered, "No. You don't understand. This is Mortis-mud. It's too thick, and I'm in too deep. I can't be pulled out. And the more I move, the faster I'll sink."

"Trust me," The Dog said, dangling the rifle's butt at her. "Just reach for it. I can pull you out."

"No!" She sank another inch; half-way up her stomach. _Way_ too deep now. She calmed her percolating nerves, and said, "Listen. I _do_ trust you. But right now, you have to trust me. Have you ever been to Krin?"

"No."

"Do you know what this shit is?"

The Dog quickly glanced at the mud, and then at her. His brow scrunched up, mouth drawn tight and stern, as if saying, "I understand the concept."

"Then you have to trust _me_. I know you're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. But, you _can't_ pull me out. Not on your own. I'm in too deep. Maybe if we had a rope or something. But we don't."

"Okay." The Dog slung the rifle over his shoulder. His eyes turned hazel; he glanced around, and asked, "What do I do?"

She murmured, "Krin's not far from here, just keep going in the direction we were headed. Should only be a few more miles. You should get there in no time."

"Then what?"

"Get Troll, a _long_ rope, and half-a-dozen men. Bigger the better."

"What if Krin's not there. What if _Troll's_ not there?"

"They are!" She slithered deeper. She tensed up. Lips barely moving, she calmed, and said, "Make that a full dozen. They're there. I know it. I can feel it."

The Dog tilted his head, his face said, "I'm not just gonna leave you. I won't. What would Troll think?"

"What would Troll think of you watching me drown? 'Cause you're not gonna pull me out. Believe me. And I'm not gonna let ya try."

"I can't."

"You will. You have to." Small bubbles snaked up to the surface of the mud and popped. She sank slightly deeper. Feeling as frightened and humiliated as she did standing waist-deep in the Sac Krin River, she peered into the Dog's hazel-green gape, and said, "Hurry."

****

Journal entry,

First day in Krin and the first time I've written in my journal for what feels like an eternity. It seems even longer since I last held Star. My last entry was in the mines, an update on what happened after the battle. I haven't written of our harrowing exodus under the mountains. Seems no need since, as Anne pointed out, the Nou'heim-Du'tawa detailed that journey literally word-for-word. Who wrote the texts? From whence do they come? Who could've possibly attained such information? But, alas, I dare not waste another word on mysteries that cannot be solved.

Krin is the most beautiful country mine eyes have ever seen. And I was up early this morn touring the village and meeting with some of the Krinians. My thoughts drifted back to my first morning in Silverdale, but I digress.

The land of Krin is cradled in a lush, green valley that is surrounded by forestry. Sloped and hilly, to the east are the minor bluffs, perfect for laying out at evening and watching the stars come out. To the west are marsh and bog-lands, but further out are the major bluffs; a large, green mountain-like island just past the swamps. The Krinians say that the major bluffs are inaccessible. Local legend tells of a man named Mortis who tried to move his family up there. I heard different variations as to why the man did this. Some said he went mad and sought isolation. Others say the gods called him there. Whatever the reason, the major bluffs are an exquisite landmark. No-doubt, many Krinians have gazed up at them and wished they could stare out into the ocean blue. Of course, the ocean can still be seen from the minor bluffs. But, to stand up there at the very peak of the majors would be to stand on high.

Mortis and his entire family were swallowed by the swamp. None have ever reached the major bluffs. There are stories about people going out there and never being seen again. Others turned around, and regaled their neighbors with tales of monstrous man-eating beasts lurking in the gloom. According to the people I've talked to, no one has tried in many generations. So naturally, I take these whoopers as what they are.

I did not just converse with the Krinians, I also met with many of the exiles to see how they fared. Nearly all residual cases of the cave rot have receded, as if we all miraculously healed after fleeing the mines.

Many of the exiles have pitched in around town. The Jessips chopped fire wood with Krinian men. At this very moment, Montalvo stands upon the minor bluffs, staring out into the ocean, and no-doubt soul searching for his next path. Sarah, Sirii, Anne, and the hermanii washed linens with the women. I too have lent a hand here and there, doling out my time to as many as I could. All seem to be getting along splendidly. And it does my heart great joy to report that much laughter and song have rung through the land.

Pipe clenched in his teeth, Troll (sitting on Greggoire's porch), stopped writing when he felt a familiar presence.

Anne strolled toward him. Her hair had grown back a little. She still looked completely different with short hair, but in a good way. More mature, adult.

She jaunted up the porch with one of the texts in the crook of her arm. A year ago, Maddy would be there. My, a _lot_ had changed over the last twelve months.

"Fine day, isn't it," Troll said, puffing from his pipe. "And what have ye got there?"

But he already knew what it was. And he knew she knew that he knew.

She took a deep breath, composed herself, and said, "Listen, I want to talk to ye about something."

He opened his arms invitingly, and said, "I'm all ears."

Gaze averted, she frowned, and said, "It's about what happened down there. What _I_ did."

"I don't think we really need to discuss that. Ye know once, I told Sarah something that she later reiterated--"

"No, we _do_ have to talk about it. I mean, not really. Here," she held the text out to him.

"I don't want it. It's better off with thee. By-the-by, and I've been meaning to ask ye this, how did ye come into possession of the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

"After DJ's family was found dead, I asked Sirii if I could borrow it. I wanted to read to him. Something to take his mind off what happened."

"Ye know, I was later informed that one of DJ's family hadn't been found. A sister had gone missing."

"That's what I wanted to talk to ye about." She proffered the text again.

"Can ye not just tell me?"

She chuckled, rolled her eyes, and said, "I don't know if I can even put it into words. I don't know if ye'd understand it. All I know is that it's all right here, and someone told it better than I."

Stroking his beard, Troll puffed another drag, and said "Try me."

Anne giggled.

It reminded him of Byron.

She scratched feverishly at her short hair, as if suffering from fleas or head lice. She huffed in exasperation, and said, "Basically, when I was brought to the mines, I couldn't take it. I couldn't even remember how I got there."

Nodding at the tome, he asked, "Is it in there?"

"No, it isn't. And I still don't remember what happened. But, I know that I created this, I don't know..." she whisked her hands out, as if attempting to grasp hold of the words eluding her. "...other personality, that _could_ handle living like that, one that could handle anything."

"Quinn?"

Head hung in dejection, she muttered, "Aye."

"And this, Quinn, she scalped DJ's sister?"

Anne nodded.

"Did ye kill her?"

Bottom lip slightly trembling, she rubbed the sleeve of the Dog's olive-green jacket. She couldn't even meet his gape.

Troll performed his characteristic running of a hand down his scar and beard, where he vehemently scratched, and asked, "So, ye were the one draining bodies?"

"No, that wasn't me. I...Quinn killed Tiiadii before the rest died."

"So, ye _do_ know her name."

Face scrunched up in a snarl, she murmured, "I do. Quinn didn't. She didn't even care."

"Did ye know any of this happening at the time?"

"No. I mean, I think I don't. I don't know. A lot of the time I felt like I was dreaming. That it wasn't real. It couldn't be." She flapped the texts in the air, and said, "But, after reading this, I know it's true. Part of me always did."

"Does DJ know what ye did to his sister? About any of this?"

"No. No one knows. Only ye."

"Don't forget about Sarah and the _hermanii_."

"They only know what they saw. They think I was under some sort of spell. They didn't know it was a choice I'd made."

Troll scoffed, "Ye made no such choice--"

"My mind made it for me. That means I made it."

He conceded his palms, and said, "At any rate. Ye'r secret's safe with me."

She sighed, and said, "There's more."

He massaged the migraine brewing within his forehead, and groaned, "I'm not sure I want to hear it."

"I mean, I was better when we got out. But, then the battle happened and we were thrust back in so fast. And I was so mad, and I cut my hair, and went by another name, just so people would leave me alone, and things started again, and--"

"Anne, I hold no blame with thee. We all did things we regret down there. We all lost people we care about. We don't need to drudge up old demons by talking about it. I forgive thee. But, more importantly, God forgives ye, because we can both easily see how truly sorrowful ye are. I too, am torn apart inside. But, we need to hold it together. We need to--"

"I'm the reason Byron went mad."

Troll was bereft of all words.

She tensed up, inhaled deeply, stared into his eyes, and said, "I ran into Byron many times in the mines. At the time, I just thought they dreams. But, I tormented him."

Puffing from his pipe, he asked, "As Quinn?"

"Aye."

"T'was not only Quinn that drove Byron mad. It was _him_. And _he's_ been tormenting us all for some time now."

Signifying discomfort, she shifted her posture, sighed, and said, "Aye, I know that. But, I helped _him_. From the very start. Maddy, Madgellaine, the Sweetie-man--"

"The Wraith," he blurted.

"Aye, _it_ goes by many names."

"So, it proclaims." He leaned toward her, and asked, "Do ye know what this creature is? What it _really_ is? What its plan is?"

"Not yet?"

A long, terse silence elapsed.

Squeezing the texts, Anne said, "There's something else I have to tell ye."

Troll massaged his temples, and groaned, "I believe I've heard enough from those cursed tomes."

"It's not about the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_."

Curiosity stirring restlessly, he asked, "Is that so?"

"Well, I mean, it kinda is, but mostly it's about Khariiff."

"I'm listening."

"He lied when he said he couldn't read them. It was part of the deal he made with the stranger in white, to pretend like he couldn't understand them."

Stroking his beard, he asked, "To what end?"

Bottom lip protruding, she shrugged.

"How did ye come about such information?"

She flapped the texts at him, and said, "I'm telling ye, ye should really read this."

For a moment he was about to accept them, but his chest tightened and his heart skipped a heavy beat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't. I just can't."

Sighing in vexation, she rolled her eyes, and marched down the porch steps.

Troll called, "In regards to this whole Quinn business..."

Warily, she turned around; squinting, lips drawn tight, as if terrified of what he might say.

"God wants ye to do one thing to return his favor."

Gaze dithering, she quavered, "What?"

"There are many children here in Krin, and many exiles to exercise. Ye have grown so old so fast, ye probably don't remember what it's like to be so care-free. So, the Good Lord demands ye play. That is all." Shooing her away, he amended, "Now, off with ye child, for I have many a thing weighing upon my mind."

A small smile incipiently spread across her oval face.

Troll stroked his scar and beard, and said, "Another thing I've always meant to ask thee, how do ye know how to read? Who taught thee?"

Face stoic and stern, she replied, "I've always known."

****

Mostly feral, the Dog raced through the forest brush on all fours.

This was stupid. He should _not_ have left Star. What if the army caught up? A barg, or God forbid, a pack of them?

She wouldn't even let him try to get her out. But then again, looking back, he hadn't really come up with any bright ideas.

Perhaps, if Troll were there.

Where the hell was he? He was supposed to meet them on the other side. Didn't he make it out of Al'ber Que? Did any of them? Or were -- wait a minute. He sensed something. A lot of somethings. He halted and furthered his senses. Not the army. They were in the other direction, still many miles from Star's location. What he detected came from in front of him, but once again, miles further. He zeroed his senses on that locale. Hundreds of heart beats. Human.

Something popped on his mental radar.

Growls and snarling.

The Dog pivoted.

A forest-camouflaged barg pounced. Massive claws extended, it barreled into the Dog. The beasts gnashed and grappled before hitting the ground. Fully feral (and armored), the Dog tore and sank fangs into the bargs exposed undercarriage, which tasted and was of the same consistency as moss and earth.

The barg latched onto Dog's shoulders and drove him to the ground. Dog let it. Pinned, the Dog reared his hind quarters up and clawed at the barg's belly. Oozing black tar and necrotic bits of flesh flew. The barg staggered back, losing its balance as it howled and bayed. It licked its wounds with its long, black, prehensile tongue.

Something closed in, coming from behind.

More snarls and the pounding of heavy feet.

Squatting on his haunches, the Dog pivoted.

Another barg pounced.

Dog bounded to the side.

The barg sailed through the air, crashing into the wounded one.

The Dog reached for the rifle, but bestial claws weren't very dexterous. His arm got caught in the strap.

The bargs sprinted toward him.

The Dog fought to get his arm free. No use. He fetched a dagger from his belt and cut the strap. He grabbed the rifle. A barg pounced. No time. He threw the rifle. It twirled into the bargs feet. The beast tripped and collided into a tree. The other barg closed in, preparing to pounce. The Dog bounded again. But the barg feigned to leap and raced toward where Dog would land. Dog sprang again before his feet fully touched ground. The barg jumped, wrapped its tongue around Dog's ankle, and thrust him into a small patch of saplings. The Dog crashed so hard the silver sword fell from the scabbard in his back-plate. He grasped the hilt and popped to his feet. A barg closed in. The Dog swiped and danced the blade. The barg howled as the silver sliced through its flesh. Sizzling black tar flew from the sword and the barg's smoking wounds. The barg opened its mouth wide, roaring in agony. The Dog chopped off its tongue.

Movement. Coming from behind. The Dog whirled. The other barg pounced, sailing right toward the Dog. Dog waited until the last second, then side-stepped and lobbed the barg's head of in one sizzling swoop. The creature fell dead. Its smoking body melted and disintegrated. The Dog pivoted back toward the other barg.

It crawled backward, belly exposed. Its many eyes trembled in pain, anger, and fear. Its tongue whipped and wagged, spewing black, smoking sludge. The Dog strode toward the barg.

The barg yapped and whined, as if saying, "No, no, no!"

Growling in content, the Dog hewed the barg to smoldering, evanescent pieces. He watched until nothing remained but a scorched patch of grass and dirt.

The Dog brought the blade close to inspect it. The black tar sizzled upon the silver just like his blood. But after a few moments the tar evaporated.

He had killed two bargs. Now that he knew their weakness, he would kill the rest.

Dog scanned the forestry, reaching out with his senses. Nothing around.

Wait, there were five bargs. So, if he killed two, then where were the other three?

****

Since she made the Dog leave, Star had sunk up to her chest. The pressure upon her made it hard to breath. She tried keeping her arms above her, but that grew tiresome. She let her appendages rest on the mud's surface, but even they ensconced in this viscous, brown prison. But on top of all that, her symptoms had returned with a vengeance. Fever. Nausea. Joint and muscle pain. Headache. And the worst part, every time she coughed she sank a little deeper.

She almost drowned in the Sac Krin River -- twice. She had no intention of meeting her demise by swallowing Mortis-mud until it slithered into her lungs.

How long had the Dog been gone for? Would he make it back in time? A panicky sense of urgency filled her. But she needed to remain calm. She meditated for a while, and it helped settle her nerves, until she coughed again and sank a little more.

Skeeters swarmed about her, but didn't bit. Perhaps, they sensed her radioactive condition. Their ubiquitous buzzing also aided in her serenity.

She stayed like that for hours, suspended in mud. She dozed in and out as the skeeters lulled her with a constant thrumming lullaby. With her body totally relaxed, she didn't sink. Or, at least, it didn't appear that way. That calmed her more. She slept for a spell. When she awoke her vision seemed fuzzy, hazy. Was it fog? No, too bright out, too warm. Had mud gotten in her eyes somehow?

Her thoughts turned to Troll. His audacious smile. The way his coarse hands caressed her skin. She never wanted to admit it to herself, but a part of her knew that the last time she kissed him would be the last time she ever did. There was no way she'd survive any of this. How could she?

She reminisced on every single time Troll tried to touch her heart, and she lashed out at him in anger. God, it took her so long to realize that he was the love of her life, her soul mate. So much wasted time. She never thought she'd have a life-time with Troll, but she always believed the time they shared would be enough. But, it wasn't.

And what of Sarah, Anne, Sirii, and the Jessips? She just wanted a little more time with all of them. She never had friends before she met Troll, and for the longest time, she never even realized that the people closest to her were the excuses she had to keep living, keep waking up each day and fighting. For no reason at all, she even thought of Mia.

Maybe she'd been too hasty in sending the Dog away; perchance, if he fed her his blood, together they could've pulled her out.

No. She promised herself she wouldn't do that. She swore she'd ride this out come Hell or high.

Growling. Snarling. The lapping of long, drooling tongues on snout.

She opened her eyes. Vision still blurred. Three bargs slouched toward her. They sat at the edge of the mud pool, and laughed in a whinnying, wheezing sort of sound.

They were gonna sit there, and just watch her drown; until she sank so far, the bargs wouldn't need to drag her back to the underworld. She'd already be there.

But, were these abominations really sent to return her to the grave, as per Grandmere's stories? Or were they dispatched by Furion. After all, when the bargs spoke, it was Furion she heard in her head.

Suddenly, she got a crazy, longshot of an idea.

She peered into a barg's many, black eyes, and opened her mind to _him_.

" _I'm coming for you_ ," Furion said.

Smirking, she replied, "Yeah, well ya better hurry up or I'll already be dead."

" _I'll dig you out, and suck the marrow from your bones._ "

The bargs whinnied in laughter; bobbing their heads and licking their elongated chops.

"Really? I always thought you wanted me alive. I mean, you did allow me to leave the fields. And you allowed me to get away at Al'ber Que. Twice you had me, and twice I slipped right through your fingers. Maybe you don't really want me at all, I dunno. One thing I do know is that you're not gonna get a third shot. Neither of us are that lucky."

Silence.

Panting, drooling, the bargs watched as she coughed, and sank a little deeper.

She blocked her mind again to cerebrate in private.

Shit, this wasn't working. She needed to think of something that would really rattle Furion's cage. Think Star, think. What's something that would really piss him off?

She smiled, stared into the barg's eyes, and opened her mind.

" _Back again, so soon? Come child, play games._ "

"I ain't playin' no games. I'm saying goodbye."

Silence.

The bargs stared at her.

Good, she had their attention.

"Damn near most my life I've hated you with a passion you'll never know, never understand. I'm sure you think you do, but you don't, you can't, 'cause ya ain't human and you've got no heart. No soul."

The bargs panted and drooled, licking their chops in ambivalence.

She continued, "But now I realize all those years of anger and hatred were nothing but a waste. 'Cause without you sacking my home, enslaving my people, murdering my family..." a wave of memories cascaded over her but she held them at bay. _He_ was in her head now. And she had to mind her thoughts cautiously.

The bargs whinnied in laughter.

"Without you fucking up my life, I never would have become the woman I am today. I never would've been as strong as I am. And I never would have met Troll, Dog, Sarah, Anne, Byron, Sirii, any of them. All of the people that have changed my life and made it better. Made me happy. Made me forget the hurt and the anger."

Growling, the bargs reared back, prepared to pounce.

"So I thank you, Furion the Black. Thank you for enriching my life with love."

The bargs snapped and snarled.

"In fact, I thank ya so much that I wish I could give you a parting gift before I die." She smiled, feeling sharper than she ever had. "But I can't think of none better that breaking your mirror and ripping Shroud's throat out."

The bargs barked and bayed. Stretching their long necks out. Snapping. Foaming. Whipping drooling, prehensile tongues.

"And if I weren't stuck in this shit-hole, I'd rip _their_ throats out too," she nodded toward the bargs. Then she wriggled, moving as much as possible, sinking rapidly.

The bargs roared and howled.

She sank to her neck and took a deep breath.

A barg lashed forward and lassoed its tongue around her throat; ceasing her descent.

" _You stupid girl! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!_ "

Star choked, "Call...me... _Madirii_." The tongue tightened around her neck. The barg pulled.

She felt her neck might break, or her head ripped from her body.

The barg tugged her out and dragged her onto solid ground.

She tried to fight, pull the tongue off her neck. But her muscles were weak. And she was covered in thick, viscous mud.

The barg drove her to the ground, pinned her shoulders, and secured its hold around her neck.

" _I hate you! Die! Die! Die!_ "

Brandishing a glistening broken sword, the Dog emerged from the trees. The other two bargs pounced upon him. Dog slash and swiped but the bargs knocked his sword away and threw him to the ground, pinning him down.

In her mind, Star screamed, "Dog, do something!" The barg tightened its hold around her throat. Drool drizzled down her face in slimy rivulets. It's hot, rank, decayed breath evanesced upon her face. Hatred glimmered within its many black, narrowed eyes. The last thing her blurry vision would see. The light dimmed, fading to black. "Do something, Dog." The voice in her mind sounded distant. Thoughts flashed back to the river. "Dog, do something." The Dog had roared out. She heard that roar now, clear as day.

Wham

Something smacked the barg away so hard, its tongue went slack.

Star rolled on her stomach. Choking and gasping for air.

Roooooooooooaaaar

A huge animal with a massive snout, shaggy orangish-brown fur, and short tail, stood on its hind-quarters over Star, as if protecting her.

The bargs restraining Dog, released him, and attacked the animal. The animal batted them away, as if flies.

The Dog retrieved his broken sword. The animal battered the bargs as the Dog cut them down until nothing remained but steaming black smudge.

Furion screamed in the hollows of her mind.

Hissing through her teeth, she winced, and rubbed her throbbing temples. When the shrieks receded, Star glanced at the Dog, at the animal (sitting on its bottom and licking its massive, paws), and back at the Dog.

"What the hell is that thing?"

The Dog replied, " _Ursus arctos middendorffi_ ; a Kodiak bear. It probably migrated down here from the old Alaskan territory."

"Okay, the only part of that I understood was bear."

Head tilted, brow furrowed, a quizzical look twisted his young, bearded face. He asked, "You really didn't know what this was? I thought you were afraid of bears."

"Yeah," she replied. "I've just never actually seen one before. I thought they were bigger."

The bear rolled over on its back and licked its paws.

She added, "Thought they were meaner, too."

The bear lolled on its side and back on all fours. It waddled toward the Dog, and barked -- sort of.

The Dog scratched behind the bear's ear, and said, "Remember, yesterday at the river, when the barg attacked, and you told me to do something."

Wringing the mud from her clothes, she said, "Yeah."

"Well, we weren't getting anywhere with the bargs. We couldn't kill them. They just keep coming back. I didn't know what else to do, I called for help."

"Better late than never," she sneered.

The Dog patted the bear's head, and said, "I think our friend was right on time."

The bear made chuffing roar, as if saying, "Yeah."

The Dog chuffed back.

Star flung the mud off her; feeling soiled to her soul. Vision blurred, she glanced at the black tar bubbling on the Dog's broken blade. "Is that the silver sword?"

"Yes."

"Wow, I guess that thing really does kill monsters."

Brow furrowed, the Dog peered at her with confusion and disgust painting his face.

"Sorry," she said, still wringing the mud from her clothes. She chuckled nervously and said, "Inside joke...with myself."

The Dog chuffed at the bear.

The bear lowered to the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do...that?'

"Didn't seem relevant," the Dog replied, taking Star's hand.

"So, you can talk to animals?"

"Sometimes. Come on." The Dog hoisted her upon the bear's back. "I found it."

A nervous shudder coursed down her spine, but the bear did not object to her riding it. "Found what?"

The Dog smiled his toothy, Cheshire grin. Eyes glistening gold, he said, "Krin."

****

Brushing jet-black bangs away from her porcelain-white forehead, Mia asked 'Ro, "How do you think Sandy's holding up?"

Damn, she needed a tan. Mayhap, a few days under the Krinian sunshine would remedy that.

"She's fine," he replied. "She's helping some of the women wash clothes."

Hands on hips, she said, "That's not what I meant."

Of course it wasn't. He knew that. He just didn't really wanna talk about it.

'Ro and Mia ambled around the village of Krin. People were spreading blankets and placing wicker chairs out in the field where many of the exiles camped the previous night. Apparently, their gracious hosts were planning a shin-dig.

Hickey was on Fedic duty.

'Ro couldn't believe his gang (which once contained more members than he could count), had whittled down to just four. And even though Fedic with them, he would never become part of the gang.

'Ro sighed. Thumbs hooked in his belt, he said, "I think she'll be all right in time. As we'll all be."

She asked, "And what about you? I mean, what with losing your brother n' all. You seem to be taking it better than Sandy."

"I've seen folks dying most my life. Even when we was just kids, me and Ally both knew the day would come when we'd have to bury the ol' man. Just like we knew we'd die someday, too. It's unavoidable." He combed his fingers through his hair, and readjusted his hat. "Now, I'll be the first to admit that I was just as shocked, angry, and heart-broke as Sandy when Ally was first taken. But, it's done. And there ain't nothing no one can do about it."

They strolled on in silence. Mia playfully nudged his shoulder and glanced up at him with a fragile smile. He smiled back. She slithered her arm around his, and he did not object, though he probably should've.

He spotted Sarah among those orchestrating the night's festivities. She was talking to three Krinian women; pointing her finger around, as if giving them directions.

He said to Mia, "Hold up a minute, I'm gonna go see what's what."

Frowning, she said, "I think we should check on Sandy."

"I think Sandy could use a little space right now, don't you?"

She soughed.

He ambled toward Sarah, and when she saw him coming, she smiled, waved, blushed, and smoothed out the creases in her dress.

It had been a long time since he'd seen her like that. Washed. Wearing a proper sundress. Her long, red hair flowing in the gentle, summer breeze. Despite the brownish, hardened blights upon her skin, she still appeared as radiant as ever.

He asked, "How's it goin'?"

"Very well, and ye?"

"Can't complain. Looks like you're working on a project."

Her smile widened to a convivial magnitude. She clasped her hands together, and said, "Aye, I was talking with some of the women, about how, were this Silverdale, we'd have arranged a banquet for our guests. The Krinians thought it a splendid idea. They haven't had a good celebration in years."

"I don't really see much to celebrate, but that sounds like a fine idea, indeed."

"I think the fact we're still alive is 'cause enough for cheer."

He removed his hat, combed his fingers through greasy strands, and said, "Maybe so. Need any help?"

Gaze darting the site, she replied, "Actually I think we've got everything handled for now. But, thank ye for offering."

Tipping his hat, he said, "Any time. Well, I can see ya got your hands full, so I'll leave ya to it."

Blushing, Sarah curtseyed, and then minced off to continue her work.

Brow cocked, hands on hips, Mia sneered, "What happened? Forget I was standing here?"
"What're ya talking about?"

Flapping her arms like a baby bird learning to fly, she replied, "Ya just up and completely left me out of the conversation."

"I didn't see ya tryin' to get a word in edge wise. Figured ya had nothing to say." Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro moseyed on.

Trotting after, Mia asked, "So what's the story?"

"What story?"

"You know, with you and that girl back there."

"Who, Sarah?"

Batting her eyes and smacking pouted lips, she said, "Yeah, lover-boy, Sarah."

Shrugging, he replied, "Nothing. We got history, is all."

"Did you fuck her?"

"What? No."

"But you want to, don't you?"

Did he? He didn't know. He just didn't really want to discuss this with Mia.

He faced her, not having a clue what to say.

Mia brushed her bangs away, and said, "'Cause, I think you could do better."

"Why do I get the feeling you're referring to yourself?"

Head canted, a small, crooked smile plastered across her face. "Have you ever given any thought to it?"

"I...uh...how old are you?"

"I'm old enough. How old are you?"

"Hell, I don't know. I can barely count to ten, and that's with using my fingers." He wriggled his digits in front of her face.

She smiled and playfully smacked his hands away. "Seriously, you don't know how old you are? Don't have any clue at all?"

"Around thirty, I reckon."

"So, I'm seventeen. Women younger than me have been married and had children."

"That what ya want? To settle down? Have a litter of youngins?"

Brow arched, she asked, "Don't you?"

"I don't know. Maybe someday. But, not now, and definitely not with you."

Mia reared back, face scrunched up, lip curled, she asked, "Why not? What's wrong me? What, my tits ain't bit enough for ya? I'm not as curvy as that farm girl you were talking to."

"It ain't that at all," he replied. "It's just, your part of the gang, you're like family. You're like my little sister. I'm sorry, that's just the way I see ya. And I'll probably always see ya like that."

"What about Ally? He didn't have a problem seeing Sandy like that."

He sighed, combed his fingers through his greasy hair, and said, "That's different. She wasn't originally part of the gang. We sacked this town once. And when we was leaving, this girl came up to Ally and asked him to take her with him. That girl, being Sandy, of course. She said she hated that town and her life there. So, Ally swept her off her feet and whisked her away. Love at first sight. My pop married them that very night down by some creek or something. Sandy didn't actually become a part of the gang until later."

Mia rolled her eyes, and said, "Whatever." She strolled away. She whirled back. Smiling, she said, "You're forgetting one thing. I never said I was part of the gang. One day you'll see me differently. You'll see."

****

Evening. The skies painted orange and purple. Off in the distance, gulls squawked in rhyme with the gentle, briny breeze. Aye, a fine enough evening for dining outdoors.

The celebration the Krinians hosted was a far cry from the festivities once held in Silverdale. No music except for 'Ro's random bouts of harmonica. Every once in a while, some of the other Jessips would carol in song, but usually 'Ro sang. No dancing, but the Krinian children did caper about as they chased fireflies.

Plates of chicken, ham, potatoes, peas, radishes, grapes, carrots, walnuts, apples, and many other fruits and veggies lay displayed on blankets. Although the Krinians did ingest meat, apparently their diet was mainly based on floral succulents, roots, and legumes.

The elders (excluding Greggoire), and the decrepit reclined in wicker chairs. Most lounged on the grass, pecking at the food upon their plates with fingers. No silverware. No napkins. The Krinians wiped their hands upon long, lush blades of green.

"For the ants," Greggoire said, smiling.

Troll sat with Sarah, Anne, Sirii, the _hermanii_ , Montalvo, Daneal, and Greggoire. But after he had a bit to eat, he had every intention of strolling around the open picnic fields and talking with _everyone_. Assure them all would be well, and that Star on her way.

Montalvo hadn't said a word since coming down from the bluffs.

Sarah and Anne appeared in high-spirits, and together, of all things.

The search party proved unprolific, but Greggoire assured tomorrow would be better, more or less. "She must be close to Krin by now," he said. "If we don't find her tomorrow, then I don't think we will."

Nibbling on a piece of fried chicken, Troll replied, "She has faced worse odds for longer periods of time."

"That may be so. And she may have all the time in the world. But, if the king _is_ coming after you, then we don't."

" _Ah_!" a woman screamed. "A bear!"

The Krinian men went to fetch their spears. The women and children just ran.

Unprepared, indeed.

The exiles readied their weapons and hurried toward the bear, who bounced along at a slow, ambling gait.

There appeared an odd tuft of fur on the bear's back. Like an unusual lump coated with different fur, and covered in dried mud.

The Krinians hollered and raced toward the bear.

Troll roared, "Stop!"

All halted and turned toward Troll.

The bear twitched its ears and waddled forth.

A slender Krinian man with piercing emerald-eyes asked, "Why did you call for us to stop?"

"Why are ye all so bent on killing a harmless creature?"

Gape wide, lips trembling, Daneal quavered, "That's not a harmless creature, that's a bear."

"It roared ferociously," someone called.

"Don't be dense," Troll called back. "I heard no roar, only a woman scream, 'Ah! A bear!' And look, t'is not charging ferociously toward us. T'is patiently ambling at a slow, and more importantly, non-threatening gait."

"He's right, _easta_ ," Sirii said to Daneal.

Brow furrowed, bottom lip slightly curled, Daneal asked Troll, "What did she just call me?"

Troll pointed toward the strange lump upon the bear, and said, "And look, there's something riding its back. Since I see no danger from the bear, I suggest we peacefully investigate this matter in a calm and orderly fashion."

Troll alone hobbled forth.

The bear ambled toward him, halting within ten paces. The bear gave a light, acknowledging chuff, but made no menacing movements.

Cough. Cough. Hack. Wheeze.

Troll glanced around. Who was coughing?

The lump on the back stirred, and a figure draped in a mud-caked cloak and hood sat up.

"Who's there?" croaked a familiar voice.

Troll's heart leapt in trepidation. "Star?" he softly called. "Myriam, is that ye?"

Star removed her hood. Her skin appeared pallid and dotted with soars. Her hair looked patchy and thin. Her eyes were faded emerald-cataracts. She quavered, "Troll? Is that you? I can't see. Is this real?"

"Aye, it's me, my dove. This is real."

Head whipping from side-to-side, she asked, "Where's Dog?"

Troll's heart just sank. _Really_? Did she not know what happened to the Dog? Could she not feel it? He could have sworn that she had.

"Right here," the Dog answered, emerging from the trees.

Troll's heart felt as if it broke and reassembled in an instant and he feel to his knees.

"Where were you?" Star asked.

The Dog replied, "Just checking in on the army's position, we're okay for now."

Troll remembered when the Dog spoke not a word, and now he talked in complete, coherent sentences. _And_ now Star rode bears. What happened to them?

She held her arms out to the Dog and he helped her off the bear.

The bear licked Star's face.

"I'll miss you too," she said.

The bear roared goodbye and then bounded back toward the forest.

Anne broke from the frozen crowd and raced into Star.

Star grunted, "Oof."

Anne buried her head in Star's bosom and cried.

"Anne, is that you?" Star asked, patting at Anne's head.

"Aye," Anne replied. "It's me."

"Oh, my God, Anne, what happened to your hair?" Star hugged Anne tightly and they both wept joyous tears.

Sarah and Sirii dashed toward Star and nearly plowed her and Anne over as they embraced.

She asked, "Sarah? Sirii? Is that you? I can't see so good."

Sarah sniffled, "Aye, we're _all_ here. We made it."

A stinging, stabbing sensation pierced Troll's heart. He hung his head in shame, for they had not _all_ made it. That would be a _long_ , tedious conversation; one that he already dreaded.

He forced himself to his feet, and hurriedly hobbled toward Star and embraced her as tightly as he dared. "What took thee so long?"

Tears flowing from her faded eyes, she smiled, and replied, "That's a long story."

And then he kissed her. He glanced at the Dog, and said, "Thank ye, my friend."

The Dog just nodded.

Troll's heart soared in relief.

How could he have ever doubted either of them? How could he have been _so_ wrong about the Dog's death? When the time right, he'd have to make a very thorough apology to Anne.

Many surrounded Star and her half of the prophecy; seeking to shake hands and introduce themselves to her as she clung tenaciously to Troll's side.

Sensing the timidity coursing through her, Troll picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She felt lighter than he remembered. He handed his staff to the Dog, who took it. For, no-doubt, his walking stick would tumble out of the holes in his once-bottomless cloak.

People prattled garrulously as they rabble crowded around the two lovers.

"My friends, please," Troll called. "My love is weary. She needs to rest."

Rubbing his ovoid chin with his thumb and index-finger, Greggoire replied, "I know just the place."

Brow furrowed, chapped lips curled, Star asked, "Who is that?"

"A friend of ye'r fathers," Troll replied.

Her thin, trembling arms tightened around his neck. She brought her lips close to his ear.

His skin prickled in goose-bumps.

She asked, "Where's he want to take me?"

Greggoire replied, "To the house of your father. To your home."

Star's old house lay just at the edge of the village along with a few other older huts. Just like others in Krin the run-down, dilapidated cabin-like domicile had been forged of mud and timber; purportedly untouched since the invasion, as if some mocking curse; the house untarnished, yet the family forever broken beyond repair.

Greggoire and Daneal led Troll, Star, and the Dog inside. And anyone who could fit into the small home filed in and surrounded Star.

Greggoire retrieved an old rocking chair from a back room and brought it into the main chamber. "I believe, this belongs to you now," he said to Star.

"What is it?" she asked, pawing at it.

"Your Grandmere's chair," he replied.

Troll helped Star ease into the rocker. She sighed and smiled, one of those genuine and beautiful smiles he so often struggled to attain from her back when they first met.

What happened to his beautiful Star? Her once smooth, silky skin festered with boils and soars. Her flowing-golden locks now patchy and thin. Her pallor suggested her ill. But not from cave rot. Troll had never seen this sort of affliction before. Perhaps, if Doctor still alive, he might have an idea at what ailed her. Unfortunately, the good doctor perished along with many others during their tenure in the deep, deep dark.

Anne asked Star, "What was it like to ride a bear?" Her widened gape filled with stars and a child's wonder.

Troll hadn't seen such a look in her eyes in a _long_ time.

"It was the greatest thrill of my life," Star replied. Her cloudy and faded-emerald gaze rested upon Troll.

Could she even see him? Or could she somehow sense him?

She smiled weakly, and said, "Well, the second greatest. And the bear stank something fierce." Nose wrinkled, she wafted her hand in front of her face, as if fending off a stench most foul.

The children laughed.

They all did.

A Krinian child with chubby cheeks and diamond-blue eyes, said, "Tell us a story Mother Star."

Another called, "One with a lot of action."

"A little romance," said a native exile with pigtails.

"A little scary," said another.

"Ye know," Anne chimed, "A _great_ journey."

Clapping, Troll said, "Here, Here."

So, Star regaled them with the greatest journey she ever trekked. Her story began where Troll's left off; with her going out into the desert and rescuing the Dog. Then he rescued her. The blinding flash and strange mushroom-shaped cloud that decimated Al'ber Que. "You should have seen it," Star said, utilizing wide hand gestures. She told them of their harrowing adventures over the Sie Mountains; pursued by the army and an entire pack of bargs.

The Krinian children cringed and covered their eyes.

The adults smiled and nodded, no-doubt thinking it wild exaggeration purely for the benefit of the children.

Troll scanned the pale and tightly drawn faces of the exiles. _They_ knew every word of it was true.

She told them of the fall from the mountains. Crossing the Sac Krin River. Getting stuck in the Mortis-mud. The bargs watching and whinnying as she slowly drowned. Tapping into _him_. Using _him_. Pissing _him_ off to the point where Furion wouldn't let her drown. _He_ wanted to kill her himself. Being rescued by the Dog and the bear, whom she named Shaggy Bear.

The children giggled.

Krinians laughed.

Troll was just amazed she survived it all.

Apparently, by the wide gapes and slack jaws of his inner-circle, so were they.

Star said, "I thought I was dead, but, then, just like in the prophecy, man and nature came together to battle the king's forces."

She told them everything. Even the Dog keeping her alive with his own blood. She talked until her voice grew hoarse and raspy; coughing steadily.

Aemelia raised her lanky arm, and said, "Tell us another story, Mother Star."

Troll stood, and said, "I believe it's time we let her rest, for the night grows late and we have much to discuss tomorrow."

The people sat there gawking.

"Come now," Troll said, shooing them away. "My love has traveled far and is very weary."

The people slowly filtered out, saying things to Star like, "Glad your back. Welcome home. Good to see you. Nice to finally meet you, we've heard such great things about you."

Sarah, Anne, the _hermanii_ , and the Jessips remained.

Montalvo and the Dog both vanished into the crowd.

Fingers interlaced, Sarah said, "Oh, please, can't we just stay for a while longer. We haven't all been together in such a long time."

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, 'Ro drawled, "Yeah, I think we all got a _lot_ to talk about."

Troll replied, "As I said, tomorrow is another beautiful day."

Star rocked gently in her Grandmere's rocker. The aged wood popped and creaked as she swayed back and forth. Cough. Cough. "Please, I'm glad to see you guys too. But, I'm very tired. Can ya just give me a couple minutes with Troll in private before I fall asleep in this chair?"

Wearing a crooked grin, 'Ro tipped his hat, and said, "Sure thing."

Sarah said, "Well, good night, we'll catch up in the morning."

"Looking forward to," Star replied.

The others ambled outside, but Mia lingered behind. She stood hips canted; one arm draped around her waist, the other supported her chin. Head downcast, she bit her thumb, rheum shimmered within her puffy eyes. Tear tracks ran down her oval, pallid face like rivers across snow-covered country. Her nose blossomed a sanguine hue, as if she'd been crying for hours.

Troll asked, "Can I help thee, my dear?"

"No," she sniffled. "Sorry, just on my way out."

Star leaned forward, and asked, "Mia?"

"Yeah, Star, it's me."

"Come here, girl. Give me a hug."

Blubbering, Mia bounded into Star's open, awaiting arms. Quivering, she sobbed, "I thought I'd never see you again. I...I thought you were dead."

Star rubbed and patted Mia's back soothingly, and said, "I was. But, I'm back, 'cause I got shit to do."

Mia snorted in an amalgamation of laughter and lacrimation. Snot bubbles foamed and popped in her nostrils.

'Ro moseyed toward them, lightly tapped Mia on the shoulder, and said, "C'mon, ya'll can reminisce in the morning." Nodding toward Star, he added, "She ain't goin' nowhere."

Mia sniffled, "M'kay." She squeezed Star again, and then took 'Ro's hand.

The group wished Troll and Star a pleasant night and then took their leave.

_Finally_ they were alone.

Star sat brooding in the chair, her rocking ceased. Her sullen cheeks puffed, bottom lip protruding; twirling her compass chain.

He knelt beside her, and asked, "Something troubling ye, my dove? T'was it the girl?"

"Mia? No, it's not that. It's just..."

He took her trembling, cachectic hands, and whispered, "What is it, my sweet?"

"I just realized they were right."

"Who was right?"

She peered at him with faded emerald-cataracts, and said, "All of them. Everyone who ever told me that I'd never see Krin again. They were right. I always thought they meant like it was gone, or that I'd die before making it home. But sitting here, thinking back on each and every time, they always said I'd never _see_ Krin again. Especially..."

"Especially, whom?"

Cough. Cough. Hack. "Doesn't matter. Point is they were right." Her voice hitched and she sobbed. "I finally made it home and I can't even see it. I'll never gaze upon my homeland again. I'll never look out into the ocean again. I can't even see _you_."

He stroked the tips of his fingers down her blighted cheek, and said, " _Shh_ , my dove, all is not lost, ye can still see me." He gently positioned her palms on his face; fingers laced together, he slowly swept their hands upon the topography of his gruff, aged features. He whispered, "Look, I'm right here. Can ye see me?"

She searched his face. Her thin brow furrowed, lips drawn tight. "Yes," she said. "I can see you." She sniffled, and chuckled, "You got old."

He chuckled, "Aye, I suppose I did."

Lips pouting, she slouched, and quavered, "I suppose I must look like some hideous monster, now."

He stroked her cheeks again, and said, "Ye'r still prettier than the Dog."

She snorted in laughter, and kissed his hand. Face scrunched, chin quavering, tears rolled down her blemished features.

He gently raised her chin with his index finger, and said, "My Myriam's Star, ye are still the most beautiful thing these eyes have _ever_ seen. Despite what the king's disease has done to thee, I hear ye'r voice and I still see the face I remember."

She sniffled, "Same here."

And then he kissed her soft and sweetly. Her lips tasted just as he remembered, felt just as he remembered. He swept her up in his arms and she squealed in delight. He cradled her tightly to his barreled chest.

"Where we going?" she asked.

"To bed," he replied. "Surely, we cannot have Krin's legendary Mother Star sleeping in a rocker."

He crept down the darkened hall toward the sleeping chamber.

She nuzzled her head against his pectorals, and said, "You never told me your guys' story about escaping under the mountains."

He advanced down the hall; into the dark. A dull dread coursed through his bones. He wished he'd grabbed a candle, or better yet, his torch/staff before proceeding through this gloomy hut-like home.

In his mind, he saw Byron standing there in the darkness. That moment of elucidation. The figure looming behind him. That look of pure terror on Byron's face before he turned and faced his fate. That maddening moment of silence before Byron released a blood-curdling scream. The ice-platform bobbing in the settling, black waters.

Troll shivered, and said, "Not tonight." He crept into the bedroom, expecting _him_ to jump out of the shadows and take them, or maybe shambling demon-children. Perhaps, even Byron, himself, drooling black sludge and gnashing rows of razor-sharp, glittering-white teeth.

He gently placed Star on the bed and kissed her once more.

She fell deeply asleep within moments.

He curled up with her on the bed and draped what remained of his tattered cloak over them.

His thoughts drifted back to days long gone. Seeking refuge beneath his cloak during deluging rains. Making love in the sand and within the tenements of Al'ber Que.

They had made it. Back together. All safe and sound in Krin.

But in his mind all he could see was that look on Byron's face. That scream. The ice-platform settling in opal black waters. In his mind, he kept hearing Anne's voice over and over again, saying "Trust me, you don't want to see what happens next."

****

8

Journal _entry,_

Second day in the glorious valley of Krin, and the first in ages since I've been with Star.

My heart bursting with joy, I awoke well before dawn. I sat there watching Star sleep, but the excitement brooding within my bones soon had my yearning for an early morning's stroll. I must confess, dear journal, I was torn, for I wished not to leave my dove for a moment, lest she slip through mine fingers again.

No-doubt, sensing my distress, the Dog slouched out of the shadows, and whispered, "It's okay, I'll watch her."

I nodded and then gestured for him to accompany me outside, for I wished to converse with my oldest friend. Imagine that, dear journal, I'm now able to hold actual conversations with the Dog. I expected him to follow on all fours, but he strode behind me through the darkened hut and out into the dewy grass. I must confess, while'st traversing through the gloom I expected to experience memoirs of the deep, deep dark. But, thanks be to God, that did not occur. Perhaps, it the reuniting of our trinity that hath instilled such courage in me, or perchance it merely the Dog walking beside me.

We strolled into the weeds as the sun rose betwixt bluffs and mist. I remember the sky vividly, one of those dull grey, pinkish-orange numbers. The picture of us standing there facing each other at eye-level (as it were), shall forever remain burned upon my mindscape.

The Dog gazed into mine eyes. I must confess, dear journal, the expression upon his face was indescribable, sort of like he a child seeking my approval mixed with the stern and stoic expression of a hardened adult who just made a very difficult decision. He said, "I didn't know what else to do."

I asked, "What do ye mean?"

" _Feeding her my blood. It could have hurt her. I could have killed her."_

" _But, it didn't. Ye saved her. And for that, I am thankful beyond words."_

Then, dear journal, something peculiar occurred. For as long as I can remember, I've always wished the Dog garrulous, and now he freely spoke his mind. I had so many questions, so many thoughts and doubts. Sadly, I couldn't think of a thing to say. So, we stood there watching the hazy sun sluggishly peek over the major bluffs.

T'was a beautiful moment, one of many which I experienced this 'morn. Krin is such a captivating place, and the little miracles of nature I witnessed veil in comparison to what's germane to this particular passage. For, time grows short, and I have much to record.

I popped by Samson and Hannah's home (I've recently learned the Krinians bear only one name, except for Star, of course), but my visit was solely with the intention of visiting Anne, 'though I did spend a few minutes talking to Sarah, Sirii, N'Dora, Zashiirii, Samson, Hannah, Aemelia, Malcom, and DJ. Well, what do ye know; I did remember all their names.

Anyway, Anne and I sat out on the open-roofed porch, watching the others tend to the crops as I smoked a pipe.

I opened my mouth to say, "Anne, I'm so sorry," but she spoke those very words before they fell from mine lips. I must confess, dear journal, it reminded me of our harrowing escape 'neath the mountains, where she read in tandem to everything I said and did, and a cold shiver coursed through my soul.

" _So, thee know what I mean to say?"_

She gazed into mine eyes, and replied, "Aye. But, save ye'r words. I accept ye'r apology and forgive ye for all that ye've done because I know ye thought the Dog dead, I know ye felt it, and I know ye'r sorry for doubting him, because I've read it in the Nou'heim-Du'tawa, but mostly, because I can see it in ye'r eyes."

I dare say, dear journal, I did get a bit misty-gaped. For a moment. Then I shrugged the feeling off as nothing more than falling leaves.

Dreading the answer, my curiosity demanded I ask, "Is there nothing that isn't in those cursed tomes?"

She peered into mine eyes with a piercing gaze that spiked a cold sliver into my spine. That look will no-doubt haunt me as will Byron's petrified horror-twisted features the moment before his demise. She said, "Don't ask me things ye aren't ready to handle."

My thoughts drifted back to when Star and I first ventured out into the Mo'tave desert, and when my dove and I engaged in a futile argument, the end of which had me not-so subtly suggesting that Star incapable of handling certain truths. Perchance, I not so different.

Star has ridden bears and united armies.

The Dog has returned from death's greedy clutches; speaking his mind in full, coherent statements. Anne hath been robbed of her childhood. Perhaps, I too changed, but not in a good way. At least, it doesn't feel that way. So many secrets kept. So many things unsaid. During our tenure in the dark, 'Ro, Anne, and God only knows how many others came to me seeking counsel, and I selfishly turned them away.

What happened to me down there?

Vexed, Troll reclined in the weeds in front of Star's hut; she rested inside no-doubt gently rocking in her Grandmere's favorite chair. Pipe clenched betwixt his teeth, he inhaled another puff. Pulse racing, his heart thumped an arrhythmic beat. He clutched at his throbbing chest. His thoughts drifted to a time now lost, when he an unstoppable juggernaut. Now, he felt burdened by his heft. Like he might just topple over and die at any moment. But, no. He couldn't go out like that. He wouldn't. Cerebrating upon the fractured epitaph he attempted to write while'st dying in the Mo'tave desert, he decided to end this entry upon a high note.

Aye, great change has indeed occurred, for last night, Myriam fell asleep well before I, and then later, I awoke and watched her slumber in bliss. And at no point did she rock, mutter, or stir. As far as these old eyes can see, last night t'was the first since I've known her that she suffered no night terrors.

****

Ruminating over his dead brother, 'Ro polished his harmonica with a neckerchief. Then his thoughts turned to how Zeke constantly rubbed his fat thumbs on the lenses of ol' Paulie's spectacles. He'd lost so many of his comrades, he didn't know if he could bear to part with any more. He asked Troll, "Ya sure this is a good idea?"

He clasped 'Ro on the shoulder, and said, "My friend, at this point, I'm not sure of anything."

Mid-morning, and the sun was high in the unblemished sky. Birds caroled; poppies, chrysanthemums, and laurels swayed in tandem as the breeze blew low and sweet. The air held with it the promise of a rather hot day, indeed.

'Ro and his gang spent the previous night under the Krinian stars, waiting for what would come next. Cradled in his arms, Sandy sobbed until she fell asleep. And all the while, Mia just glared at him.

But what did she expect? 'Ro had said his peace. He wasn't interested. Nor was he interested in Sandy. But he had his brother and his best friend's baby to look after. He owed them that. Even though Sandy survived the mines, something had happened to her. She was not the strong survivor she once was. Without Ally, she seemed lost. 'Ro knew she not long for this world. And it ate him up something fierce. He just hoped he could save the baby.

But that was then. Now, 'Ro, Troll, and Hickey stood watching Krinians, exiles, and turn-coats training each other in the open field the refugees camped in.

Even though the elders still hadn't made a decision to aid Troll's campaign, Star and the Dog's return instilled great vigor and confidence among the people, especially with the king on the way.

Sandy and Mia drilled alongside the others. Sandy didn't really need it; she'd been thoroughly tested over the years. No-doubt, she just needed something to occupy her mind.

Fedic trained as well.

'Ro didn't know where Star and the Dog were. Troll didn't say. And he didn't ask.

Polishing his harmonica to a glistening shine, he muttered, "This ain't gonna sit right with the elders."

Hickey expectorated tobacco juice, and muttered, "Fuck the elders, if they're too scared to stand, then the hell with them. But, it looks to me like everyone else is gearing up for one hell of a fight."

'Ro asked, "So, now you're gonna fight?"

Shrugging, Hickey replied, "Hey, I said if Star showed up I _might_ fight. Well, she did. And I thought about it. And I'm fixin' to rumble. What about you?"

But he didn't know if he'd stay and continue the campaign against the king. Everything had happened so fast. How come Hickey, Mia, _and_ Fedic seemed so sure in following Troll and Star? Mayhap it 'cause they didn't have family to tend to.

The clanking of swords and the butting if shields resonated in the open field as Al'ber Querians habituated turn-coats and Krinians with _d'el falanjii_.

'Ro scanned those training, scratched his scruffy chin, and said, "Dunno, just not sure on the strategy."

Troll replied, "I admit, there's still a great deal of work to be done. But, I think we can handle it. What other choice do we have?"

"We could run."

Slightly squinting, Troll said, "I didn't think ye of all people, had the heart for _that_."

'Ro replied, "All I'm saying is that the only ones to survive the first siege of Krin were the ones who ran. Now, you're talking about bottle necking the army into the valley and surrounding them. But, I look around at the mountains, the bluffs, the bogs, the sea. I think _we're_ the ones boxed in."

"Have a little faith."

"I got a little faith." He sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and added, "Just not a lot of confidence. I mean, our best chance at beating the army was back at Al'ber Que, and we all know how that turned out."

Troll peered into his eyes, and said, "This time will be different."

"Will it?"

Hickey cleaned the grit 'neath his fingernails, and grumbled, "You're starting to sound like Ally."

"Mayhap so, but Ally was the leader for a reason."

Hickey replied, "Last I recall, you was the one calling the shots."

"That how your remember it?" He pocketed his harmonica and neckerchief, and said, "I kinda remember it differently. It was the old man. Then Ally was priming up to be the leader. Then ya'll had the horse-sense to spring my busted ass from Silvertown, or whatever, and ya'll start turning to me. Then Star comes along. And we follow her. How many people we gonna lose following other people? I'm done following others. I'm gonna follow my heart." He tipped his hat to them, hitched his thumbs in his buckle, and moseyed away.

Masticating on a cud of tobacco, Hickey muttered, "Pussy."

Troll called, "Hey, 'Ro."

What now? What more could that behemoth want from him?

'Ro pivoted. He expected Troll to order him to tow-the-line, or anathematize him as a coward.

Instead, he smiled, and said, "Good luck and God-speed, my friend."

'Ro marched behind those drilling, and hustled toward Sandy and Mia. He tapped Sandy on the forearm and motioned for her to follow him.

Sandy excused herself and broke rank. The opposing trainees frowned and shrugged, but said nothing, and continued on.

Mia trotted after them.

Sandy asked, "What's up?" Her stringy blonde-hair was tied back in a ponytail; accentuating her slender, elongated face and the dark rings blighting her puffy, red eyes.

'Ro answered not. He lightly grasped her arm and ushered her away from the huts dotting the village's hub, past the farm homes, and toward the sequoia and mulberry trees that marked the surrounding forest.

Mia asked, "What's goin' on?"

He whirled toward her, and asked, "Ya gonna fight?"

Arms crossed, brow arched, pouty lips pursed. She nodded, and replied, "You're damn right I am."

"What about you?" he asked Sandy.

Sandy hung her head, lips trembling, and stifling torrential tears.

Mia scoffed, "Really?" Her nose crumpled in disgust. She lurched back, rested her fists on cocked hips, and asked, "You don't want to avenge your husband's death?"

He scoffed, "What the hell's this got to do with what happened to Ally?"

"Oh, please, you must be blind if you can't see that all this is somehow connected. Ally got taken by those... _things_ , and somehow the king is responsible. It's the only thing that makes sense. And if ya don't wanna fight back, then you guys are cowards."

"You shut up!" Sandy lunged at Mia. 'Ro grabbed her. She fought and fidgeted, clawing at Mia, roaring, "Don't you dare talk to me like that, you stupid, little bitch!"

Mia's eyebrows arched into ebony crescent-moons. Shaking her head, she sneered, "Now look who else is falling apart. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. How predictable."

'Ro said, "Ease off."

"Seriously? I thought we were tight?"

"We are."

"And still you're gonna take that bitch's side."

Sandy lurched forward, but 'Ro held her back.

He yelled, "Shut your damn mouth, you're given' me a headache."

Mia swept back her jet-black bangs, and huffed, "I mean, if she loved him so much why'd she just stand there doing nothing?"

Sandy growled in rage. Tears stumbled down the elongated grooves of her face. She struggled evermore, but 'Ro just wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight.

He said to Mia, "Ya don't know nothing. And what's more, ya don't even know that ya don't know nothing."

Glowering, she sneered, "I know your brother was a coward and you're not. So, ditch the farm girl and join us."

"Go on, just get outta here and leave my family alone."

Face scrunched in confusion, she said, "Really? I thought you said I was your family? I thought you said I was like your sister? Now you're forsaking me and the others so you can fuck your dead brother's wife."

That was it. The last straw. 'Ro pulled his shooter and pointed it Mia's forehead. Anger flared inside him like a raging wildfire. His skin prickled, and his face flushed with a burning sensation. Teeth grinding, his eyes seemed to boggle in their sockets. He cocked the hammer, and steadied the barrel between Mia's running lights.

Arms crossed, she smirked, and said, "Go ahead, do it."

'Ro remembered his dreams.

Please son, do it. Put me outta my misery.

He pulled the trigger. The cylinder spun round and round. Yet, his father just wouldn't die.

The gun tremored in his hand just like Ally's when he buried his into the ol' man's forehead -- And didn't squeeze the trigger.

The rage brewing within him calmed.

He shooed Mia away with his shooter, and said, "Go on, now. If you ever cared about anyone in this gang, then you'll just leave us be."

Scowling, lips pouted, Mia said, "Fine." She trudged off before whirling toward them, once more. Hands on cocked hips, she said, "I knew you weren't gonna shoot me. Wanna know how I know? It's 'cause you're not a killer. But, I am. One day you'll see me as more than just a little girl. Just you wait, 'Ro. One day, you will see." Then she marched off, arms swinging.

He could've sworn he heard her softly sobbing.

'Ro whispered to Sandy, "That bitch is fucking crazy."

She snorted in laughter as fresh, hot tears streamed down her face.

"You okay?"

She blotted her lacrimation with a sleeve/palm combination, and sniffled, "Yeah."

They embraced tightly. Then he leaned away from her, peered into her eyes, and said, "We gotta get out of here."

****

Aemelia said, "Read some more please."

Sunny and hot; a dry sort-of heat lumbered over Krin unlike the sweltering humidity back in Silverdale.

With the morning's training regimen accomplished, Anne didn't know what to do with herself, until a small group of children (exiles and Krinians alike), asked if she wanted to play. The children kicked around a stuffed ball made of pig-hide. Oh, how DJ laughed and squealed. She desperately wanted to tell him what she...Quinn did to his sister. She had to; it gnawed away at her day and night, like some worm thriving on her intestines. But, she couldn't. He wouldn't understand. He'd hate her. He'd never speak to her again. And Anne couldn't allow that because...because...well, she loved him.

So, she hid her shame and played along; donning a fake smile and giggling fallacious laughs.

When weary, the children retired to Samson's house, where Hannah whipped up a quick snack of sliced strawberries, apples, plums, cantaloupe, peaches, apricots, nectarines and cream.

Anne may have wished to travel the globe, but so far, the only thing worthwhile about such grandiose endeavors was sampling the exotic cuisine of foreign lands.

They all sat out on the porch. The children chuckled and licked grimy fingers while'st Anne read silently from the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_.

Munching on a piece of peach Aemelia unconsciously shook her leg like a rabbit scratching at its ear. She asked Anne, "Why do you keep turning that around?"

"Huh?"

"Those things you're staring at, you keep flipping them around."

Anne held up the texts for Aemelia to see, and replied, "This thing is a book."

"What's a book?" lisped a young Krinian boy with diamond-blue eyes.

"A book is a tome with words writ inside."

Aemelia asked, "Why's it called a book?"

"I...I...don't know."

"Then why did you call it a book?"

Another asked, "Yeah, and why do you keep flipping it around?"

Anne scratched at her short hair, and replied, "Well, there are words script here. But, there out of sequence. A passage may begin on one page, then continue on many pages further, but scrawled upside down. Some passages are divided many times and in many forms, like a code."

Picking his nose, Malcom said, "Ohhh."

Aemelia raised a bony arm, and asked, "What's a code?"

Exasperated from their tenacious inquires, Anne proffered, "I know, why don't I just read ye some?"

Like booming storm clouds, the children thundered in plaudit.

Sulking, chubby cheeks puffed, DJ mumbled, "I don't like that book."

She leafed through the pages until glancing upon a particularly humorous event, one she'd already read a couple times, herself. The passage was written in Troll's unique vernacular, and recanted a blundered fishing excursion that involved Troll and the Dog before they met Star.

She read, "'That makes three to none by my count. May I suggest another method?' I could see the Dog was gettin' frustrated with my daunting success, so I offered him up a piece of advice. 'That's not the way to do it. Ye must bait 'em, let 'em come to ye, by cracky.'"

The Krinian children guffawed and clapped.

She read up to where to the Dog trounced off into the woods with his catch betwixt his teeth. Then she stopped. She didn't want to frighten the children with the part about the Dog rolling upon a mound of mauled fauna carcasses.

Sucking the cream off a slice of apricot, a Krinian girl with emerald-eyes, and golden pigtails, said, "Read another pwease."

She flipped further through the tomes and regaled them with a passage about a dinner, and a dance that Troll and Star shared; an event she was _supposed_ to attend. In fact, she'd been looking forward to it all day, and then _he_ came and snatched her. But, she didn't tell them that, nor was that information even in that particular passage.

Curious, what else transpired that was not included in the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?

Leg thumping, Aemelia said, "That doesn't sound like the Star your people talk about."

Another chimed, "Yeah, and that don't look like the Mother Star I know."

Anne scratched at her hair, and said, "Well appearances are not all they appear to be."

The children giggled.

DJ slouched in his chair and nibbled on a slice of apple.

A child cried, "Read us another story from those strange books."

Anne read from the old texts, relaying Troll and his friends' first arrival in Silverdale.

The children chuckled and laughed.

How could they not? Ah, the good ol' days.

The children leaned on the edge of their seats, hanging on every word.

She read until her vision blurred and her voice hoarse. When she stopped, she reached the part right before things started to turn south in Silverdale.

Aemelia pouted, "Please, read some more."

Anne feigned a yawn, and replied, "I'm tired of reading right now. I'll read more later."

A skinny boy with wild, curly golden hair and emerald eyes, smiled, and said, "Well, it was one heck of a story."

Leg shaking, Aemelia chimed, "Yeah, wish I'd been there to see it."

"No, ye don't," Anne replied. She flipped the book closed. The archaic paper crinkled and ripped. A solitary page floated to the floor like a feather. Anne picked it up and read it. Then she read it again. "Sarah! Sirii! Somebody!"

Zashiirii and N'Dora raced out of the house, presented themselves before Anne, and bowed.

Blighted face wrinkled in concern, N'Dora asked, "What is it, _Madirii_?"

"Where is Troll?"

"With _Madirii_ Star," N'Dora replied. "Why?"

Anne peered into N'Dora's light-brown eyes, and said, "I need to speak with him -- Now!"

****

Troll said to Star, "And over there is the narrow valley between the hills, where the exiles and I entered Krin. I believe ye and the Dog arrived further south."

"Yeah, out of the swamp forest."

The sun shone brightly and the air blew low and sweet; briny as ever. But all Star could see were distorted shapes and blobs.

They stood atop the minor bluffs, a landmark located fifteen-minutes eastbound from Star's humble abode; a trek they made hand-in-hand.

She asked, "Is that big ash tree still standing at the bottom of the valley?"

Troll chuckled, "Aye, and large as life, itself." Standing behind her, he guided her arms, as if teaching her how to shoot a gun. He pivoted her around.

"What direction is this?"

"True west," he replied. "Ye are now facing the village of Krin."

"Show it to me."

He slithered a rough palm over the back of her hand, guiding it. He said, "Over there is the open field in the center of Krin. The two closest structures are the hut of the elders and the village doctor, I believe your people call him, the medicine man." Gliding her hand through the air, he added, "They are located here, and here."

"That's not where they used to be."

"Aye, many huts were destroyed during the invasion, and later rebuilt."

"And where are the bunkers?"

"The what?"

"The bunkers, they should be there with the elders' and medicine man's huts. We use 'em for bearing down through rough storms, but it's also where those too young or old to fight hid during the siege."

He sighed.

She felt his arms move.

Probably, to perform his characteristic running of the hand.

He said, "Sadly, those were never rebuilt. Now, the Krinians are more afraid of outsiders then torrential weather. They ride storms out in their homes."

"Anne told me they use camouflage now."

"Aye, they not only wear it, but many of the huts and homes are capable of being cleverly disguised in only a matter of hours."

"Anne said they did it with nets of grass, leaves, and twigs, and something they call dumb-trees."

"Basically, they're just fallen, or sometimes, hewed trees that are set up to veil the village."

She snorted, "Damn, that is clever." The wind picked up, fluttering her thin, gossamer hair. It was hot out, she felt the sun warming her skin, but that sudden gust sent a cold shiver coursing through the hollows of her bones. She shuddered, and Troll rubbed her shoulders and forearms. She said, "Anne also told me she was staying at a farm house."

"Aye, with a couple named Samson and Hannah, they have two darling children."

"I'm confused. We never had farm houses before. Just huts."

"As thee know, the Krinians had much to rebuild. Some of those with the desire and know-how decided to fashion lavish homes for themselves, because, as ye also know, the farmers are the most revered in the village. The bigger the plot, the bigger the yield."

"How come not everyone built a home? How come some just rebuilt simple huts?"

"As I said, the Krinians have become very suspicious of any intruders, and a decadent home is one not easily hidden."

Nodding, she replied, "I see."

He directed her northwest, and said, "Over there is more forest and marshland."

She nestled the back of her head in the crook of his arm. The piquant scent of his salty musk filled her nostrils. She moaned, and said, "Show me the sea."

He took her arms and rotated her in a southwest direction. "There my dove, what do ye see?"

She smiled reminiscently, and relayed what she viewed in the mirror of her mind's eye. "I see a network of sandy beaches and pools of shimmering blue. On hot days, the children go down there and play in the water. Mikhail always wanted to go, but I never did. They're not real beaches though, just part of the bogs. If you went further out, the swamp grew thicker. Shoot, I don't even know why they're called beaches. Ya can't even see the ocean from down there, only up here."

She felt his heart skip a heavy beat.

He sighed, and said, "I'm sorry, my dove, I don't see any beaches, only marsh."

"Then we must be facing the wrong direction." Instinctively, she fumbled for her compass before realizing what a futile endeavor it was.

"But, the ocean is clearly visible beyond the trees."

She muttered, "That's impossible."

"Perhaps, the swamp overgrew the beaches. After all, ye did say they weren't real beaches, only part of the mire."

"But, that's where we get our water from. We collect it from the beach, boil it to purity, barrel it, and then store it in the village water bank."

"They still attain water in such a fashion."

"Is it still kept in the center of town? I don't recall you mentioning it."

"No, the original water bank was destroyed. The new one is located on the outskirts of the village and hidden." He guided her hand, and said, "There."

She scanned the blurry horizon, and said, "It's not the way I remember it."

He chuckled, "Well, as I said, t'was rebuilt."

"I'm not talkin' 'bout the water bank. I'm talkin' 'bout Krin. What you're describing isn't the way I see it in my mind."

He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head, and said, "Everything changes, my dove."

She craned her head upward, pecked him on the lips, and said, "I like the way I remember it better."

He held her tightly in his arms, and for a moment, she was glad she blind. Now, nothing aged. Not even her. Everything remained exactly as she once saw it.

She whirled toward him and they kissed passionately. His rough lips still reminded her of rich wood. His beard tickled her cheeks and the underside of her chin.

She patted his shoulders, and said, "You seem bigger."

"Sarah mentioned something to that effect earlier." He exhaled a long, lonesome sigh, and shuddered. He wrapped his arms around her, and whispered, "I suppose I should probably tell thee my tale about how we escaped the mountains."

"You don't have to, I already know. Byron, Quinn, the cave rot, even your heart attack, all of it. I know how hard it all must be to talk about."

She felt his heart skip an arrhythmic beat.

He grumbled, "Anne tell ye, did she?"

"Actually, it was Sarah."

The sound of feet shuffling through blades of grass arose.

Star pulled a shooter.

Troll rested a hand over hers, and said, "Calm yerself, my dear, t'is only a friend."

"Who?"

"Daneal," a voice chimed.

"Who?"

Troll replied, "The son of Greggoire."

"The man who took me home?"

"Aye."

She didn't care who it was, how dare anyone interject on the little alone time with Troll she had left?

Lowering her weapon, she asked Daneal, "What do you want?"

Daneal replied, "The council wished me to inform you that they will have made a decision by sunset. They ask that you join them at that time."

Troll said, "Please inform the council that it would be my honor."

Daneal took his leave, At least, it sounded that way.

She attempted to holster her sidearm, but couldn't find it.

Troll wrapped a hand over hers and guided the gun back into its leathery scabbard.

Abashed, she said, "Thanks."

He chuckled, "It appears ye'r still a natural draw, just a little clumsy on the return."

"Yeah, guess I'm still not used to being blind."

He gently cupped her chin with his fingers, and whispered, "We shall endure it together."

And then they kissed.

****

Sarah roamed the outskirts of the quaint village known as Krin; perambulating over all that happened to her and Anne, all they each endured. She cerebrated over the fate of Silverdale. Had anyone survived the invasion? Did they rebuild? Had her home been wiped off the face of God's green-earth? She moseyed through the woods and toward the river, forever watching her footing for Mortis-mud.

There, just over yonder, she spied two people wearing backpacks and slinking through the trees and away from Krin.

The couple looked like Sandy and 'Ro. Where were they going, and why?

Sarah called, "Sandy, 'Ro, is that ye?"

'Ro and Sandy tensed up before slowly pivoting toward her with wide gapes and clenched mouths.

"I thought that ye," she said, jaunting toward them. "Where are ye off to?"

'Ro chuckled nervously, ran a hand through his hair, hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and said, "Sandy and I are taking off. We were hoping to do it unseen and without a fuss."

Hands kneading hem, she replied, "I understand."

"Ya do?"

"Aye, ye've got to take care of Sandy and her baby?"

Brow furrowed, Sandy asked, "Who told you?"

"No one, but I have taken care of many children and child-bearers alike; I know that all-familiar glow when I see it." She thought back to when she was pregnant with the sultan's baby. How come she didn't see it then? She gazed at 'Ro, and said, "I am most saddened that ye hadn't the heart to say goodbye. Had I not known the truth, I would have thought something run a-foul of ye when the others couldn't find ye." Gaze dithering between their dour faces, she added, "Both of ye."

'Ro drawled, "Ya could come with us."

Gape narrowed, bottom lip protruding; Sandy shot him a jealous glance.

He amended, "You and Anne."

At that moment, she heard Anne's voice in her head saying, "I think we die here." When Anne had said it, Sarah was ready to die by her side. But, now that she faced the option of running...she didn't know. She just _didn't_ know.

She brushed away a few stray strands of red-hair from her face, said, "I can't leave Anne."

Hitching at his pack, 'Ro replied, "Like I said, snatch her up real quick and bring her with us. We'll wait."

"No, ye don't understand. I'm not sure Anne wants to leave. The way she trained alongside the others, with such ferocity; I believe she intends on seeing this through to the end."

Sandy said, "I don't think she realizes what's about to happen here."

She replied, "Believe me. She knows. Unfortunately, she knows better than all of us. And it saddens my heart that she knows and _still_ chooses to say."

Sighing, 'Ro combed his fingers through his hair, and said, "Well, she's a big girl. She's smart and tough as nails. If it's her decision to stay, then so be it." He peered into her eyes, and said, "What I'm asking is if _you_ want to come with us."

Sarah felt thrilled and horrified at the same time. She couldn't remember the last time someone asked her what she wanted (besides Rome, of course, but in her mind, that didn't count). But, what did she want? She drifted back to the other night, standing hand-in-hand, gazing up at the stars with Anne. She could do that forever. That's what she wanted.

Anne said, "I think we die here."

But at that moment, Sarah didn't care. Now, of course, was a completely different story. She _wanted_ to live. She just didn't know if she wanted to live as a coward; knowing she'd left everyone she'd ever cared about to die in the dust.

"No," Sarah said. "I just can't leave them."

'Ro said, "Hey, like I said, what Anne decides is--"

"No, I'm not talking about Anne. I'm talking about Troll, Star, the Dog, Sirii, everyone. I can't just leave them. I can't believe ye would. What of Mia and Hickey?"

His gape pulsated with rage, face flushed red. Grinding his teeth, he said, "They've made their choice."

Gaze glued to the forest flooring, Sandy chimed, "So have I."

Brow furrowed in disgust, he asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

She replied, "That means we need to stay and fight."

"Sandy, we need to think about the baby--"

Sandy blurted, "We need to think about our future."

"That's what I'm talking about!"

Sandy sighed, and said, "No, it ain't. Unless we stand, unless we fight, this baby won't have a green-chance in hell. And that's not what Ally would do. That's not what he'd _want_ for our child."

'Ro pleaded, "Sandy--"

Admonishing a slender finger, she continued, "Sure, Ally was level headed. The calmest of you two. But, when our backs pressed 'gainst a wall, he was the fiercer of you."

Sarah asked, "What are ye saying?"

She replied, "I'm saying that I'm staying. And I'm fighting." She lightly pressed a palm against her still tight belly, and said, "'Cause if the king survives, we won't."

****

Troll sat cross-legged in the grass, smoking a pipe and watching the clouds drift docilely across an unblemished, blue sky. Star dozed lounging in her Grandmere's rocker inside her childhood home. Judging by the position of the sun, the afternoon's training regimen should be well underway. Of course, he was too far away from the center of the village to see it. Despite the fact that the elders still hadn't made a decision to help Troll and his people, he'd spied many brown faces during the morning routine. No-doubt, many Krinians still exercised; preparing for battle.

He should be there too, but right now Star needed him more than the others. She was dying, and there remained nothing he could do but stay by her side; hold her hand as he watched her deteriorate into nothing.

Around sunset Daneal strolled through dandelions and sunflowers toward Star's humble abode. He strode with his back straight, arms swinging at his sides. Wearing an awkward smile, he greeted, "Hello."

"Hello, my good man. I trust the council is ready to receive me."

Nodding, he replied, "They are."

"Very well." Troll grasped the staff lying beside him in the long, green blades. Knees popping, bones creaking, he lumbered to his feet, dusted off his kilt and what remained of his tattered cloak. He cashed out his pipe, and said, "First, I must wake Star."

Emerging from the threshold, the Dog said, "Go on ahead, I'll get her, and we'll meet you there."

Bowing, Troll said, "Thank thee, my friend."

Daneal escorted Troll through the village and toward the council hut. Krinians and exiles alike, all gathered around the front of the shanty. The elders sat in wicker chairs in front of the humble domicile so those assembled could bear witness to Troll's, and thusly, Krin's, fate.

Torches had been placed in front of the council hut and around the perimeter of those gathered, just in case the evening's meeting carried on into night.

Troll prayed it wouldn't.

The elders invited Troll to be seated on the grass, but he thanked them graciously, and replied, "I prefer to stand."

Greggoire called, "The rest of you may be seated."

Many did. But, a smattering of the Jessips, exiles, and Krinian men elected to stand.

The rabble rustled to a still.

Viktor, the eldest, folded his trembling hands in his lap. He rested his dichromatic gaze upon Troll, and said, "After much discussion, we've have decided that we cannot help you."

A round of disappointed murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Arms crossed, Greggoire muttered, " _I_ have made no such decision."

Viktor said to Greggoire, "We have heard your words, and we have voted. I'm sorry if your side lost but that's just the way it is." He said to Troll, "We cannot allow Krin to be invaded again. I'm sorry, but you and your people must go."

Troll replied, "I believe I've already made it clear there is nowhere to go."

Peteir opened his chubby, edentulous mouth to retort.

Troll blurted, "And what if my people leave and the army still comes?"

Etta steepled her bony fingers, and in a raspy voice, said, "We have planned for that." Her beak-like nose waggled as she spoke, accentuating her large, hairy mole.

Gaze downcast, Gums smacking, Peteir kneaded his burly knuckles, and said, "We will camouflage Krin and hide in the bogs until they leave."

Troll asked, "And what if while ye'r quivering in ye'r knickers the army decides to burn this entire village to the ground?"

Viktor replied, "Then we'll rebuild, as we have done before."

Arms outspread, Troll inquired of them all, "And what if ye'r people don't want to hide? What if they want to fight as their fathers did?"

The crowd murmured in his favor.

Viktor exploded from his chair. Trembling, he yelled, "That's enough! We are the council and we have spoken!"

"Well, I ain't spoken." Star emerged from the crowd; the Dog at her side.

Viktor said, "You do not understand. This decision did not come lightly."

Troll scoffed, "I should certainly hope not."

Viktor continued, "We do this for the good of Krin."

Scowling, bottom lip quivering, Star grumbled, "Oh, yeah, just like the last time you ran and hid while others stood and fought, was that for the good of Krin, too?"

The Krinians mumbled.

Suddenly Troll was whisked back to Silverdale; he and Star spying on the town meeting about what to do with the Dog.

God, he wished Byron here.

Star said, "Well, I'm done running. And I'm done hiding. I might not be long for this world, but before I die, I intend on decimating the army and ripping out Furion's black heart with my bare hands."

Cheers and applause ('though mostly from the turn-coats).

She continued, "Troll's right, the king's pushed as far as we can go. Even if we did leave, and the army came, hiding in the trees wouldn't do no good. They've got bargs, invisible teepees, and weapons beyond imaginable destruction. One way or the other, they'll find ya, or burn this entire valley to the ground. They'll kill you all, the young, the old, men, women, and children. They're coming back. And this time they ain't taking slaves. This time, they'll slaughter you all just for giving us succor."

The Krinians jittered nervously. The elders hung their heads in dejection.

Face scrunched in a scowl, Star said, "There ain't no place we can run. No place we can hide. None of us. 'Cause one way or another, we've all stood against the king. Ain't no one ever done that before. And they're looking to make sure no one ever does again. So, I'm gonna fight. Even if I gotta fight alone. But, I hope it don't come to that." Through faded emeralds, she glared at the elders, and said, "All I wanna know is whose got the balls to fight with me?"

Standing beside her, the Dog knelt and offered her his sword.

Troll knew she couldn't see it, 'though no-doubt, she heard the ring of blade from the scabbard.

Emerging from the rabble, Anne said, "I'll fight with ye."

"Me too," chimed DJ.

Sandy called, "Me too."

_D'el hermanii_ bowed, and N'Dora said, "We are with you, _Madirii_."

Hickey drawled, "Count me in."

Before long, all gathered offered their arms.

Trembling, dichromatic gape narrowed, Viktor roared, "No!"

Greggoire rose from his chair. Back straight, chest puffed out, he said, "I don't care what the other elders say, I will stand."

Viktor growled, "If you go against the council you can consider your services among us no longer needed."

"So be it." Greggoire strode toward Troll and stood beside him, as did Daneal.

Gums sputtering, Peteir whimpered, "But, we are the elders, and we have spoken."

Troll said, "Aye, so ye have. But, it appears the others have spoken for themselves. What will ye do to stop them from defending their homeland?"

Squinting, elongated face crumpled in wrinkles, Viktor said, "This is madness, we don't even know when the army will invade."

"He does," Star said, pointing toward the Dog. "He can sense them. He's been tracking 'em and keepin' tabs on their location this whole time."

Greggoire asked, "How long do we have?"

All ears and gazes fell upon the Dog. He closed his eyes and leaned back his head. Long, braided beard wagging in the wind, he said, "They've already crossed the Sac Krin River."

Shocked gasps and anxious prattling surged through the mob.

Someone cried, "They could be here any minute!"

"There's no time to prepare!" squawked another.

"No!" Fedic called, stepping forward.

The crowd settled and focused on him.

Rubbing the back of his tawny neck, Fedic replied, "If the army is only miles away, then they'll rest and plan the invasion."

Troll asked, "How long?"

"I'd say, we've got a day to get ready."

"That sounds about right," a turn-coat concurred.

Stroking his elongated chin, Greggoire asked Fedic, "How do you know?"

Fedic replied, "Because I was in the army. I know how they operate."

Clasping his hands, Troll called, "There ye have it, we've only a day and very much to do. We'll need weapons. Can anyone draw a map?"

"I can," said a turn-coat.

"Excellent, I want a map of Krin and her surroundings in detail and to scale."

"You got it."

Viktor uttered, "This is treason."

Star scoffed, "No it ain't, it's called bravery."

Troll called, "As for the rest of ye, turn-coats, _d'el gaurdii_ , exiles, and Krinian warriors, I suggest ye get to work."

A rushed chattering fell among the crowd as the people got together and doled out jobs.

Troll, Star, and the Dog strolled back towards Star's house.

Anne trotted after them, and said, "Troll, I need to speak with ye. It's important."

He asked, "T'is not about those blasted texts again, is it?"

Her brow furrowed, bottom lip slightly protruding.

Waving his hand through the air, he said, "Then, I care not. I'm done with the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_. No good can come from it. Now, if ye haven't a job to do I suggest ye find one. We must prepare for battle."

****

Sarah asked, "Where's Zashiirii?"

"I don't know, _Madirii_ ," replied the other _hermanii_.

Star couldn't remember her name. But, of course, she'd never even seen her face.

Night. After the counsel of the elders, Star and Troll ventured toward home. The heated mutterings subsided and the chirpings of crickets, gentle breeze, and rustling trees grew more prominent.

'Though the Krinian council meeting was over she knew there still much to do. And while many stayed in the village square to squabble, the _real_ leaders walked Star and Troll home, for there was still much to discuss.

She recognized the voices of Sarah, 'Ro, and Greggoire. But, others were there as well.

"If the invasion will happen the day after next, then we need a better battle-plan," said an aged and husky voice.

Probably Troll's Injun friend whom he spoke of, 'though with everything going on, Star had yet to make a proper introduction.

Troll replied, "Aye, which we shall devise after studying a detailed map of Krin."

Star said nothing their venture back, but she paid attention to every word uttered. She held tight to Troll's arm as he guided her home.

After a time they halted, but Troll still prattled on with his cohorts.

She grew tired and irritated, nauseous. She desperately needed a little alone time with Troll. Just laying together, holding each other, saying nothing. But, they had a war to plan. And Troll was needed. And she needed him to do his job, especially if they wanted to stomp the army and kill Furion.

Scanning the blurry gloom, she asked, "Are we home?" She could still see distorted blobs in the daylight, but at night, she was completely blind.

Troll stroked her thinning hair, kissed her, and said, "Aye, my dove."

She glanced up. No stars. At least, she couldn't see them. She held her hand out, expecting the Dog to take it, and lead her.

Nothing.

"Where's Dog?" she asked.

"I'm afraid, I know not," Troll replied.

The Dog would've only left her side if it something important. But, would could be more germane than machinating Krin's last stand?

Troll wrapped his arms around her, and said, "I'll take thee in."

She felt his body pivot.

He continued, "Be with ye in a moment, my fr--"

"No," she said. Cough. Cough. Wheeze. "S'all right." She grasped Troll's shoulders, and he stooped to her level. "I know you've got work to do. So, go do it."

"Aye, my dove."

And then they kissed.

"If ye don't mind," Sarah said to Star, "I'll take ye inside and keep ye company. Unless ye don't want me to."

Star chuckled, "No, not at all." She hugged Troll's torso. He hugged back. They kissed again.

Troll said, "I'll not be long or far away, I promise."

"I know."

And they kissed again.

Star held out her hand and another's took it.

"It's me," Sarah said.

"I figured as much," she replied.

Troll still held her. Obviously, he didn't want to let go of her. Neither did she.

"Go on," she said, playfully pushing him away. "Get to it."

"Aye, madam!" Troll said. "Come, my friends."

Troll and many others plodded away through the grass.

But, Star felt as if she and Sarah not the only ones left.

"Who else is there?"

Squeezing Star's hand, Sarah replied, "Just my friends, _d'el hermanii_ , Zashiirii and N'Dora."

"Oh, yeah, right. Well, come inside."

Sarah helped her into the rocker as someone prepared tea.

Still gripping Star's hand, Sarah cleared her throat, and stammered, "Um...I was just wondering, how..."

Despite the nausea curdling her intestines and the hammering migraine she suffered, Star smiled, and said, "It's okay, you can tell me anything."

"I was just wondering how ye intend on fighting at the battle, what with, being blind n'all."

Sighing, she replied, "I honestly don't know."

"Perhaps, ye could take from the Dog's blood again."

She remembered what the Dog said about blood-meals having negative side-effects; the anger that burned within her whenever the dosage too high. She couldn't chance going psychotic, not now. "No, I...just can't do that."

"Why not? T'was how ye survived this far, right?"

Should she confide in Sarah how much she wanted to take from the Dog's blood; the constant urge swirling within her to ease her woe and cease her deterioration? Should she tell her that, no matter how much she yearned for the Dog's blood, the thought of what would happen to her terrified her to her very core?

The kettle skirled.

A _hermanii_ said, "I'll get that."

The piquant aroma of honey and cinnamon burgeoned in the air.

"Did you here that?" asked Zashiirii?

Sarah asked, "Hear what?"

"I thought I heard something."

They grew silent, and listened. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Patting Star's hand, Sarah sighed, and said, "I hear nothing,"

Zashiirii replied, "I will go and check."

Wooden chair-feet dragged through earthen flooring. Plodding footfalls receded.

Star swept a hand through thinning locks. She felt strands coiling around her fingers. Restraining the disgust whirling within her, she said to Sarah, "So, tell me more about what happened to Byron. How did he go crazy, and what was up with that black-sludge you were telling me about?"

Exhaling a long, lonesome sigh, Sarah squeezed Star's hand, and replied, "Well, Byron went made from simply being down there in the dark, like it bewitched him. The same for Anne. We were all going a bit crazy down there. T'was as if the longer one lingered down there, the madder they became."

Sarah shuddered and somehow it coursed through Star like electricity.

Sarah quavered, "We don't know why Byron was drooling black-slime, nor why Anne became this Quinn. The mines seemed to infect different people in different ways. As I've told ye before, some people were simply found drained of life."

They sat there a moment in awkward silence.

"Where is Zashiirii?" asked the other _hermanii_.

"I don't know," Sarah replied.

How long had it been since Zashiirii left?

"I will go and see, _Madiriis_."

Sarah said, "Thank ye, N'Dora."

They listened intently to N'Dora pull her chair away, and plod out.

Star asked, "Is it just me, or did Troll get bigger?"

Sarah replied, "Ye know, I thought that too--"

A muted scream. Shuffling and thudding sounds.

Sarah exploded to her feet and raced toward the door.

Star cried, "Sarah, don't!"

The air seemed to fill with static electricity. What remained of Star's thinning hair stood on-end. An eerie blue-light filled her vision, accompanied by an ominous sound. _FWSHWOOM_

Sarah screamed, "Ah!-- uh!"

Something crashed against the far wall.

Probably Sarah.

"So, here we are at last," mumbled a familiar voice.

She knew _that_ voice.

"Fedic, why ain't I surprised it's you?"

He chuckled, "Because, I've been right here in front of your face the whole time."

She drew, and fired at the origin of his voice.

"Missed me."

She redirected and fired again.

"Close, but no cigarette."

She fanned the hammer until the chamber spun dry.

An eerie blue light blossomed in her darkened, blurred vision.

She snarled, "What the hell have ya done?"

He replied, "I've mastered my destiny. I've ascended. I was a freak, but now I'm damn-near a god. The master has been pruning me to become his next sibling, a Hellion."

"I'll kill ya before that happens."

"Sadly, this is where I kill you." The blue-glow brightened. "You can't imagine how long I've been waiting for this."

Growling.

Fedic said, "You again!"

Another bright burst of blurry blue-light emanated.

FWSHWOOM

A body tumbled backward.

What the hell was going on?

Fedic cackled.

Star reloaded and fired at the sound of his voice.

Blam-blam-blam

"Uh! You bitch!" roared Fedic's retreating voice.

She staggered in pursuit, but tripped, and fell to the floor.

"I'm on it," the Dog said, by her side.

The rush of stamping feet resonated.

Troll asked, "What happened?"

Star gasped, "Fedic."

'Ro roared, "Fan out, find that little son-of-a-bitch."

Star reloaded her shooters.

"No," Troll said, grasping her shoulder. "We'll sort this out."

She felt cheated, robbed.

But what good would she be blind on the hunt?

Troll called, "Dog, stay with her."

And then the trampling of feet faded among the harmonious chirping of crickets.

****

Pushing branches and bushes aside, Troll trounced through the brush.

'Ro, Montalvo, Greggoire, Daneal, Hickey, and Sandy followed in pursuit of the traitor, Fedic.

Holding his right shoulder, Fedic dashed toward the tree line of sequoias, mulberry trees, and pines.

The report of gunfire had rung through the breezy air.

Looks like Star got him.

They might have been able to follow the blood trail were this the light of day. But it was night. Too dark for tracking. And sure enough, once Fedic hit the forest, he vanished like a ghost.

As Troll and his group neared the woods they slowed to a trot.

Loading a shooter, 'Ro growled, "Y'all spread out. He couldn'a gotten far."

"Be careful," Troll chimed.

They slipped into the trees, into darkness. Troll whisked back to hunting with Montalvo. How it felt like they entered another realm. He also thought of the abysmal void 'neath the mountains, where lurked the house master. Byron's face moments before being taken. His scream.

One by one the group drifted away from each other. Even the ruffling of leaves and branches receded.

Off in the distance an owl hooted.

"Lord, give us strength. Guide and protect us, ye'r weary servants. Amen."

Staff ever-ready, he pushed deeper into the thicket of bramble and flora. But he couldn't see; all pitch-black beneath the ubiquitous canopy, just like under the mountains. He felt at any moment, demonic children would shamble out of the darkness and rip him apart, or worse yet, _he'd_ come.

"I wouldn't take another step, friend," drawled a voice.

Startled, he halted and scanned the darkened forestry.

Nothing.

The voice called, "Look down."

He did. Nothing but blackness and bramble. Summoning all his courage, he commanded his voice not to quaver, and replied, "I see nothing."

"Well, trust me, you were about to step into a pool of Mortis-mud. I'm sure you've heard of it. Take four paces to your right."

He did.

"That's good," the voice drawled. "No come to me. Follow the sound of my voice. That's it, easy does it."

Feeling around with his staff like a blind man utilizing a cane, Troll followed the voice to the source of its origin. Wearily wading through shrub and brush, he called, "And to whom do I owe thanks, oh, mysterious stranger?"

"Just a friend," the voice replied.

In his mind, Troll drifted back to that final night in Silverdale; within the hut of the mistress of the trees.

"Who are ye?" he asked a hooded and shadowy apparition.

"Just a friend," the specter replied.

Troll knew who saved him from the Mortis-mud.

He pushed a few branches away and entered into a small clearing amid a myriad of conifers. There, standing in the moonlight was a figure clad in an odd, garishly-white suit and strange hat.

The stranger in white waved, and said, "Hello there, Troll. Been a while."

"Who are thee?" Troll demanded. "I know ye the Wraith, the Sweetie man, Madgellaine, but who are thee really?"

"I told you," the stranger's voice shifted from a drawl to a calm and pleasantly hollow tone. "I take many forms and go by ever-so many names." The stranger morphed into the hooded phantom Troll knew best.

"What do ye want with me? Why are ye here?"

The Wraith chuckled, and replied, "I'm here to rob you of coming to the same conclusion that 'Ro already has."

"And that would be?"

"That, my brother's army will not attack the day after next. They will attack tomorrow." The Wraith peered up at the sky, and said, "Let's say nine of the clock. No, no, let's make it ten. Why not let the men sleep in a bit before they slaughter your people."

Heart palpitating, Troll clutched at his breast, and snarled, "Ye'r a monster."

Wafting a talon-like hand, the Wraith giggled, "Oh, please, such flatteries."

"Why should I believe anything ye say?"

"For two reasons. Firstly, because it's logical. Think about it, how much preparation do you think the army needs? You'll be crushed. You know that, right? You're people don't stand a chance."

"And the second reason?"

"Because, I've never lied to you. Everything I told you has come to pass. The Dog _did_ die. I just left out the part where Star resuscitated him. As the stranger in white, I forewarned your beautiful Myriam that she would never _see_ Krin again. And, I assure you she will die before _ever_ you reach her."

"But, why?"

"Because lying is so boring. Trickery and misdirection are what's fun." The Wraith rubbed its taloned-hands.

Troll stroked the scars running down his face, and uttered, "No, I mean, why tell me these things."

A glistening white, razor-sharp smile materialized upon its face. The Wraith replied, "So, that when I tell you what I'm about to say next, you will _know_ it true."

Arms crossed, Troll said, "I'm listening."

The Wraith continued, "Everything that is happening, all that has transpired, is because of me. This was a plan that I devised from the very beginning. And I've been among you the whole time. Watching. Waiting. For you, Star, and your mutt to arrive here. I have been moving you around from place to place like pieces on a game board. Star figured this out not long ago, as did that feral cur. Pity they didn't tell you."

"Why is this happening? What is this all about?"

"This whole thing has been orchestrated for one simple reason. We want one of you."

Heart racing, Troll's skin broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. He asked, "Who? Which of us three do ye plan to take, demon?"

The Wraith smiled.

Shuddering, he challenged, "Ah, I see. Afraid to divulge everything to me before the battle, aye?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. But in two days' time, I won't have to tell you. By then it will be too late. Ooh, the suspense is killing me. How are you holding up?"

"I thought it Anne ye wanted?"

"Merely misdirection. A little razzle-dazzle, if you will. After all, she did have a part to play in all this."

" _Did_?"

The Wraith cooed, "Ah, yes, sadly, her part draws to a close, as it does for many."

"Only, the triumvirate. Only the three."

"Well, we really only want one of you. The others I could care less as to what happens to them. Why, for all I care, the other two could go frolicking off into the sunset, hand-in-hand. How does that sound? Would you like that?"

"If it's me thee want, take me here and now. I surrender to ye'r will. Just leave the others alone."

"But, then there wouldn't be a battle. Everyone loves a battle. Mark my words, Krin will fall." The Wraith steepled its taloned claws, and said, "But, the battle won't be nearly as epic or as long as that of Al'ber Que. Honestly, I'm growing a little impatient."

Troll roared, "For what? Damnit, demon, just tell me what this is all about!"

"Oh, trust me, I will. But, not yet. On the sunrise after next, we will take the one we want." The Wraith smiled, and in playful voice, added, "But before we take that lucky contestant, I will remove this hood and reveal who I really am."

****

9

Journal _entry,_

And if what the Wraith says is true, this might be my final log. My word, what a fiasco. Fedic finally revealed his true colors. Both remaining hermanii have been murdered. Zashiirii's body was found drained of life like so many we encountered during our flight from underneath the mountains. It appears 'Ro's original suspicions of Fedic were correct, 'though 'Ro hasn't said so much as an, "I told you so," or, "Ye'r responsible for this."

Upon investigating Zashiirii's disappearance, N'Dora had her throat slit from ear to ear.

According to the Dog, Fedic hit Sarah with some sort of bluish energy blast, which knocked her unconscious. She's a bit bruised and battered but no more worse for wear. Fedic had so much energy radiating off him that he glowed an eerie blue aura. But no one has any idea how Fedic drains people of life or is capable of shooting energy beams from his hands. Strange, if he can project such violent blasts, then why did he slit N'Dora's throat?

At this time, I believe the assault on Star was not intended to kill her, but rather, draw me out so the Wraith and I could chat. While'st conversing, the others who had pursued Fedic were kept busy elsewhere. 'Ro fell into a pool of Mortis-mud and it took the lot of them to get him out. Why, dear journal, when they returned they were all covered from toe-to-soul in thick, runny slop.

The traitor, Fedic, however, managed to escape. My twinklins' tell me we'll see him again at the battle.

I relayed what the Wraith told me about the battle occurring this very day, and we worked all through the night in preparation. I and my inner-circle went over strategies and battle plans while'st others made weapons from whatever they could.

After a few hours, Mia returned. I didn't even know she had left. Apparently, neither did anyone else. It seemed she'd gotten into a scuffle with 'Ro and Sandy, 'though over what I knoweth not, and decided to take off without so much as a word. Evidently, she thought better of it and returned. She above all seemed the most angered about Fedic's treachery. In fact, I believe she said, "I knew we should have killed that son-of-a-bitch when we had the chance."

Shortly before dawn, Anne came to me just to check up on things. She inquired into how many weapons we had, and I informed her, the men scrounging around the clock to gather as many arms as they could. Then she told me that all the small children and elderly had safely set up in the forests; hidden amongst the trees.

I expected her to be toting around those damnable texts, or at the very least, persuade me to read them. But, she did not.

I thanked her, and then said, "I know I've already apologized to thee, but I just wanted ye to know how sorry I truly am about...well, all of it. I was wrong about the Dog. More importantly, I was wrong to doubt thee."

She shrugged, and said, "S'okay."

This second apology allotted me a smidgen of closure. Without her parroting my words in tandem with mine, I finally feel like my words mine own and not preordained by some blasted tome.

But I ramble, and there is very little time. T'is already seven in the morn by my calculations.

Still, the previous evening's discourse with the Wraith leaves a mawkish aftertaste in mine mouth. What is the meaning behind all this madness? Which of us is it the king wants? Star? The Dog? Myself? Why go through such theatrical lengths? Is one of us really that important? I dare say, dear journal, I knoweth not. I only know the anticipation is eating away at me. And I cringe at the thought of the Wraith being right, yet again.

_Before I spend my few hours of pre-battle with Star, there is yet one more thing I have left to record. My thoughts turn to the Nou'heim-Du'tawa and its mysterious creator. If we should all die, and anyone is left to find this and care to read the chronicles of an old blow hard, let this be my final and eerie epitaph: After the Krinian consulate, Anne tried to tell me something. She said it important. I told her I didn't want to hear it because I knew it involved those cursed texts. This morn' during my talk with Anne, I asked her if she had tried to warn me of the attack on Star. She said, "No." Then she told me. Instantly, I thought of a dream I had down there in the dark, a dream about being chased through a myriad of tunnels. All dark, but I could see. An eerie purplish glare tinted off earth and stone._ He _hunted me. So many blue doors of ominous dark-light. Even now I'm giving myself a case of the willies. Anyway, I think of what the Wraith said. He's been moving us around like pieces on a game board. And I think about my dream and all those blue doors of light. And I think about what Anne said when I finally asked her what she had so urgently tried to tell me. She peered up into mine eyes, into my soul, and said, "Whatever ye do, don't enter the blue door."_

****

Within the confines of the elders' council hut, the Dog prepared for war. He slipped on the boots Sarah made for him a long time ago. He was a different Dog back when they first passed the wooden threshold of the sleepy town of Silverdale. He had changed. Troll had successfully returned him to the very thing he'd chosen to escape -- humanity. He was beginning to remember things about his past; small slivers of fractured reveries. At the time, had he known what he now remembered, he probably never would've allowed Troll to train him. Habituating him to battle as a man, coupled with when Troll told him the time of the animal was over, caused him to remember Beth. And once that happened, he couldn't stop thinking about her. During their trek over the mountains, every time he looked into Star's face, it was Beth's he saw. But, now he was starting to remember other things, as well. Not a lot, just glimpses.

He sheathed the freshly sharpened daggers and knives into his belt and buckled it gird around his thin waist. Cerebrating over his battle in the desert, he fastened the discus-like weapon over the buckle. He strapped on wore-torn Al'ber Querian armor, and slid the broken cutlass into the scabbard. He pulled back the pin on his gauntlet, arming it. He clenched his fist, and the blades sprang out. After battling Shadeem and using the device as an icepick during their plummet off the mountains, he was surprised the gadget still functioned properly.

The Dog squared the faded cap upon his head, and pawed at his tightly braided beard. Anne didn't do it of her own volition, Dog asked her to braid it so it wouldn't get in the way.

He slung a bandolier of bullets and the sniper rifle over his shoulder. His other weapons awaited him at his post.

He strode out into the sunshine just as Sarah, Anne, Sirii, and DJ marched toward their positions at the bottom of the narrow entrance leading down from the hills.

They all donned Al'ber Querian armor and sabers. Sarah and Sirii had their hair tied back in ponytails.

Wearing a wan smile, Sarah said to the Dog, "I almost didn't recognize ye, walking like that."

Of course, she was referring to the way he ambled about just like any other man. He almost growled lowly, but didn't.

She fumbled at her chest plate in a failed attempt to knead hem, but she wore pantaloons and a regular tan-cotton shirt. Gaze averted, she asked, "May I have a word with ye?"

"Sure," replied the Dog.

Sirii said, "We should get to our posts, _Madirii_. The army will be coming soon."

Nodding, Sarah replied, "Aye, I know. But, I just want a quick word with my friend. It may be last time I ever see him again." Bottom lip protruding, her blue-eyes spangled with rheum, she said, "Go on, I'll meet ye there. I won't be but a moment."

Sirii and DJ took their leave, but Anne lingered behind.

Perhaps, she wanted to bid him a fare-thee-well, also.

Sarah quavered, "I just wanted to say good luck, and thank ye for everything ye've done for Anne, and for being my friend. Despite whatever comes, I'm glad I met ye, all of ye."

"Me, too." And then he hugged her.

"They come! They come!" cried a voice from afar.

Trembling, Sarah tensed up.

A Krinian rider galloped down the narrow path and toward Krin.

The Dog gazed into her eyes, and said, "Stay safe, stay together, and you will survive."

She sniffled, "M'kay."

"They come! They come!" The rider raced closer.

Dog said, "Get going."

She embraced him again, and sprinted toward her position.

Anne still stood there; her gaze hardened, face unreadable.

He thought she'd say something, but she didn't.

He nodded, and she nodded back. Then she trotted toward the valley at the bottom of hills were the rest of their army gathered.

But, Troll had a different plan for the Dog. It wasn't the best plan. But with only hours to prepare, it would have to do. And the success of this particular battle depended on one key element -- how it began. And the beginning of this particular battle rested upon the shoulders of the Dog and a handful of brave volunteers. Their army was posted a few hundred yards from where a towering ash tree marked the opening of the valley. But, the Dog would be in that tree. The volunteers waited hidden atop the hills.

Across the way, Troll emerged from the medicine man's hut, and hailed, "Dog, could I have a word with ye for a moment?"

An odd command. What happened to, "Dog, come!"?

The Dog trotted toward Troll, who gestured for Dog to enter. He did.

Inside, Star rocked in her Grandmere's chair.

Of course, the Dog had brought it down from Star's home, himself.

"Come before me," she croaked. Her face appeared withered, festering with sores. She had lost many teeth. Her eyes so faded by cataracts they no longer appeared emerald, but a cloudy, sky blue. Thin curls dangled from the shawl she now draped over her head.

To the Dog, Star looked how he pictured her Grandmere. And many of the Krinians had taken to calling her, Mother Star.

The Dog strode toward her, and then squatted on his haunches.

She coughed and heaved, sweating and shaking. She said, "I want you to do something I have no right to ask y--"

The Dog asked, "How strong, and for how long?"

****

Star stood beside Troll a few hundred meters from the ash tree growing at the foot of the narrow entrance into Krin. Their army gathered tightly in _falanjii_ formation.

The Dog's blood coursed a vibrant buzz all throughout her body. A low anger slowly churned like looming storm clouds. She'd vowed never to partake from his blood again, but she had to. The army needed her and she had a couple of scores to settle. First, she'd kill Fedic, then Furion.

There is a traitor among you. A real traitor.

She forced those thoughts away. No time for them now.

'Though the Dog's blood did not return her vision, she sensed _everything_ with perfect clarity. No breeze. All seemed silent and still, except for the babbling of her soldiers' racing hearts.

Sarah and Anne stood behind them; Anne's palpitations were a normal cadence, as if she the only one unruffled.

She furthered her new sight and locked-in on the Dog's heartbeat, his earthy scent.

The Dog sat perched in a tall tree.

She sensed the brave band of volunteers hiding atop the crest of the narrow valley. If they and the Dog couldn't get the battle off to a good start, then they all doomed.

But most of all, she sensed Troll standing beside her (Greggoire stood on her left side, Daneal beside him).

She sniffed at the air. The scent of anxiety and uneasiness violated her olfactory.

"They are nervous," Troll said, obviously reading her thoughts.

She strode several paces forward. She pivoted, and in a strong voice, called out, "I know many of you are scared. But, there are those among you who are not afraid; those who would rather die on their feet than live in servitude or fear." She scanned the rows of heartbeats and rapid breaths. "I am one of those people. My friends and the prophets are among those people."

Troll nodded.

She continued, "And we are now standing alongside you. Ready to cry out in one voice, enough! No more shackles! No more chains! No more branding their mark upon us."

The crowd murmured in concurrence.

"Make no mistake, this _is_ the last fight, and it _is_ to the death. But, win or lose, this battle is already legend, as is the battle of Al'ber Que. Never before has _anyone_ stood against the king. Already word of our trinity, our army, is spreading across the land. And even if we should fall this day, someone _will_ put a stop to the king and all his minions.

The crowd murmured louder. The energy, the excitement rose like wildfire.

She said, "But, before that happens, let's _really_ give future generations something to talk about, and kick the shit out of these assholes, huh? What'd ya say? Are ya with me?"

Weapons brandished, the crowd roared out.

It was on.

****

Dog perched among the leafy, twisted branches of the old ash tree at the foot of the serpentine incline leading down from the hills and mountainous forest.

Five Krinian riders raced past and toward the rest of their army.

Troll had sent out six scouts; one to come back at the first signs of the king's legions and warn the others, and the other five to draw the army down the chute.

Sniper rifle slung around his shoulder, the Dog knocked the bow he found waiting for him at the mossy tree base (as was an Al'ber Querian saber). A plethora of quivers full off arrows hung from the trees many knarred branches. The Dog possessed all the arrows they had gathered or made, and remained the sole archer for their army. A _lot_ rode on his bony, hairy shoulders.

The Dog yawed, calling Fuzzy Bear (and any other animals that might come and hold true to the prophecy).

The Dog drew back on the bow, closed his eyes, and funneled his senses upon the advancing surge of black-armored riders waving banners of red scratch-marks upon fields of black.

Snorting. Whinnying. Horse-shoes pounded through the land. Black face-masks bounced over the horizon, galloping right toward the Dog.

The Dog loosed an arrow. It zoomed through the air, driving through the visor of a rider's face-mask. The soldier slumped in the saddle. Dog quickly fetched another arrow, aimed at the hoses' head, and fired again. The arrow lodged into the steed's eye. The horse waffled and fell, tripping up the riders behind it. The Dog speedily loosed every arrow in the quiver at king's men and steeds alike.

The Dog had blocked the passage, but more riders came; barreling through or leaping over the barricade.

More quivers dangled from the branch the Dog perched in, yet he leapt to another. On and on he fired until a quiver empty, and then jumped to another branch. But riders kept coming, nearing the base of the tree. Foot soldiers now sprinted down into the valley, as well.

This wasn't working. There were just too many of them, and he hadn't taken-out enough of them yet. The Dog needed to do something. He unsheathed his gauntlet, fetched the saber, and leapt to the ground.

****

Heart racing, hands coiled around his staff, like a giant water-snake squeezing the life out of its prey, Troll roared, "Make ready."

This was it. The last stand.

Star grabbed his arm, and said, "Come here."

He hunched over.

The Dog's blood had healed her sores and squamous skin, but her hair still stringy and her eyes were faded cataracts.

She smiled awkwardly, and said, "I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

"And I thee, Myriam."

"Thank you so much for everything. If you hadn't come into my life, I don't know where I'd be."

He chuckled, "Certainly not back in your homeland, standing against the king."

She grabbed his face and kissed him.

He kissed back.

She said, "Just in case we don't make, I just want to say, goodbye."

He caressed her cheek, and replied, "No goodbyes, my dove. No matter what happens, I'll see thee later."

****

The Dog slashed, swiped, parried, and thrust at riders and infantrymen alike; piling the bodies high in hopes of damming the flood of king's men. Dog spun and bounced, quickly striking and bounding away; utilizing everything Troll taught him, everything he learned over his long life. He cut them all down like blades of grass. They couldn't even touch the Dog. Some accidently killed each other while striking for the Dog. Soldiers dropped like flies stricken with the king's disease, but the army sent no reinforcements. What were they waiting for? The Dog reached out with part of his senses; keeping the majority with him. Arrows rushed in. Only three soldiers left. A soldier raced toward the Dog. The Dog evaded; running his saber through the king's man's armored chest. The remaining two barreled at the Dog, but the arrows came faster. The Dog whirled toward the king's men. The Dog crouched; still holding the sword, the soldier still run through. He bled and screamed, thrashing about. The Dog maneuvered the soldier over him, using him as a shield. The arrows hailed down like rain. The remaining two soldiers were caught unaware.

The Dog waited until the final arrows fell. He kicked the dead soldier off his sword. Brandishing his bloody blade at the army, the Dog roared, challenging them to do their worst.

****

Through his monocle, Troll watched as the Dog covered up, using a soldier as a human-shield moments before a barrage of arrows strafed down.

"What happened?" Sarah asked from behind. "Did they get the Dog?"

"Don't worry," Anne replied from further down the front line. "I'm sure he's fine."

Thunder rolled overhead. The land darkened from cloud coverage as it began to sprinkle.

Rubbing his scar, Troll uttered, "This does not bode well."

Star nudged his shoulder, and said, "We've still got a back-up plan."

"Aye, let's just pray it doesn't rain too hard they can't see the signal." He peered through the monocle again.

Over yonder, the arrows ceased. The Dog remerged, roaring at the army so loud it resonated throughout the valley like rolling thunder.

The rain picked up slightly.

Brandishing her sword high over her head, Anne skirled her battle cry, and sprinted forward.

'Ro and several others bellowed and rushed toward the battle, as well.

Just as Troll called, "No! No! Not yet! Wait!" the thunder boomed louder.

The second line broke rank, racing head-long toward war.

"No!" Troll bellowed. "Come back into formation!"

Star squeezed his shoulder, and said, "No use. It's too late."

****

The Dog glanced back and forth, whipping his head from side-to-side. From above, soldier's raced over the barricade of bodies toward Krin. Behind him, Troll and Star's army sprinted toward the enemy. They weren't supposed to. They were supposed to stand into formation until Troll gave the signal.

The Dog glanced back once more and zeroed-in on Troll, at the back of the crowd.

Having no other recourse, Troll was forced to give the signal _now_. With a piece of broken mirror, he signaled both sides of the crest with the same method Star used to let him know it was her when they marched upon Al'ber Que.

Boulders and logs tumbled from one side of the crest, while buckets of Mortis-mud were dropped from the other.

The soldiers screamed as they were crushed and buried.

The Dog sensed a, _Fwshoom_ from the king's side. He already knew what it was, and that the hidden volunteers atop the crest were already dead.

Crackle. Burst.

An explosion from above and comet-like objects rained over the hilltops.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom

Some sort of smart-missile decimated the narrow crests into fire and smoke.

Figures the king would stoop to using advanced weaponry while Troll's army wielded swords, arrows, and guns.

Troll's army halted. Some dove to the ground. Others collapsed from the temblors.

All silent except for the falling rain.

"Drauger!" bellowed a bestial voice. From out of the smoke and settling rubble, a large figure appeared. A seven-foot monster wearing heavy, black armor marched forward. The creature held a large, double-headed axe in necrotic hands clawed and hairy. "Drauger!" the creature called again. The Drauger's face looked like the flat snout (pierced through with knuckle-bone-jewelry), of a large cat. Long, black fur-like hair stood up in wisps. Elongated ears adorned the sides of its large, grey head. Fangs protruded from thick, leathery lips.

Behind the Drauger, soldiers and bargs raced out of the dust and smoldering debris.

Troll's army roared their battle cries and sprinted toward their fate.

The bargs ran faster than the soldiers.

The Dog leapt and sliced a barg's head off with the silver sword. But the other bargs steered clear of him and attacked Troll's army.

Smart.

The Dog leapt back up into the tree, grabbed his bow, and loosed as many arrows as fast as his arms could move. He killed many soldiers, but not enough. The king had thousands under his heel and they just kept coming.

The two armies clashed, fighting ferociously.

The four remaining bargs tore people to pieces.

The Drauger marched up to the tree the Dog perched in.

The Dog leapt, bearing down on his saber. The Drauger caught the Dog mid-air in one hand. The Dog drove his sword down through the Drauger's arm. The Drauger laughed in a gravelly roaring voice, and flung the Dog into the base of the tree so hard Dog's head buzzed, vision tunneling. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, but no use. Behind him, the tree moved, almost bearing down on him. The Dog glanced back. The Drauger was on the other side of the trunk, pushing it over. The Dog tried to get away, but he was still woozy. Roots ripped from the earth as the tree toppled over. The Dog crawled away, but wasn't fast enough. The tree crashed into the Dog and all went dark.

****

Star was furious the front line broke rank. But, what's done was done, and she couldn't do anything about it now. She couldn't let the Dog's blood blind her with rage. Seething and grumbling, she sensed the others were worried she wasn't focused. But, even though anger coursed through her like a raging river, she sensed everything with perfect clarity. Unfortunately, things were not at all going according to plan.

Once the bargs attacked the line, all Hell broke loose.

People scattered and fought all around her.

Troll, Greggoire, and Daneal formed a tight perimeter around her. And while everyone else scurried about, they stood put and at the ready.

She only sensed four bargs now, which meant the Dog killed one before being buried alive beneath the tree.

So many heartbeats, so much stimuli. She sensed everything at once. How did the Dog do it?

"10 o'clock!" Troll called over the driving rain.

She pivoted, zeroing-in on an advancing heartbeat. She aimed at the heart, then up and slightly to the right.

Blam

She heard the subtle urk over rain and the cacophony of battle.

The sound of stomping feet. A heartbeat rushed toward them.

Star caught a haughty whiff of sweat and steel; the soldiers scent. She locked on it. Everywhere. "Down!" she cried.

Troll, Greggoire, and Daneal dropped to the ground.

Star grabbed her other shooter. Both guns drawn, she locked onto that haughty aroma. Those racing heartbeats. Even blind, she still didn't miss a single head shot.

****

Sarah didn't know what the hell to do. She'd lost everyone. So much going on. She wore Al'ber Quearian armor and wielded a saber, but she didn't fight. Sure, she had sworn to stand, but she just couldn't take a life. And so she raced around from place to place, just trying to avoid being slaughtered. She couldn't tell how their side faired. Too rainy. Too much smoke.

Out of the driving rain and smoldering cinder emerged one of the creatures from Star's story -- a barg. This one appeared as smoke while'st its undercarriage resembled rippling mud.

Petrified, her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Growling and lapping its massive jaws with a long, black, prehensile tongue, it slouched toward her.

Defending herself, Sarah slashed and hewed at the barg with her untarnished steel. The barg swatted the sword from her grasp and pounced. It pressed its behemoth paws on her shoulders and pinned her back to the pooling muck. It wrapped its tongue around her throat and squeezed. Whinnying in laughter, the barg drooled. Saliva and the creatures' horrid breath coated her face. The barg tightened its hold.

Her ears rang, head light, vision blurring.

Was this it? The end? She hoped she'd die beside Anne, but she didn't know what happened to the girl.

The barg yelped and flew through the air, releasing its throttling grip.

Roar

Sloshing through the muck, Sarah rolled to her belly and peered upward.

A bear stood over her. The very same bear that Star rode into Krin.

The barg leapt and snapped its elongated jaws.

The bear batted it away and raced off into the rain.

Sarah scurried to her feet. She retrieved her sword and tightened her grip on the hilt. This was it. And if she wanted to live, she had to fight back.

****

The deluging rain helped soothe the raging wildfire coursing within Star's soul.

Troll, Greggoire, and Daneal got into a rhythm with her. Troll knocked soldiers away with his staff. Greggoire and Daneal wielded swords and cut down any enemy that got past Troll.

Besieged by an endless sea of enemies, Star fired both shooters at once, until the cylinder spun dry. She squatted upon her haunches, as Troll, Greggoire, and Daneal popped up to fight.

She reloaded, and cried, "Down!"

Troll and the others dropped to the ground as Star blindly aimed. She didn't miss a single shot.

Roar

Something large bounded toward them.

Was it a barg? No, to big, plus, the barg's didn't roar.

The animal waddled toward her.

She sniffed the air, and the haughty aroma of wet fur violated her olfactory. She asked, "What is that? It smells like--"

Panting, Troll blurted "Your bear."

"Is that you, Fuzzy Bear?" She reached out to scratch the bear behind its ear.

The bear chuffed and sniffed at her.

Apparently the bear sensed something wrong with her; no-doubt, it the Dog's blood coursing through her veins that ruffled the mammal.

Troll rested a hand on her shoulder, and she felt a bit more like her old self again.

No-doubt, sensing this, as well, the bear licked her cheek with a rough, leathery tongue.

More soldiers came from behind.

Star pivoted and fired.

Blam-blam-blam

Pointing ahead, Daneal said, "Look, the prophecy has come true! Man and nature are fighting together as one!"

Hawks and eagles attacked the soldiers from the skies. Wolves and mountain cats battled king's men and bargs.

Troll grabbed Star by the waist, and hoisted her atop the bear, who did not object.

She scratched Fuzzy Bear behind the ear and it roared pleasurably. She asked it, "Ready to kick some ass?"

The bear roared in concurrence.

Over the driving rain, Troll cried, "Come, let us take the fight to them." Then he rushed toward the advancing king's men.

****

There seemed no end, they just kept coming. No matter, Anne had survived worse.

Swiping Al'ber Quearian steel, she snarled, "Filthy mother fuckers." Saber slashed through flesh and fresh, hot, salty blood spurted across her face. She didn't know how many men she'd killed, but she was bedraggled with sweat, blood, and rain. DJ, beside her, fought as fiercely as her. They'd lost everyone else. But what more was there to lose?

Yawing, five more soldiers emerged from the deluging down-pour.

Anne fetched the Dog's dagger from her belt and tightened her other grip around the hilt of her sword.

She pounced, roaring, "I'll flay the flesh from ye'r cursed black bones!" Teeth clenched, her body moved about its own accord, slaying all five men by herself while'st skirling obscenities.

She'd been displaying Quinn's idiosyncratic characteristics since the battle first began. In fact, t'was Quinn that bade her to rush from the frontline.

The driving rain pelted down upon her. Searching for oncoming adversaries, her gaze scanned the murky battlescape.

Stern gape furrowed, DJ asked, "You all right?"

"Aye."

"You don't seem like yourself, _m'compatriotii_."

Teeth barred, she grumbled, "I'm fine." But, she wasn't. She couldn't control the blood-thirsty urges blossoming within her.

Something stirred.

Squatting on her haunches, Anne asked, "Did ye hear that?"

DJ quavered, "What? What did you hear?"

Back-pedaling, they scurried through the muck until they stood back-to-back

A bulbous, shadowy form slouched through the rain.

It was _him_. _He_ had finally come for her. This was it. The end.

Anne screamed, "No! You can't take me! I won't go back!"

Oh, but I will take you, my sweet.

"No! Ye can't have me! I'll kill ye and scalp ye just like Tiiadii!"

She felt DJ's posture slouch. He whirled toward her, whimpering, "What?"

An armored soldier materialized from the rain like some horrid eidolon. The figure raised a gun and fired.

Anne lunged, pushing DJ out of the way. A piercing, burning, boring sensation drove through her shoulder. She collapsed into a pool of cold, viscous brown-slop; lying still, hand on the hilt of her blade.

The soldier trudged forward.

DJ attacked him, but the king's man drove the butt of his rifle into DJ's head.

Anne popped to her feet and rammed her dagger up into the soldier's neck. Blood spurted. He cried out, gargling on his own blood. He waffled and fell to his back, clutching at the wound.

Warily she sloshed toward the flailing king's man. The driving rain pelting her was all she heard. She flipped up the visor of his helmet, and smiled as she watched the light fade from his wide, trembling eyes.

DJ quavered, "Anne?"

She pivoted.

A soldier stood behind DJ; one hand grasping his curly, black hair, the other held a knife to his throat.

Pow

Something hard whacked the back of Anne's head. She tottered through the rain and mud a few staggering paces before her body went numb and tingly. She collapsed to the soggy ground in a splat.

Above, eagles were being shot out of the sky.

The last thing that ran through her mind before all faded to black, was of her standing next to Sarah a few nights back. She peered into Sarah's eyes and said, "I think we all die here."

****

"I don't know about y'all," 'Ro said to the gang (Sandy, Hickey, and Mia. He didn't know where in the green-hell everyone else was. Too much rain. Couldn't see.). "But I'm fixin' on making one last stand."

They were boxed in, cornered on three sides by tall hills too slippery to climb. 'Ro knew they were already dead.

Smirking, Hickey replied, "Aw, c'mon, we've faced worse odds than this."

'Ro glanced up into the pelting rain. Above, eagles were blown out of the sky.

Hands trembling, Mia reloaded her speed shooter as she sobbed uncontrollably.

He didn't remember her crying at the battle of Al'ber Que. Then again, he got separated from her within the first few minutes of that particular skirmish.

'Ro continued, "We all know this scenario. We could stay here 'till the fight's over, but then we'd be at their mercy. I say we go out guns blazing."

Gunfire strafed the opening of the redoubt. Mud and rain water splayed like spurting blood.

Mia blubbered, "I can't. I just can't. I'm not ready to die."

Hickey murmured, "Then ya shouldn'a came back."

Mia hyperventilated, snot bubbled at her nostrils.

Sandy squeezed her hand, and soothed, "Shh, it's okay."

"No, it ain't," Mia shot back.

Sandy iterated, "Yes, it is. Even if we die, at least all this shit will be over. Personally, I'd rather die than live to see what happens to the survivors, 'cause this battle is lost. The war is over."

'Ro said, "Yeah, I knew we weren't busting outta this jam."

A tear strolled down Sandy's face. Sniffling, she said, "I knew we wouldn't either, but still, I couldn't run. I didn't wanna live without Ally."

Gunfire strafed the redoubt's opening once more.

Hickey said, "Ya'll are doing quite a bit of blathering. We fixin' to do this, or what?"

Mia blurted, "I love you, 'Ro. I always have. I just wanted you to know that."

"Great," he replied."

Hickey snorted and rolled his eyes.

Sandy asked Mia, "Ya ready?"

Nodding, she replied, "Yeah."

'Ro asked, "Everyone locked and loaded."

They were.

Cerebrating on his harmonica, 'Ro asked Hickey, "Well, what d'ya say, once more with feeling?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Hickey replied over the driving rain.

"On three. One. Two. Three."

They sloshed forward.

Boom

A grenade exploded several meters ahead of them.

Sandy dove to the muck. 'Ro and Hickey were knocked on their asses.

A piece of shrapnel struck Mia alongside the head. Her eyes rolled up her cranium, and she tumbled back; blood seeped out of her ears and into the rippling pools of rain water.

"No!" Screaming, Sandy scrambled to her feet. Firing into the gloom, she charged onward.

'Ro cried, "Sandy, wait!" Then he chased after her.

Hickey spat, "Fuck it!" Then he too raced off into the rain, firing at nothing.

Budda-budda-budda

Sandy, 'Ro, and Hickey were torn apart by gunfire.

Sandy screamed.

Hickey just fell.

The last thing that ran though 'Ro's mind before he died was knowing that he failed.

****

People dropped like flies. The army was winning. They _would_ win. And nothing Troll could do would stop it. He couldn't see much through the pouring rain, but he witnessed the army continually coming in waves. Most the animals that answered the Dog's call were dead. The others fled. Only the bear Star rode remained.

Troll, Star (riding the bear), Greggoire, and Daneal proceeded carefully through the deluging rains.

An arrow flew out of the storm, piercing Daneal's heart. He dropped to his knees, clutching at the wooden appendage extending from his chest.

Greggoire screamed at the sky.

Troll remembered Byron's last scream. That last look of sanity on his face.

Swiping his sword wildly, Greggoire rushed off into the rains.

Palm extended, Troll called, "No!"

Budda-budda-budda

Greggoire exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Troll dropped to the ground.

The bear Star rode lowered on its haunches.

"We're all that's left," Troll gasped.

"Bullshit," she roared over the rains. "Call to them, and they will come."

"Krinians, exiles," Troll bellowed. "Gather to my voice. I call thee, to me!"

People screamed.

What was happening out there?

Was this storm the Wraith's doing?

Probably.

Sarah rushed out of the rains. Her palms out, fingers extended. A look of panic paled her already fair face. Gape wide. Mouth tight. And then her head tumbled from her body and rolled around the mud and muck.

Troll's left shoulder throbbed, chest tight.

Sarah staggered headless for a few more yards before collapsing in the slop.

Water, mud, and blood splashed Troll's face. His heart galloped faster. The pain in his chest branched out like the tendrils of tree roots; breath weak.

Sarah's head rolled toward Troll, resting at his feet, face up. She smiled wickedly and blinked at Troll. Then she was dead.

The plodding of heavy feet.

"Drauger!" cried a seven-foot tall bestial as it trudged out of the rain and haze.

"On it," Star said, cocking the hammer. She aimed without aiming and fired dead-center into the Drauger's forehead. Black tar oozed from the wound.

The Drauger smiled and marched forward.

Star unloaded until the chamber spun dry.

All body hits, but the Drauger plodded forward.

She hitched at the bear. The bear reared back, roaring, racing toward the Drauger.

Troll watched as the Drauger closed in on the bear. Star drew a sword. Her snarling face, teeth exposed.

Is this how he'd remember her?

She bore down as the bear lunged at the Drauger. The Drauger batted the bear's claws away, as if shooing a fly. Then the Drauger ripped the bear's throat out. The bear tumbled to the ground.

Troll just stood there watching. It was all he could do. The pain in his chest too excruciating. Breath too short. He tried with all his might to move, but his muscles refused to respond. He thought of that final night back in Silverdale where the Wraith froze his entire body simply by opening its taloned hand.

God, give me strength.

But no strength came. In fact, he felt drained, as if something siphoned his energy.

Fshwoom

All went blue and Troll waffled to the ground. His entire body burned in agony, yet he incapable of crying-out. His muscles clenched up, numb, and tingling with an odd buzzing sensation. Somehow, he managed to roll on his back.

Fedic stood over him. Smiling, he asked, "Miss me?" His eyes glowed. An eerie shimmering blue aura surrounded him.

Troll arched back and glanced over at Star.

The Drauger held her suspended by the neck with one hand.

She kicked and struggled.

In a gravelly voice, the Drauger growled, "Remember me, bitch?"

Star sniffed, and choked, "Shroud?"

Fshwoom

A brilliant flash of blue light.

Troll's body flared in pain; chest tightening around his weakened heart.

The Wraith appeared above him as if a wisp of dark, storm clouds. The Wraith chuckled, and said, "I told you this would happen."

****

Surveying the decimation of Krin, the Wraith stood upon the minor bluffs, smiling devilishly through materializing, filed teeth. It had taken dozens of life-times, but the Wraith had finally achieved the impossible; the one he wanted was ripe for the taking.

The deluging rains dissipated as the battle of Krin drew to a close, but the sky still donned a dull, stony hue. The Wraith didn't bring the rains, but his brother did. The Wraith assured Furion their victory unavoidable, but Furion didn't share his brother's optimism. So, Furion conjured a storm to blind their enemies.

The Wraith rubbed its talons as it watched the soldiers perusing the battleground and slaying the wounded and pernicious. They burned most of the village except for the nicer homes; those were claimed as the soldiers' new quarters. They sent search parties into the surrounding forest and pulled out the children and the elderly. The old were beheaded, the young enslaved.

Furion slouched forth.

The Wraith sneered, "Surprised to see you not riding your six-legged lizard."

Within his head, the Wraith heard Furion reply in a myriad of angry voices.

You know that's only a glamor.

"At any rate, come brother, stand beside me and see the sights. Gaze upon the decimation and smile...if you can." It sneered, "I told you we'd win."

You waited too long! Now, Star is spoiled from the melting sickness.

"I thought you liked them soft n' runny?"

The slaves! Her I wanted fresh, her I wanted juicy.

"Are you saying that now that you may have her, you no longer want her?"

Don't play games with me, brother. If she was the one our father wanted, you should have told me from the beginning.

"Yes, well the king divulges to me what he will at his convenience."

What king? You still haven't allowed me to meet our father!

"But, you have met him. He was there at your creation."

I do not remember.

"That doesn't change the fact. Besides, you know as well as I, that our father only reveals himself to those proven worthy."

And yet, only you and Lilith have achieved such an honor.

"And tomorrow, when the king has the one he wants, you shall be deemed worthy, as well."

Furion's rage settled a bit.

What of the boy, Fedic? Do you really mean to make him a Hellion? That would make six of us. There can only be five.

"Unfortunately, our youngest sibling has fallen behind on his works. He has lost favor with our father."

What does that mean?

Rubbing its taloned claws, the Wraith replied, "That every player has a purpose, even you, dear brother, even you."

****

Anger still stirred within Star like a harsh autumn wind, though her senses were fading. She sniffed at the air, but detected nothing more than the acerbic aroma of bodily odors cramped in tight quarters. She swept her hands out. She lay on a patch of straw. Fingers blindly searching, she worked her digits along the strands until they came to a blockade of bars. She was confined in a small cage, and by the lack of nocturnal noises she surmised she indoors. Children sobbed. Coughs and sneezes purled the air. No-doubt, she held in a farm house-turned-jail. Judging by the puerile voices surrounding her, she was probably the only adult prisoner.

But why? Was she the one the king wanted? Furion was here in Krin, the war was over, so why was she still alive? She thought the Lord of Black desired to devour her whole.

A voice chirped, "Don't worry guys, this ain't over yet.

Star croaked, "Anne, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. DJ's here, too. He's fine."

"What about you?"

"Got shot in the shoulder, but I'm all right."

But, she didn't sound all right. Her voice held an unfamiliar tone.

Star never had the displeasure of meeting Quinn, but she had a feeling she sounded a lot like the girl speaking.

Anne grumbled, "Those filthy mother fuckers got no idea what's coming. Somehow, we'll get outta here, and then they'll all be sorry. We'll take all their heads and put 'em on pikes for all to see."

There is a traitor among you. And they will kill you.

Like so many others, she _thought_ Fedic was the traitor. But he could have murdered her last night, and didn't. Again, he had a chance to kill her at the battle, but Fedic seemed more interested in Troll.

Why?

She remembered how Troll was always telling her not to worry about Anne; that she was fine, because she was the one they wanted. But, now she knew it was one of their trinity the king sought. She ruminated over the Wraith telling Troll how Anne's part was drawing to a close, and how Anne was the first one to break rank when she should have stood in _falanjii_ formation. Could Anne be the traitor? Was that even possible? But why? The battle was over. What good would a traitor be now? It just didn't make any sense.

A groggy voice stirred, "Uh, my poor, damn head."

Clutching to the iron bars, Star asked, "Mia, is that you?"

Hissing through clenched teeth, Mia replied, "Yeah. Damn, I gotta stop getting hit in the head. I think it's starting to rattle my brains."

Star said, "Mia, I can't see--"

"Yeah, Yeah, I know. I didn't get hit that hard."

"No, I mean, I need you to tell me where we are. I need you to describe what ya see."

"All right."

Stirring noises. Hay ruffled. Metal bars rattled.

Mia said, "We're in one of the farm houses. Can't tell which one. Furniture's been stripped out, and we're in some kinda prison, or something."

Anne grumbled, "It's Samson and Hannah's house. Aemelia's here, but Malcom's dead."

A girl wailed. Probably Aemelia.

Anne continued, "Them bastards set up these mock cages, almost like animal pens. Ye and Mia have ye'r own, but the rest of us are packed in like rabbits or chickens."

Mia glumly added, "It's true."

From afar, a gruff voice barked, "Quiet! Don't make me come over there."

Anne yelled, "C'mon down n' I'll piss on ye'r boots."

Star strained her ears, but didn't hear the plodding of advancing feet.

Anne uttered, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She croaked, "Don't even bother talkin' to them sons-of bitches."

A long silence elapsed.

Star's lungs ratted with phlegm. He bones ached. She was getting sick again. She tried to sit, and stretch her legs, but the cage too confined, and she banged her head and right knee against metal bars.

A familiar voice sobbed. It definitely wasn't Anne.

She asked, "What's wrong, Mia?"

Mia stifled her blubbering, and sniffled, "They're all dead. 'Ro, Sandy, Montalvo," sneering, she added, "Hickey."

"Ya see 'em die?"

"No. Got knocked out."

"Then how do you know they're dead?"

Anne eerily replied, "'Cause the only slaves they took were children." She paused, and added, "Except ye and Mia."

"Why?"

"Oh, don't ye know? Ye'r the great Mother Star." She scoffed, "I expect they've got more sinister plans for Mia."

Mia quavered, "What's that mean?"

Anne replied, "That means, they're gonna rape ye. All of 'em. They'll rip ye open wide, and each and every man will have a go."

"No, I won't let them."

"Ye mean ye'll try to pretend ye don't like it."

Anger gnawing at her nerves, Star said, "Anne, stop it!"

A soldier barked, "Hey, quiet down over there."

A cage rattled.

Anne roared, "C'mon down here, ye piece of goat shit and I'll carve ye'r eyes outta ye'r head."

Heart aching like her fragile bones, Star asked, "Anne, what has happened to you."

" _They_ happened! _They_ did this to me! The king is a plague, like the cave rot, and we have to eradicate him."

The trouncing of booted feet resonated off hardwood flooring.

A voice barked, "I told you to be quiet."

Anne replied, "Ye know ye'r about to die, right?"

Star didn't need heightened senses to know the soldier rattled.

He stammered, "Wh...what?"

Anne continued, "The beast in the form of a man. I'm sure ye've heard of him."

"That mutt is maggot bait."

Anne sneered, "That's we ye think, that's what they all think. But, the Dog has been shot, stabbed, run-through, hung, and set on fire."

A cold shiver coursed down Star's spine.

The soldier scoffed, "Nuh-uh."

Anne said, "I've seen him slit his own wrists." She paused.

Star imagined Anne running the tip of her index finger down her wrist.

Anne said, "Ye can't kill him. No one can kill him."

"Quiet!" The guard smacked a baton against the bars (probably Anne's cage), and snarled, "Don't make me tell you again."

Star said, "Anne, just be still."

But Anne couldn't, or wouldn't, it remained unclear.

Anne said, "He'll kill ye first."

For a moment, Star thought Anne was speaking to her.

The soldier quavered, "Uh, what?"

A silence elapsed and Star pictured Anne glaring up at the soldier as she wore a wicked grin.

Anne said, "I'm the first one he'll come for. The first one he'll free. Dog will kill any king's men around me."

Silence; Star envisioned Anne glancing around.

Anne added, "That looks like ye."

The swatting of baton in gloved hand resonated.

The soldier replied, "I'll be ready."

Anne sneered, "For ye'r sake, I hope so. 'Cause he _will_ come. And he is _pissed_."

****

10

Troll raced through the darkened catacombs. Alone. All dark, but still he could see the faint purple hues of the tunnel walls. _He_ was after him. So many forks and corridors, so many tortuous loops, so many blue doors of light. _He_ closed in. No escape. Should Troll chance going through one of those blue doors?

"Whatever ye do, don't go into the blue door," Anne's voice echoed repeatedly from some distant plane. "Don't go into the blue door."

" _Wake up."_

_He_ closed in. Many red, spider eyes. Rows of pearly-white, razor-sharp teeth that glistened in the darkness. That hot, rancid breath.

" _Wake up."_

No! No! The concept seemed too terrifying.

" _I said, wake up!"_

" _No, no. Dream a little more. I'll be dreaming of you, won't you dream of me?"_

Troll sprinted down a random cavern. Heart beating arrhythmically. Chest tight. Shoulder throbbing.

" _Dream a little dream of me,"_ cooed a pleasantly hollow (yet, like rusty nails screeching against the sides of a glass mason jar), voice.

_He_ closed in. Footsteps quaked the mines.

Troll ran as fast as he could yet he gained no ground. So many blue doors. Should he chance one?

" _Wake up!"_

No. No. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. He didn't want to wake. He didn't want to remember.

_He_ lunged from behind, out of the darkness.

No choice. Troll leapt through the closest door of shimmering-blue light.

The light went out in a flash. Only darkness remained. Darkness, teeth, and beady-red, bat eyes.

Wake up!

Elongated teeth sunk into Troll's belly and through his back. The pain excruciating; violating.

Wake up!

No. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

He couldn't see it. He didn't want to. But he knew it was a giant bat. He knew it was _him_ gnashing, gnawing through his innards; eating him alive.

Wake up!

Smack.

Sweating profusely, Troll sat bolt-right, screaming, "No!"

"Aw, why?" the Wraith whined in his hollow voice. "Don't you want to play anymore?"

Night. The west-coast air felt preternaturally chilly. Garrulous and convivial prattling purled like a babbling brook.

Troll tried to move but couldn't. So hot. He felt like his skin being roasted over an open flame. Enfettered in mounds of chains, he glanced around. He was shackled by the wrists and ankles; staked down in the middle of a field somewhere in the outskirts of the village. Off in the distance, a hazy, orangish glow blossomed above the tree line.

The Wraith giggled, "That's the village square, and that open field where you broke bread with the Krinians the evening Star returned home. I think I like it better ablaze, how about you?"

He tried to move but his once stalwart muscles felt sluggish with atrophy. How long had he been out for?

Over yonder lay a few acres of melon patches. Soldiers camped all around him, as if he put out on display, and as soon as they noticed him conscious, the king's men lobbed scraps of bread, fruit, and chicken guts at him.

He didn't mind this humiliation compared to their soul-crushing defeat. How many of his friends did he lose? Alas, the truth might send him spiraling into another heart attack.

An unpleasantly hollow voice merrily called, "All right, that's enough."

The king's men ceased throwing food at Troll and resumed what they previously engaged in.

The Wraith materialized and hovered over him as a wisp of storm cloud.

Fedic stood further back. A wide, devilish grin plastered his tawny face, back straight, chest puffed out, hands folded behind his back.

The Wraith purred, "A bitter winter is fast upon us, for that surely was the fall."

"What?"

"I'm sure you remember hearing those words when the mines beneath Al'ber Que collapsed. You must have, because I was looming right beside you when I said it."

Troll glared up at the Wraith.

The Wraith whimpered, "Don't look at me like that. I did warn you. In fact, I'm the only one telling you the truth about things."

"Distorted as it may be," he grumbled.

A blue flash of light blossomed.

Fshwoom

Troll was knocked to his knees. His body throbbed with an odd tingling sensation. He growled "Coward."

Eyes glowing blue, Fedic smiled, and said, "Appearing weak when you're actually strong, isn't cowardice, it's ingenious."

Muscles shuddering in a numbing pain, Troll said, "Ye may be cunning, but ye'r still a coward. Keeping me chained and draining my energy, truly ye fear my wrath. Tell ye what, why don't ye remove these manacles, and we shall see how strong thee are?"

Admonishing a taloned finger, the Wraith said, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. So much anger. I remember how calm and collective you used to be. How you used to sing and jest. Now look at you. Withered and frayed, soured like a man twice your age. I like you better this way, I think. I also think I like you better without any faith. Have I robbed you of that yet, as well? I noticed you didn't proclaim yourself the one true servant of God. You didn't call upon him for strength. Tell me, have I finally broken you?"

That cursed scourge was right again, and he loathed it. But, Troll hadn't prayed or called upon God in a _long_ time.

He spat, "Just kill me and be done with it, demon."

"How do you know you're not the one we want?"

"Then just take me!" Roaring, he lunged at the Wraith. But he felt weak, heart heavy. The restraints held.

The soldiers pointed and laughed.

The Wraith wafted his talons in the air, motioning for the soldiers to settle down.

They did.

The Wraith continued, "I told you, only at dawn will we take the one we want. But, dawn is a long time away, don't you think."

Troll rose to his feet, and said, "In the name of God the father, Lord almighty, I demand ye leave this realm Wraith, Madgellaine, Sweetie Man. This world is ours, not yours. Depart! Flee! In the name of God, the father I command thee."

His heart beat wildly, chest tight, shoulder throbbing. He buckled to his knees.

The Wraith chuckled, "Is that it? Is that all? As you can see, despite all your faith, and let's face it, that was a bit contrived." Red eyes glowing, filed teeth materialized upon the Wraith's eidolon face. It sneered, "Little good it did you. And do you know why you can't banish me to some ethereal realm?"

He didn't even want to hear it. His poor heart couldn't take it.

"It's because this _is_ my realm."

"Liar!" Troll swung but his shackles held.

Cackling, the Wraith drifted toward him.

He swung again, but his manacled fists soared right through the demon's cloudy body. The Wraith ran a talon down Troll's cheek. The tip of its finger carved a small canyon of crimson on his bearded face. He wanted to rip that finger off, pull it away, at least, but he couldn't grasp hold of it.

The Wraith giggled, "As you can see, I can touch you, but you can't touch me."

He gasped, "How is that possible."

"Oh, there are answers." The Wraith morphed into the stranger in white; smiling, it drawled, "I could tell ya, for a price."

"Go to Hell."

"Love to, but only if you'll sit next to me."

The Wraith floated over and put its shadowy arm around Troll, which Troll allowed. For now.

The Wraith leaned in close, and whispered, "We have ever so many hours until dawn, your little exorcism spiel got me in an amorous mood."

A cold shiver crept down Troll's spine. His hairs stood on-end. Dreading the answer, he uttered, "So?"

Eyes burning a red fire, the Wraith's grin widened to a maniacal magnitude. Rubbing its talons, it cooed, "So, I want to play a game. And the name of the game is...torture."

****

Immense pressure and ubiquitous darkness held the Dog suspended in its greedy clutches. He wormed through the rain soaked earth for hours, or eons, of that he was not sure. But since he could not move the fallen ash tree, he had no choice but to tunnel under and out. Muddy slop kept filling the burrow; Dog drowned a couple times, spontaneously resuscitated, squirmed through another few inches of muck, suffocated, only to revive and do it all over again until he broke through the soggy surface. When he crawled his way out it was night. The battle long over. His mud-caked body shivered in the preternaturally chilly breeze. He shifted slightly feral. A heavy mist held the battleground captive behind a thick veil. Dog's night vision kicked in, and he surveyed the scene through a golden hue.

The terrain warped with blast-craters and a mire of mutilated bodies scattered among opal pools of blood and muddy rain-water, like mossy logs amidst a swamp. He tried reaching out with his senses to locate Troll, Star, Anne, Sarah, anyone; but they were fuzzy, or blocked.

Sniffing, searching, Dog negotiated the gory quagmire tabulating the corpses of those he'd known.

The Dog found what remained of Montalvo not far from where he dug himself out. Apparently, Montalvo had been staked to the ground by his hands and feet, and then chopped into pieces.

He located the Jessips around the base of the hills. Evidently they were boxed-in and torn apart by gunfire.

The Dog spotted a cadaver he thought he knew, but realized he didn't upon further investigation. A skinny black man in his forties with a mohawk and many piercings upon his horror-stricken face. The corpse torn in two at the waist, as if something large feasted upon his intestines. His eyes bulged from the sockets, mouth agape, as if he spent his last breath screaming in agony.

Bargs.

Eyes closed, Dog craned his head back and reached out once more. His senses were returning, as if emerging through haze. But, he didn't sense the bargs anywhere, at all. He only killed one, were the others destroyed?

No, he had to do better than this. Growling, he shook his head and attempted to reach out further. Still so foggy.

Why?

This was just too familiar. Like, déjà vous. Like when he frantically searched the swamps for Beth's body. Searching, like when he strived to find out who he was, _what_ he was. He trekked the world seeking answers, but only found--

His foot struck something. He squatted on his haunches and retrieved an odd rock-shaped object from the waters -- Sarah's head. A chilling expression painted her face; a sort of smile, yet terror forever remained frozen in her lifeless blue-eyes. He held her head at eye-level and gazed at her pale, cachectic, severed face.

He had failed. He'd let them all down. He just couldn't save her. But, no. This was not the angel that bedeviled his thoughts.

Cradling Sarah's head like a mother coddles a child, the Dog tracked-down her body. T'wasn't far, just immersed in murky slop.

Seeing Beth's face, the Dog carried Sarah (and her head), up to the minor bluffs, there he interred her and her alone; digging the sepulcher with his own hands. He laid her out proper, and stood there at the foot of her open grave. His thoughts once again drifted toward Beth and the funeral he was robbed of. This just didn't do it justice. Hell, it didn't even come close. But, at least it was something tangible; something he could hold onto within the frame of his mind's eye, like a picture.

He never found out what happened to the Beth. Perhaps, the gators got her. But, at least he knew what happened to Sarah and many others. The Dog shoveled fistfuls of earth over her and marked her grave with an Al'ber Querian saber for a headstone.

Determined, he reached out with his senses once more. Still so fuzzy. He banged a fist into the side of his head until his ears rang and the haze dissipated like staticy TV channels. TV? What's a--? Oh, that's right.

Images of a world long-lost flooded his mindscape, but he pushed that away. No time for it now.

His senses funneled upon the outskirts of the village; where the farmers once resided. He located Troll enfettered in a field, being tortured maliciously. He zeroed-in on Star and Anne's position; held captive in a former farm-house-turned-prison.

Children cried and whimpered.

Save her Jimmy.

Quivering, the Dog knelt there holding the pernicious eidolon of Beth's uncle Jim.

We can't both be Jim. I know, we need you a nickname

Uncle Jim didn't come up with a proper nickname for Jimmy that day, yet eventually he ascribed him with one that stuck for more than a thousand years.

I got it, I got, I tell ya, I got, we'll call ya Dog.

Dog glanced down at his quavering claws and visualized Uncle Jim's trembling, blood-soaked face.

Save her, Jimmy. Save her.

The Dog sobbed until he wept nothing but dry, husking chortles. Hate curdled the hollows of his bones. Anger tormented his soul. So much unresolved rage rattled his nerves. The Dog glanced down at the rippling waters and at his own reflection. A strange humming sensation vibrated in every cell of his being. He felt like the first time he _chose_ to turn feral. Through the pool's distorted image, he witnessed his eyes change the only color he'd never seen them turn -- a burning, crimson-red.

No, it couldn't end like this. He wouldn't let it. The Wraith, Furion, and Fedic were together in Krin, and if the Dog could free Troll and Star, the three of them united as a trinity just might be able to take-out two of the king's Hellions.

And he thought there might even be a way to kill them.

He found the silver cutlass buried around the uprooted tree base, but the rest of his weapons were crushed when the tree felled. He glanced around. He didn't see any instruments of combat lying around. No-doubt the soldiers picked the battlefield clean.

No matter. He still had the cutlass, his gauntlet, and a belt chock-full of "goodies".

Slightly feral and camouflaged with mud, the Dog bounded into the forest and raced silently through the trees. He reached out with his senses and a map of Krin formed in his mind. Most of the soldiers set up camp around the nicer farm homes. High ranking officers commandeered the small Krinian domiciles, but the bigger abodes were reserved for prisoners. His senses rested upon Samson's old house. Star, Anne, Mia, and many children were held captive. Not impossible to get to, but it was surrounded.

The Dog stealthily maneuvered through the firefly littered forestry until he was as close to the prisoners' quarters as he could get while'st still cloaked among the sequoias and conifers

Up ahead, a few feet from the tree line, were a group of five soldiers.

His senses detected many of these small bands around the rest of the army.

Probably on watch detail; making sure no surviving Krinians hiding in the woods came back in a fleeting attempt at revenge. Or, perhaps they posted in case the Dog returned.

He slowed his pace and crept through the shrubbery.

Wearing full armor, the men sat around a small campfire dinning on MREs.

The Dog closed his eyes and observed them without seeing.

Mouthful, a soldier said, "Sure was one hell of a battle, wasn't it?

"Shit," scoffed another, "We didn't even get a chance to fight. The battle was over in minutes. Them Krumpians didn't even put up a fight."

"I'm pretty sure they're called Krinians."

Snort. "Whatever, them fucking pussies didn't stand a chance."

The Dog tilted his head this-way-and-that as their voices reverberated off the trees in a frequency only discernable to him. Figuring the angle, the Dog retrieved five expandable discs, spread them in his hand, like a gambler examining his cards. He threw the discs and they bounced off a nearby mulberry tree before they could fully widen (otherwise they would've lodged into the bark), and out into the clearing. Once fully extended, the discs were so sharp, they sheered through the soldiers armored necks before they even knew what happened. Their heads tumbled from their bodies after a moment's delay.

The Dog silently made his way toward where the prisoners were being kept, killing soldiers as he went. He slithered up around the back of the house. Two guards stood there talking; their backs turned. The Dog slit one's throat and sank his teeth into the other, drinking him dry. Then he took a key clipped to one of the soldiers' belt. That familiar buzzing sensation coursed through the Dog's veins, but he wouldn't allow himself to turn even the slightest bit feral. In order to accomplish what needed to be done, he couldn't be the animal. The Dog needed to be something he hadn't for a _long_ time -- an assassin.

The Dog snuck inside, but he didn't see any soldiers within. Eyes closed, head tilted back, he didn't sense any guards either -- now. But he did before, so where did they all go?

Perchance he got lucky and arrived during a shift-change. No, that didn't make sense; they wouldn't have left their posts without first being relieved by the next soldiers on duty.

In disbelief, blubbering children peered at him through cage bars. The adolescent captives were crammed into the barred enclosures; the pens were stacked three cages high and lined up in rows.

Gaze darting, the Dog loaded his gauntlet and precariously advanced into the mock-prison.

Anne grumbled, "Took ye long enough."

Dog glanced around.

There, a few pens down, and at the bottom "shelf" was Anne, DJ, and four other Krinian children. Clutching at the bars, she stared up at him with a dour expression upon her once innocent face.

He said, "You knew I'd come."

"Aye."

From further down the line, Star croaked, "Dog, is that you?"

Gripping the bars, face pressed against the adjoining cage, Mia said, "Holy shit! I thought you were dead. Erm, I mean, again."

Glancing over his shoulder, the Dog asked, "Where are all the guards?"

Shrugging, Anne replied, "Don't know, they just kinda took off."

Mia quavered, "Is that bad?"

Striding toward Star's cell, he said, "Not for us it isn't."

Star asked, "Where's Troll?"

"Not far from here." He swiftly unlocked her pen and helped her out. He then emancipated Anne and gave her the key so she could free the others while'st the Dog conversed with Star.

Cough. Cough. Wheeze. Star wiped the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and asked, "What's the plan?"

"We rush the front. Head right into the heart of the army and free Troll."

Nodding, she said, "Take the fight to them."

"They'll never see it coming."

"We'll need weapons."

The Dog replied, "I killed a bunch of soldiers. There are bodies lying from the back of this building all the way to the trees. You can take their gear. They don't need it."

Brow cocked, hands on hips, Mia asked, "So, your plan is to rush headlong at the army with a bunch of children?"

"The kids are just distraction, let them run around while we free Troll."

Mia scoffed, "Then what?"

Through clenched teeth, Star growled, "Then we kill Furion and the Wraith."

Smiling, Mia added, "Don't forget about Fedic."

DJ by her side, Anne strode forth, and asked, "How we gonna kill 'em."

The Dog replied, "First thing's first, we free Troll." He said to Mia, "Take Star and sneak her out the back. I'll rush out the front with the children and meet you there. Then we'll get Troll."

Anne chimed, "I'll lead the children in the diversion, then double-back and meet ye where they're holding Troll."

"No, once we've got Troll, take DJ and any others you can and run into the trees."

"Then what?"

"Keeping running, and don't ever look back."

"What? No! I won't leave ye. I'm not afraid to die."

"I know, but you need to live, it's important."

Cough. Cough. Star concurred, "He's right."

Face twisted in an amalgamation of anger and confusion, Anne opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out; her lips merely quivered.

DJ tugged at the sleeve of Anne's faded, olive-green jacket (which she'd been wearing under her armor), and whimpered, "Please, can't we just go? There's nothing left for us here."

Glaring at the Dog, she snarled through clenched teeth, "I won't run. I can't. And I can't explain why. There's no time. Ye'll just have to trust me."

"Drauger!" Wielding a massive double-headed axe, the Drauger and a handful of soldiers filed into the front threshold.

Dog said, "New plan. Everyone out the back, now!"

Mia put Star's arm around her shoulder and the prisoners raced out the back windows.

The Dog drew the silver cutlass and unsheathed his gauntlet.

The soldiers rushed, but the Dog quickly cut them down.

The Drauger held his double-headed axe high, and slammed it into the earth.

The Dog bounded out of the way and lunged forward, swiping and slashing.

Bits of the Drauger's flesh splashed off in black, tarry spurts, but the wounds instantly healed. The Drauger lifted his axe. The Dog rammed his blade upward, locking the sword and axe-handle together. The Drauger pushed forward. Dog staggered backward. The Drauger pivoted and drove an uppercut into the Dog's chin. Dog sailed backward and crashed against the wall. The cutlass jostled from his grip and clattered along the ground. The Drauger hewed the axe. Dog rolled out of the way and lunged for his sword. He barely managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt when the Drauger grasped his ankle and dragged him back. The Drauger raised the axe one-handedly. Dog rolled to a sit, and cut off the hand pulling him backward. The Drauger bellowed in anguish. Dog lobbed its other arm off at the elbow and the axe thudded to the floor boards. Dog popped to his feet and chopped at the Drauger's thick neck until the head tumbled from the body. The Drauger went slack. The Dog pushed the Drauger and it fell to the ground in a listless slump. The Drauger's body and severed head bubbled and melted just like the bargs did when cut down with silver.

Was there a connection there? Were they all somehow--?

Fshwoom

A flash of blue light. A violent burst of energy. Muscles clenched, body tingling, the Dog went down.

****

"What's going on?" Star asked Mia. The two huddled in a bush.

Stamping feet receded into the ubiquitous chirping of crickets. Off in the distance, children screamed like skirling banshees. Soldiers roared their war cries.

Mia whispered, "Looks like we're clear." Leading Star by the hand they slipped out of the shrubs and crept toward Troll's location. "I hope those kids manage to get away."

Cough. Hack. "So much for the diversion though."

"You still think we can win?"

"If we get Troll, yeah, I do. Don't you?"

Mia snorted, "Hell no. But, I'm glad at least one of us does."

But, could they win? The odds were four to, well...thousands.

Her thoughts turned to Furion's mirror; watching herself wither away like moldering ash. She would _not_ go out like that.

It just wasn't fair. Against all odds she managed to return to her home with the prophets by her side, and she too cachectic to fight along with them. How would she kill Furion now? She felt cheated and frustrated. If only she'd shot him at the battle of Al'ber Que. But, murdering him from afar wouldn't sate the vengeance churning within her heart. Her selfishness cost incalculable lives.

"C'mon," Mia said, taking her arm. "Let's go. Try to stay low."

Cough. Cough. Hack. She grumbled, "It should be me back there fighting the Drauger."

"What is that thing?"

"I don't know, but it used to be Shroud."

"Seriously?"

Shuddering with rage, she said, "I had him. At the battle of Al'ber Que. Left him lying in the sands with his throat ripped out. I should have finished him off when I had the chance."

"Like Fedic?"

"Yeah, I heard--"

"Shh," Mia dropped to the ground.

Star followed suit.

They waited a moment as pounding feet rushed past.

"Okay," Mia said. "Let's go."

Star continued, "I heard about you and the gang taking Fedic aside under the mountains. You meant to kill him. And now you're kicking yourself for not taking him out when we had _so_ many chances."

"Actually, I was talking about how Fedic should have killed _you_ when he had the chance."

"What?"

An excruciating piercing sensation bore through her back (just near her kidney), and radiated out her entire body.

"Uh! Mia, what happened?"

The pain twisted in her side.

Mia hovered over her, and whispered into her ear, "I just stabbed you in the back -- literally.

****

Troll's torture felt as though it lasted for hours. The agony he endured was more emotional than physical -- at first.

He was unable to move, but not because him enfettered; the Wraith ceased Troll's motor functions with a waft of its taloned hand. While'st Troll restrained, the Wraith caressed him with eidolon claws. Muscles trembling, he tried to move; wriggle a toe, a finger, something, anything.

Furion stood a few yards away, reaching out with phantom tentacles that violated every nook and crevice of Troll's psyche. The Lord of Black studiously examined every memory within his head, and then crumpled it up and threw it away like an old piece of parchment.

A female voice chirped, "We got 'em."

Rubbing its talons, the Wraith said, "Well, that didn't take long."

The Hellions released their invisible hold of Troll, and feeling returned to his appendages with a slight tingling, burning sensation. Shaking, heart thumping wildly against his ribcage, he wearily sat up.

Fedic returned dragging a motionless Dog.

No-doubt the cur stunned, or drained of energy.

Mia led a chained and manacled Star toward Troll.

Laughing and sneering, the soldiers closed in around them.

The Wraith asked, "Did you manage to recapture any of the children?"

Fedic thrust the Dog to the ground. Smirking, he replied, "We got a few, but the others got away."

The Wraith sighed, and said, "Oh, well, you can't win 'em all."

Blinking around, Star asked, "Troll are ya there?"

He gasped, "Aye, my dove, the Dog's here too."

Mia kicked Star in the butt, and she toppled forward into the grass.

Chains rattling, Star asked Mia, "How could you turn on us?"

"You don't get it," she chuckled. She swept back the bangs from her face, smiled coyly, and said, "I was never with you."

The Wraith asked Fedic, "Where is the Drauger."

Fedic kicked the Dog, who stirred drowsily to life. Fedic replied, "Their mutt killed him, chopped his head clean off with a sword made purely from silver."

Furion gurgled, "Scree-lack."

Pity.

The Wraith asked, "Did you retrieve it?"

Fedic asked, "The head or the sword?"

The Wraith sneered, "The sword, you moron."

Flustered, Fedic replied, "No, my lord. I could go back and get it if you--"

"That won't be necessary. It's better left where it lies. But, you do have Star's shooters, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord." Fedic gestured for a soldier to approach.

The soldier wore an officer's button on his chest armor. The visor of his helmet donned the guise of a snarling bear.

Troll thought of the bear Star rode into Krin, and then later at the battle. Fuzzy bear had sacrificed itself, and for what? His heart ached with a dull throbbing.

The soldier totted the Dog's gauntlet and belt of daggers, as well as Star's holster (guns included).

The Wraith clapped, and said, "Excellent. Please put them on."

Grey-gaze narrowed, Fedic stammered, "Er, what?"

"Put them on. The both of you. Mia can wear Star's shooters, and you can wear the Dog's weapons. Think of them as trophies for besting our guests."

Star groaned, "I ain't been bested." Hack. Hack. Wheeze. "Hey Furion, why don't you let me outta these chains and we finally have it out. Just you and me. How 'bout it, huh?"

Rubbing its talons, the Wraith giggled, "Oh, I'd love to see that. What do you say, brother?"

Furion just stood there slouched, stubby arms crossed, as if the Hellion hadn't a care in the world for her.

"C'mon ya coward! Let me outta these shackles so I can rip out your black heart in front of all these dick-less--"

Fedic swung a rocker over Star. The fixture broke, and drove her to the grass. He said, "Know what that was? That was your Grandmere's chair. I spared it from the bonfires just so I could give it to you personally. Tell me, Mother Star, does it please you?"

Soldiers pointed and guffawed.

Growling, she tried to scramble to her feet, but couldn't.

The king's men howled all the merrier.

In an eerie monotone, the Wraith rubbed its claws, and asked, "Shall we continue with play time?"

Soldiers quickly trotted forward, shackled and staked Star and the Dog to the ground near Troll.

All settled.

The Wraith asked Troll, "Have you met Fedic? Of course, you have. But do you _really_ know him? See, Fedic has talents. One of which is that he can drain a person's energy, their life force, just be being around them."

Troll felt his strength dwindling, as if being siphoned.

Fedic held his hand up to his face and spread his fingers. Eerie-blue, shimmering waves of light wafted off his digits. He said, "And once I have a person's energy, oh, the things I can do with it." He turned to the officer who once totted Star and Dog's weapons, and said, "Bring them forward."

Soldiers shoved Aemelia and Etta before Troll.

Aemelia's emerald gaze dithered nervously about. Her boney knees buckled and shook. Urine stains blotted the crotch of her tan pantaloons.

Etta stood back straight, chest puffed out; her beak-like nose and hairy mole upturned in an air of defiance.

Fedic continued, "I can drain all of a person's energy, or just a little bit."

His strength dwindled ever-more; heart beating a heavy cadence.

Fedic smiled, and said, "Similarly, I can also control how much energy I expel. I can hit someone with a small burst, with the intention of only stunning an opponent, or I can hit them with a much large blast. Observe."

That siphoning sensation increased. Every fiber of Troll's being felt weak with atrophy. Light-headed, dark splotches formed in his vision.

A lambent blue aura radiated off of Fedic. Then he released a concussive blast that disintegrated Aemelia before she could even scream.

Troll roared, "No!"

Teeth clenched, Star snarled, "You evil sons-a-bitches."

The Dog merely hung his head in hopelessness.

Fedic said to Troll, "See that? I just killed her with your own energy. Blasted her into nothingness, as if she never existed."

Etta glared at Troll, and quavered, "Do you see what you have done?"

"Me?"

"You have brought this curse upon us."

For some reason, Troll suddenly thought of the Wachati and the demon lurking in the woods.

He said to Etta, "My dear, no matter what happens this night, never forget who the real enemy is."

She spat at Troll's feet, and said, "Burn in Hell, giant." Chin held high, she said to Fedic, "Go ahead and do to me what you did to that poor, innocent child."

Wielding a crimson-smeared knife, Mia emerged from behind Etta, and said, "Sorry, but you don't get off so easy." She drove the blade into Etta's kidney and twisted it. Etta howled in anguish. Mia repeatedly stabbed Etta until she collapsed. Mia raised the blood-smeared steel over her head and continued plunging the metal into Etta's quivering flesh. Mia cackled and skirled obscenities. Etta just screamed. Blood spattered across Mia's snarling face.

Troll's heart galloped arrhythmically, like it was about to explode in his chest. He felt tingly, light-headed, but he didn't experience that draining sensation. This was different. His skin broke out in a febrile sweat. His ears rang like the tintinnabulation of Al'ber Que's carillon. Clutching at his chest, he collapsed and curled up in the grass.

As a cloud, the Wraith materialized above him, and cooed, "Oh, is it your heart? You're not gonna die on me, are you? You can't. Not yet. I still have ever-so much to show you."

Fedic blasted Troll with a burst of energy.

His muscles clenched up. A throbbing, buzzing sensation coursed through his body. His racing heart slowed to a trot. The perspiration beading his brow chilled in the breezy ocean air.

The Wraith whirled toward the mob of soldiers, and said, "Do not think you faithful shall go unrewarded."

In unison, the soldiers pounded their chests, and barked, "All hail the king!"

Furion wobbled forth with a harem of chained women, one of which was Sirii.

She appeared soiled with mud and the blood of others. Dark rings and tear tracks hung beneath her eyes. He bottom lip was swollen, but otherwise, she appeared unscathed.

The rest of the women were Krinians whom Troll didn't recognize.

The Wraith called, "Enjoy them, my men. Rape them until they die."

The rabble exploded in cheer.

The women cried and screamed.

The officer who totted their weapons took the leashed women from Furion's stumpy grip; the soldiers surrounded them and then scampered off to violate the poor souls.

The Wraith wafted a talon through the air, and said, "Look around you, paper-preacher, all your strength, all your faith, all your plotting, has led to this. Slaughter. Decimation. You have failed, paper-preacher. And you have gotten everyone you ever cared about killed. Star was right, you three really are legendary."

Fedic continually drew and blasted Troll and the Dog, while Furion rooted through their minds with invisible tendrils.

Troll felt like his brains were being scattered and reorganized while his body restrained.

He prayed God would save them. But, Furion guffawed within his head at his fleeting prayers. All they could do was cry out and wail.

Off in the distance men cheered and women shrieked until their skirls dwindled to anguished moans.

The Wraith bent impossibly backward, rubbing his talons, and cackling insanely.

Giggling, Mia kicked Star in the ribs every so often.

Star cried, "Stop! Please, stop torturing them. Torture me."

Smirking, Mia replied, "We are. There is a traitor among you, has been for some time. Remember that? You all thought it was Fedic, and it was, but that was too obvious. He was put out in plain sight so you wouldn't see that it was me all along." She kicked Star in the ribs again, and snarled, "You almost had me too, back at Furion's camp."

"Hold on, boys," the Wraith said to Fedic and Furion, who halted torturing Troll and the Dog. "I don't want them to miss this. Go ahead Mia, show them who you are."

Bottom lip protruding, she pouted, "Aw, I thought we were gonna do it together."

Rubbing its talons, the Wraith giggled, "Just a little taste of what's to come."

Sigh. "All right." Mia wafted her hands about her body, her form shifted from a slender, young girl to a hunched and haggardly figure with grotesque features and purplish, reptilian skin. "Behold," she said, "It is I, Annola, Mistress of the Trees. Remember me?"

"All too well," uttered Troll. Nodding toward the Wraith, he asked, "And who are ye under that hood?"

The Wraith cooed, "Patience. Play time is over. It's time we got going."

Troll asked, "Where are ye taking us?"

"To the one place where men cannot go. Through the swamps and atop the major bluffs. Don't worry, I'll make sure the three of you make it there alive. And when we stand high atop the tallest bluff, then I will reveal myself to you. And, one of you will be given a choice."

"I thought ye said ye were going to take one of us?"

The Wraith chuckled, "Indeed, we are." Methodically rubbing its taloned hands, it added, "But still, a choice _must_ be made. So, let's get going. The dawn is fast approaching."

****

CODA

INTO THE BLUE

Still in chains, Troll carried Star in his arms. They stood at the edge of thick swamp that led to the major bluffs. Willows and twisted ash trees obfuscated the already gloomy, pre-dawn mire.

He asked. "How do ye expect us to cross this marsh?"

Giggling, the Wraith replied, "Don't worry, I promised you safe passage, and as you will soon find out, I am true to my word."

So far, the Wraith upheld every assurance, but he still had a few more promises to keep. And that burdened Troll's soul.

The Wrath wafted a talon.

Troll sensed the static-electricity rising, causing the hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck to stand on-end.

A deep groaning churned as roots shifted in mud and muck; the trees parted, creating an aisle. Rocks emerged from the murky, bubbling waters and formed a stone staircase.

The Wraith extended a claw toward the misty path, and asked, "Shall we?"

Leading the troop, the Wraith glided ahead. Troll carried Star in his arms. She hacked and wheezed, but otherwise remained quiet. He felt the faint pulsating of her temporal vein against his chest.

Torso completely enfettered, the Dog trudged behind them.

Annola and Fedic trod behind. Fedic held the other end of the Dog's chain-tether.

Furion slouched after; anchoring the funeral march.

Troll grew weaker with every slogging step. No-doubt, Fedic siphoned energy from all of them to keep them subservient. But, he didn't glance back to see if Fedic shimmered with that sickish blue aura.

Don't enter the blue door.

What happened to Anne? Alas, he just couldn't ask. His heart would not withstand the burden.

They plodded on as the swamp tunneled them. Crickets, frogs and the buzzing of swamp bugs caroled like protestors chanting, " _Dejarii vos Votii_!"

Troll sensed other creatures stirring among twisted bramble and knarred bark, but evidently such fabled monsters feared the Hellions more than they sought to slake their thirst for flesh.

The mire thinned as they reached the point where the stone staircase ended and knolls of untamed weeds rose out of the murk.

Above, the hazy sky incipiently greyed a lighter hue.

They waded through knee-deep blades of grass as the hills grew steeper. Troll lost his footing, and tumbled to the ground. Star bounced out of his arms and rolled crashing through the brush.

Grunt. Cough. Cough. Wheeze. "What happened? Are we there yet?"

Hovering above her, the Wraith replied, "Almost."

Troll gasped, "I can't carry her anymore."

The Wraith purred, "Oh, why not? Is it your heart, or are you just plum tuckered-out?"

Troll panted. Spittle flew from his chapped lips. He said, "The incline is too great. I can't carry her and walk at the same time."

"Then climb, or crawl, I assure you we're almost there."

On hands and knees, Troll and Star helped each other up the grassy slope.

The Dog tried frog-hopping up the hill, but kept sliding down. So, Fedic and Annola dragged him through the weeds.

They crawled atop the summit.

Clapping the Wraith cheered, "Hurray, we're here! I knew you could do it. _Bravo_! _Bravo_! _Bravetsema_!"

The briny breeze cooled his sweat soaked skin. He felt weary, out of breath, yet his heart trotted at a steady gait.

No-doubt that Fedic's doing.

Troll rose to his wobbling knees and helped Star to her feet.

Below, waves crashed against moss and seaweed covered rocks in rolling breaks. Gulls squawked as they circled they misty shoreline.

Troll glanced back at the leagues of forestry, mountain, (and though he could no longer see it), desert, and more woodland he'd conquered; all he'd overcome. He peered out toward the sea; that ocean-blue that stretched on and on.

Was this the blue door? The ocean?

Cough. Cough. Hack. Spit. Blood drizzled from the corner of Star's mouth. She asked, "Where are we?"

For a moment he'd forgotten her there. For a moment, as he gazed out at that eternity of blue, he just sort of slipped away from...everything.

Despite his manacles, Troll managed to embrace her. He whispered into her ear, "Where do ye think we are my dove? What do ye see?"

She sniffed the wind fluttering her thin curls about, and said, "I smell sea-salt." She reached out toward the ocean. Fingers spread; searching. She said, "I feel the breeze. I hear the roar of waves and squawking gulls." Her cachectic brow narrowed. Her nose slightly wrinkled, biting her lower lip. She asked, "Are we..." she shuddered and Troll nestled her tighter. "Are we upon the major bluffs?"

"Aye, my dove."

"Is it beautiful?"

He gazed out at the sun rising over the horizon, transforming that endless blue into an eternity of glimmering golden shimmers.

Shackles rattled as he cupped her chin. He peered into her cataract-riddled eyes, and whispered, "Not nearly as breathtaking as thee, my love."

Materializing from the mist, the Wraith purred, "Aw, that's so sweet. Truly, the sentiment warms my guts."

Pant. Gasp. Grunt. Fedic and Annola hauled the Dog up the summit.

Furion slouched behind, as if sulking.

Fshwoom

A tingling, numbing sensation coursed rapaciously through every fiber of Troll's being. He and Star dropped to their knees like swatted flies.

Fedic and Annola flung the Dog beside his friends.

The Dog rolled into Troll and Star and bowled them over.

The Wraith extended a taloned palm.

Their shackles unlatched and fell listlessly to the grass.

The Wraith drifted toward Star, and said, "You know how your compass is broken? The needle constantly bouncing to-and-fro? Well, it isn't broken. It just doesn't point toward north, like a regular compass."

Massaging his sore wrists, Troll grumbled, "So, if it doesn't point north, then where does it point?"

The Wraith chuckled, "How do I explain this? You see, there are other worlds than this one. Separate, yet all around us. But, there are ways to travel between realms. There are thin spots. Places where one can walk right into another world without even knowing it. The compass points to those thin spots. Go ahead, Star, take a look. Oh, that's right, you can't. You're blind." The Wraith held out his talon.

Star's compass shot from around her neck, breaking the chain, and floated through the air, toward Troll.

The instrument danced and waggled like Anne's once beloved ragdoll.

Anger swirling within him, Troll snatched it out of the air, opened it and gazed at the compass' face. Currently, the needle pointed directly at the Wraith.

The Wraith continued, "Naturally, the compass points toward the closest thin spot. But there are many thin spots now, and you've been traveling, so the compass couldn't zero-in on one particular area."

Troll stammered, "I don't understand."

"I do," growled the Dog.

The Wraith chuckled, drifted toward Troll, and wrapped an eidolon appendage around his shoulders. It said, "Don't you see, the gaps in time, shifting scenery, differing memories. You've been wandering through worlds this entire time. I've been directing you, pointing you where you needed to be in order to bring you here, to this one particular thin spot."

The sun rose in the sky.

The Wraith glanced upward, and said, "The time has come. Gaze upon the face of your true enemy." The Wraith grabbed its hood and pulled it off. The shadowy cloak dissipated, leaving a man standing where the Wraith had been. The man leaned toward Troll. Grinning wickedly, and in a voice Troll recognized, he asked, "See anything familiar?"

Troll gasped, "Oh, my God."

Urgency filling her voice, Star asked, "What is it? _Who_ is it?"

The man stood about Star's height. Lean and slim. He wore black pants and an odd, button-less, short-sleeved shirt, also black. His head shaved down to a neat stubble. Thin, black eye-brows. He had no beard, but his face looked exactly like the Dog's.

Growling fiercely, the Dog struggled to stand.

Fshwoom

Another energy blast from Fedic drove the Dog down.

Star asked, "Who is it? What's goin' on?"

Troll remembered his vision in the mountains before finding Montalvo and those cursed tomes. A figure stood before a great sea of carnage and decimation; a figure he's known for life-times."

Star urged, "Troll, answer me! What's goin' on?"

"I...I...I think it's the Dog."

"What!"

The Wraith snatched a dagger from the Dog's belt (currently wrapped around Fedic's waist). He grasped hold of the Dog's braided beard and cut it off. The Dog yelped. The Wraith dangled the beard from his chin, and said, "Look at me. Woof. Woof. I'm the Dog." His voice even sounded like the Dog's.

Furion, Fedic, and Annola cackled wildly.

Gaze dithering, Troll quavered, "I don't understand. "Brothers? Twins?"

The Wraith chuckled, "I'm afraid the answer to that question is _far_ too complicated."

"But I must know. Who are ye _really_?"

Giggling, the Wraith clasped his hands, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, so rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joshua King." He nodded at the Dog, and said, "And that miserable mutt is William James Mather, you can call him Jimmy, most folks do. Jimmy is the reason you're here. He's the one we want." Shaking his head, he waltzed toward Troll, and said, "And all this time, I bet you thought it was you."

Star asked, "Why us? Why are we here?"

Joshua King said, "Because we couldn't find Jimmy. He just up and wandered away one day in one world, as dogs often do. We needed you two to help us find him and bring him here."

Troll asked, "But why us? To what end?"

Donning a devilish smile, Joshua replied, "Oh, there are answers. But, not here. Not now. Now, we will take the one we want." He wafted his hand through the air, and a doorway of solid blue-light appeared where the compass needle pointed.

Whatever ye do, don't enter the blue door.

Hands out, as if reaching for alms, Troll cried, "The choice! Ye said a choice would be me made. Dog choses not go with ye." He asked the Dog, "Don't ye?"

The Dog growled at Joshua King.

"You're quite right," replied Joshua. He nodded toward the Dog, and said, "But, not for him. Fedic, if you please."

Fedic stood there glowing, at first it appeared nothing happened.

Annola staggered and swooned. She swept the back of her hand across her squamous forehead, and slurred, "Wait, what's happening? I don't understand."

Hands folded behind his back; smiling, Joshua offered Annola a gracious bow, and said, "I personally thank you for all your hard work, but your services will no longer be required."

"No wait!" Writhing and squirming, Annola crawled toward Joshua's feet, groveling, "I served you well. I served you well! Please don't!" But, by the time she got there, she had been drained dry.

Joshua, Furion, and Fedic roared in laughter.

Fedic pivoted and blasted the Dog through the blue door.

Joshua said to Fedic, "Go after and make sure everything is taken care of."

Fedic smiled and strolled through the portal of light. Then it closed, as if never even there.

Joshua waltzed toward Troll, and said, "The choice is for you. But first, I have one more promise to keep." He held out his hand. Star's holster unbuckled from around Annola's waist, and sailed into Joshua's awaiting grip. He pulled a shooter and let the holster (and other gun), drop to the grass in a muted thump.

Star asked, "What's happening?"

Troll snarled, "Our enemy has taken ownership of ye'r weapons."

"Hey!" She tried to rise to her feet. Joshua held out his other hand, and she froze mid-air.

Joshua aimed at Star, but his gaze remained glued to Troll's. Smiling, he said, "You're Dog did die, and now it's time for Star to die before ever you reach--"

A small dagger flew out of nowhere, bounced off a rock, and clattered to the ground.

"Ah, that must be the children. Furion, would you mind taking care of it. Feel free to eat them. They're purpose has been served."

Yum

Furion's voice echoed painfully around Troll's brains.

Furion slouched off.

Fists trembling, teeth clenched, Star hissed, "Monster."

Joshua pouted, "Damnit, those stupid twerps were early. I tell you, I had this all timed out perfectly. The way I pictured this..." Sigh. "It was supposed to be so beautiful. Oh, well." He shrugged, and then shot Star with her own gun.

Her chest exploded in a cloud of pink mist.

Troll roared, "No!" He lunged, but Joshua held out his hand, and Troll's muscles clenched up. Through restrained mandible, he managed to utter, "I'll kill thee."

"We'll see." Joshua wafted his other hand. The blue door reappeared. "Well, it's been fun, but I have ever so much to do, and there is very little time. I'm going to take my leave now, but first, as promised -- the choice. After I enter the blue door, it will disappear. Within moments, another shall appear. It will take you wherever you want to go."

Sputtering blood, Star lay wheezing in the grass. Every breath sounded like rain drops bouncing off church tarp.

Hot tears streaming down his face, Troll sniffled, "What do ye mean?"

Joshua continued, "You have a choice. You can either pursue me and try and rescue your Dog. Learn the answers you seek, the reason behind why all this is happening. Or, you can choose to life with Star."

He scoffed, "She won't live."

"Not in this world, no. But like I said, there are other worlds, other versions of her. Or you can simply chose to go back in time in this world. Now that we have the one we want, I will not mettle with you two. You can relive the life you had, without the Dog, of course. Find Star, fall in love all over again. Raise a litter of kids. All you have to do is enter the door with a thought in your mind, a mental picture if you will. Just think of where you want to go, and you'll be sent there." The Wraith sighed, and said, "Well, toodles." Then he vanished into the blue door of light. The doorway closed, and Troll was left alone with Star. With the Wraith and Fedic gone, he regained use of his body. He raced toward Star and scooped her up in his arms.

Trembling violently, she coughed up blood.

"Don't worry my dove, I will save ye."

Chest rattling, she gasped, "No. Save Dog. Kill that son-of-a-bitch. Kill them all."

"But I can't leave ye," he sobbed. "I won't."

"You have to," she ran the tips of her fingers down his scar, and said, "You have to. Something big is happening. Something bad. Stop it Troll. You have to stop it."

He cerebrated over the night he met her. She was in a local tavern, gazing at him from across the bar. Then she snuck up on their campsite; the Dog, in turn, slithered up behind her and threw her into the clearing. That look of untamed rage running wild in her emerald spangled gape. The curves of her lips. They dance they shared. The love they made.

Stroking her cheek, he kissed her.

She didn't kiss back. She was dead.

Heart shattering into a million pieces, Troll roared, "No!"

The blue door returned.

Crying, Troll held Star's limp body.

What should he do?

Everything he could remember rushed through his mind, like water breaking through a damn. In his mind he re-lived every moment spent with Star. Every caress, every kiss. No, he could not leave her. Not ever.

"What about the Dog?" he heard Star say in his mind. "You can't leave him either. The Troll I know, the one I fell in love with _wouldn't_ do that."

He peered at the doorway of shimmering light.

Whatever ye do, don't enter the blue door.

He gently placed Star's body on the grass and peered at the compass in his trembling grip. He had no choice. He had to enter the blue door one way or the other. The only question that remained, where should he go?

He couldn't live without Star. But would there be another Star if he went after the Dog? Would it even be _his_ Star or some doppelganger placed by the Wraith to tug at his already torn heart-strings?

But, she was right. Something big was happening. And he had to stop it. That was his purpose, God's plan for him.

Glaring at the glimmering portal, Troll snarled "Very well, then, into the breach." Then he pocketed the compass within his cloak, and sprinted headlong into the unknown.

His vision faded to blue. He seemed to hover weightlessly. His entire body tingled with an eerie, invasive feeling.

His vision cleared.

He stood on a wide road made of some black, hard substance. Preternatural lines of yellow and white painted the cracked and creviced street.

Voices chattered in cacophony. Honking sounds and blinking, colored lights dazzled the towering skyline. Thousands of people dressed in odd clothes shuffled about. It reminded him of Al'ber Que, but Al'ber Que this was not.

Large, metallic carriages zoomed past him.

Towers made of glass, brick, and steel scraped a smoggy, grey sky. Behemoth moving-pictures and flashing lights decorated the monolithic structures.

Where in the blue-hell was he?

A blaring honk sounded ahead. He pivoted. A large conveyance barreled straight for him. People were inside the contraption. A squealing, screeching sounded. Lights like eyes zeroed-in on him. A man inside tried to signal something; making a gesture he didn't understand.

Wham!

The conveyance slammed into him, sending him flying backward. He landed hard on the unusual road; bouncing the back of his head off the odd surface. His vision blurred. Head fuzzy.

Where was he?

Dark splotches formed in his vision. Head light. His eyelids felt heavy, but he willed himself to stay awake. Then all faded to black.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AFTERWORD, FOREWORD, AND SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE

Late. He sat in his favorite chair, smoking a cigar and sipping a snifter of brandy. He had done it. Another novel down. He'd written several books as well as a few dozen short stories, but none of them were like _this_.

Troll, Myriam Star, the Dog, the Wraith; he did not create those characters. He dreamt of them in a series of installments, as if watching a program on TV, like he was channeling it.

No matter. He'd just finished the first book. He knew the more he wrote this particular story, the more he dreamt, the more was revealed to him. He looked forward to yet another series of dreams that would account Troll and his trinity's journey out of Silverdale, and into the blistering unknown.

The trinity was headed for the desert. He even knew the name of it, the Mo'tave desert. But what came after that remained a mystery waiting unwrapping, like a gift of Christmas morn'.

He gazed at the words on his computer screen through strained eyes and weary head, and sighed satisfactorily. What trials awaited Troll and his friends? Only time would tell.

Saving the completed word document, he snuffed out the cigar in the ashtray and drained the remaining contents of his glass.

Excited and wondering what came next; the writer turned off his computer, and went to bed.

J.S.F

July, 2013

****

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joshua S. Friedman lives in the beautiful state of Michigan, where he enjoys the nature that inspires his writing.

OTHER BOOKS

The Chronicles of Dog and Troll: Book 1 – Of Dog and Troll

The Chronicles of Dog and Troll: Book 2 – The Diary of Myriam Star

I've Always Been a Poet, 'Though I Didn't Always Know It

COMING SOON

Twisted Falls – _a novel_

The Day The Whole World Went Away – _ebook_

Buy books, check out future titles, and get more info on me and the world of Dog and Troll

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