

OM CYCLE

LEGEND OF ALM

THE BOOKS

OF KNOWLEDGE

GRAHAM M IRWIN

Copyright © 2020 by Graham M. Irwin  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof  
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever  
without the express written permission of the publisher  
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2015

ASIN: 1505404673

Mandretti Press  
887 Muir Way  
Seattle, WA 98105

www.omcycle.weebly.com

Before beginning, all was as a single point in the ether.

There was no difference.

Then there came a division, and the all became parts, and the parts repelled their new opposites, until the light clung together from the dark, substance bore distinction to nothingness, and separations became fixed.

So it is today that the universe is in the middle of its journey, far from home, yet headed toward reconciliation.

-Nee, The Legend, Chapter 5
1

392 AF

"I'm home!" Slate Ahn announced as he came through the front door of his stone hut. He was tired after three days spent hunting in the Blue Forest, and had little to show for the effort, but looking forward to a bed.

The little hut stood snug and silent, dark and empty.

"I'm home," Slate repeated sadly, to himself.

He set his things down to start a fire in the fireplace with an instabrick, and then lit a candle from it. The family of furry squee that shared the tiny hut shrieked and ran from the light, following Slate when he took the gnars he had caught into the kitchen. Slate wasn't overly fond of squee, as they were always gnawing on his toes when he slept and leaving their droppings everywhere, but he appreciated them being around if only for the company. He had otherwise been alone for almost seven months now, ever since his brother and then father had left to find work in the south. And while Slate occasionally spoke with the other villagers in Alleste, their numbers were dwindling, too. Everyone was leaving to stake their claim in the new prosperity the south of the island was experiencing, and it seemed as if it wouldn't be long until the whole village was empty. Rumors of technological wonders and the ease and abundance they afforded made it sound like life was changing exponentially for the rest of the planet Alm, while the farthest reaches of civilization, places such as Slate's Alleste, on the remote island of Aelioanei, seemed to be regressing for standing still. And so did Slate. All he needed was word from his father that he had secured a foothold in the south, and he could leave his lonely, backwater life behind.

It hadn't always been like this. Slate could remember days in his youth spent collecting flowers with his mother and fishing with his brother. Days when the village was bustling, when there was always some new light gossip to keep things interesting, and everyone knew and was there for one another.

After skinning the three gnar he had snared and discovering they were even scrawnier than he had imagined, Slate cooked the meat in the fireplace with some potala. He could easily have eaten all three of the animals, he was that hungry, but finding even that much meat had been difficult. He had to ration what little there was.

"I bet they never go hungry down south," he said to the reflection of himself shining in the bottom of a hanging brist pot, as he put the other gnar into the one cabinet in the kitchen that the squee hadn't yet infiltrated. "I'm going to eat myself sick when I get there." Slate grabbed his thin face and then tried to make sense of the mess of brown hair he had trapped under a hat for three days, to no avail.

With the excitement for the night spent, he sank his lanky body into his father's chair next to the fireplace. He took from the table next to the chair The Legend, the only book in the house, in fact one of the few books in all of Alleste, to read again one of its stories for what could easily have been the hundredth time. Whenever he read The Legend, he heard the words in his mother's voice. She had read from it to Slate and his younger brother, Greene, every night when they were children. The tales in The Legend were about the Nelahim, the fabled race of Gods that lived on Alm in the previous age. They were filled with heroes and villains, soaring victories and crushing defeats. And Slate and Green's mother had always been able to tell them as if the universal lessons they taught were her own. Ruth Ahn passed away when Slate was ten years old, but six years later she still lived on vividly when he would read her book.

After finishing the tale of Hent and Ote, one of the shorter legends, about a pair of friends who were separated their whole lives by circumstance, only to be buried in neighboring graveyards, and have trees grow up from their respective graves and eventually intertwine over the graveyard wall, Slate closed the book's cover carefully, and set it back down on the table. He looked out a thick-paned window at the rising moon and sighed.

Not so much because he was tired, but because there was nothing else left to do, Slate rose to sort the fire out for the night and go to bed. As he was crossing to where the poker was resting against the mantle, he noticed an envelope on the floor by the front door. The weekly postal delivery must have come while he was away. The envelope probably contained more money from his father, Slate thought. It was nice of his father to send, but there was little in Alleste to buy with government notes, apart from Mrs. Gainee's preserves or Old Man Crowthall's awful zhin pies.

Upon opening the envelope, Slate was surprised to find that there wasn't any money inside. When he shook it upside-down to make sure, a single piece of folded paper fell twirling to the ground. Slate unfolded the paper as he walked back to the fireplace for better light. He stoked the coals he had just worked to extinguish and squinted to read.

At first, he couldn't believe what he had read. Perhaps the room was too dark. Slate knelt down to be closer to the orange glow from the fireplace and read the letter again. He hadn't misread it. His father had found steady work in Airyel, on the southwestern coast of their island. And he was ready for Slate to join him.

Slate had to read the letter a third time to make sure it was real. He rose slowly, as if from a dream, and then sat back down on his father's chair in disbelief. Was it really true? Could he finally leave Alleste? The loneliness, the hunger? The squee?

As reality started to sink in, Slate was so overjoyed that he couldn't help but cry. All the sadness he had been holding in washed out as he read the letter over and again, until his tears fell over a huge smile. This was Slate's ticket out. He felt like his prayers had been answered.

There was no specific address in the letter at which Slate was to find his father, as he was apparently still securing permanent housing, but Gael Ahn could be found at his new jobsite, one of the Jarry Company mines that was fueling Airyel's boom.

"Can you believe it?" Slate asked the squee that had been making its way over the mantle.

The little animal stopped and squeaked as if to say, no, he couldn't.

Slate didn't wait until morning to leave. He was too excited to sleep. He added The Legend and what little food was left in the hut into a sack that had been packed for months, making sure to leave some seeds out for the squee, made sure the fire was completely out, and then locked the door behind him before skipping down the front path beneath the glow of the full moon. He nodded good-bye to his and then every other house he passed as he made his way to the end of Main Road. At the intersection of Main and Honeymarrot, Slate turned back to see forested Alleste sitting silent in the moonlight, little trails of smoke rising from its chimneys, and bowed farewell. He then turned around and started south down the Janos Trail toward what he was sure would be something better.
2

Slate's adrenaline and excitement wore off not long after leaving home, when his body reminded him how tired he was from hunting. He stopped, and slept atop a pile of fallen needles in a pine grove not three lengths from Alleste.

Slate probably could have spent another night at home for all the progress he made that first night, but it felt good to wake up already on the trail the next morning. He ate some of the fruit and nut mix he had brought, washed his face and hands in a clear puddle, and continued south.

It occurred to Slate when he stopped for a drink sometime later that he had no exact idea how to get to Airyel. He had always just planned to go 'to the south' when the time came. As it stood, Slate reasoned, the wisest thing to do would be to head for the Blue Bridge. All roads led to the Blue Bridge, which spanned the Nenturon River Divide and separated the island of Aelioanei into North and South.

Slate walked for hours on the Janos Trail, with little to stop his mind from wandering. He wondered if his brother or father had taken the same path he was on. If they had been as frightened or felt as small. The trail sank deep, to where the soil never thawed, and little grew, save for some strange, stringy-looking plants. It then climbed up into fern-covered, cleft hills which Slate made a game of by rolling his pack up over their tops, and running to grab it rolling down their other sides. He felt like one of his favorite characters from the Legend, Mareay Grat, racing through the woods with little in his bag but great hopes in his heart.

After a long day, as the sun shared its last light with the Blue Forest, Slate came upon a pond at which he decided to rest. He set his shoes and his pack into the barrel of a snag fallen alongside the pond, then climbed inside it himself. In the blue hour, with the forest moody and without hiking to distract him, Slate had time to think and feel a bit foolish for having left Alleste without really knowing where he was going, and a little fearful when he considered that he was as far from home as he'd ever been. Eventually, though, the peace and serenity of the forest overtook his troubled mind, and he nodded off to sleep.

There was rain during the night, unbeknownst to Slate in his warm tree trunk, and it gave the air the next morning a fresh and invigorating smell. Coming out of the fallen tree, the animals of the forest greeted Slate with chatter and activity, and he felt reassured and immediately less alone.

After many lengths on the trail, Slate was relieved to see that the Blue Forest broke in the distance. A crescendo of white noise rose as he approached the break, and when the forest finally opened up, onto a rocky, surf-battered beach, Slate was staggered.

Like most Allestians, Slate rarely travelled beyond the hunting grounds immediately surrounding the village. He had never seen anything approaching the immensity of the ocean before, apart from the sky. Lake Mhio, where he had spent countless summer days floating with his brother, was now a thimble-full of water compared to the vast, unceasing gray blue before him. Staring out into the panorama of fiery white sun glints dazzling the rolling waters, Slate's periphery was clear for what felt like the first time in his life, interrupted only by wisps of falling clouds. He took in deep breaths of the ocean air and his head swam.

When he came to the tide line, Slate dipped his hands into the water. He splashed in the coolness and tasted some from his cupped hand, which was as salty as he had heard and even more disgusting than he had imagined. After a long time spent simply standing in the surf and listening to the rush of the waves, Slate continued south, walking along the edge of the tide, observing waterbugs scramble about the rocks and birds coasting motionlessly on the wind.

The sun had started to set and Slate's pale skin was already sunburned when he came to a weathered signpost along the edge of the beach that told him he was near the Blue Bridge. The history of the old bridge stretched all the way back to The Legend, and Slate couldn't help but feel excited. How many summer afternoons had he and his brother spent dreaming about crossing the famed structure, and what might lay beyond? Though quite tired and sore from two long days of endless hiking, for at least the immediate moment, all other worries were as far from Slate's mind as he was from home.

The beach narrowed, as evergreen forest overtook the shoreline. Flutterbys whipped about in the shafts of amber twilight light that fingered their way through the trees, and preening redbirds called from them to deep echoes from the bay. Slate was buoyed up by their song and covered quick ground, reaching the Blue Bridge before sundown.

As he neared the Nenturon River Divide, a roar unlike anything he had heard before arose from somewhere deep in the mist rising so thick that Slate couldn't see into it. Only a winding footpath that lead up to a stone tower from which the bridge spanned could be discerned. Slate approached the tower, the roar of the water so loud in his ears that he could hardly think. He fought against the impossible wind shears slicing around the tower as he staggered up the stairs.

At the top of the stone footpath, he came to a wooden door. He pushed hard on the door, to no effect. He then seized a knot of Hent tied to the door's thick handle and pulled. This caused the door to groan encouragingly, and so Slate took the knot in both hands and braced himself on the silty ground. He pulled as hard as he possibly could. The door jerked twice, and then finally broke open, sending Slate falling backwards. He got back up, adjusted his pack, and headed through the doorway.

Inside, the roar of the divide was muted. An atrium revealed itself in the fast-fading daylight, sparse, and decorated with little save for two trees, one hull and one banch, standing on opposing sides of the entrance to the bridge on the other side.

As Slate was crossing the atrium, a wind blew through the divide and the bridge became visible. Though, it was far from the massive structure he and his brother had imagined, in reality no more than a worn suspension bridge. A discomforting creak sounded from its crusty ropes as it swayed from side to side, and Slate questioned if it were even safe to use.

He swallowed hard and placed a foot onto the first plank to see. The plank groaned under his weight but held. He took another step. Then another. He had almost gained confidence when the fourth plank snapped, and Slate dropped. He barely managed to catch himself on the third plank as the fourth's shards tumbled down into the mist, then struggled and cursed trying to pull himself back up as a powerful gale came along to pull at his legs. Somehow, he managed to make it back up over the planks and onto the ledge without losing his sack.

He sat there panting between the trees and stared at the bridge for a moment, then turned back to the atrium. He looked it over, weighing whether it would be better to stay the night and wait until morning or press on.

"Staying here won't help anything," he said to himself. "I'm not tired, and crossing won't get any easier if I wait. The darker the better, I don't want to see what's down there, anyways."

Gulping down his fear, Slate rose, gripped the side ropes of the bridge tightly, and began again. He took a long step over the missing plank when he came to it, and found that the next held his weight. As did the one after that. Slowly but surely, Slate progressed. When enough planks had held, and he remembered to breathe, he looked back to see the embankment disappearing into the night. He redoubled his focus and continued.

The middle section of the rickety bridge swayed and jerked so much in the wind that it made progress near impossible. Slate squeezed his eyes shut and clung desperately to the withered ropes as screaming shears forced their way through the divide. Brief breaks in the winds afforded Slate short spurts of movement in what was now near pitch-black night, on account of heavy cloud cover.

After a long, confusing time, whipped back and forth in billowing, black-gray mist, Slate saw the other side of the bridge. He raced over the remaining planks with breathless abandon and leapt onto a stone mount, where he was greeted by two smiling statues. He smiled broadly at the statues, and jumped twice just to feel the stone under his feet. He looked back at the bridge fading into the void of the dark divide, shuddered, and then hopped down a short staircase onto the black soil of eastern Aelioanei.

Thrilled at his success, Slate practically bounced down the path from the bridge, until he came to a split where two signs were posted. The clouds parted and moonlight cut through, illuminating the signs. One of them read "Adantals-sub-Aislin," and showed an arrow to the north, while the other showed an arrow pointing southeast, toward "Haijoor." In theory, Slate should have headed south. Yet one of the few things he knew about the southern half of the island was that Aislin was one of its largest cities.

"I'm just about out of food," he said to himself. "I need supplies. I think Aislin is probably best right now."

A noiraven perched on the signpost cawed.

"Yes. Caw indeed, Mr. Noiraven," Slate replied. "Here's hoping I'm headed the right way, eh?"

He shared some of the last of his nuts with the bird and then set up in a root tangle, where he fell asleep underneath the same woven blanket he had used his entire life, which could make even a root tangle in a far-off forest feel like home.

3

The eastern side of Aelioanei was much different from the west. The trees were larger, and their leaves colored differently by the coming winter, the indigos and blues of the northern forests replaced by oranges and reds. Slate moved with wonder through the new environment, the thick growth around him alive with grunts and calls of wild beasts and birds. The cacophony was quite unlike anything he had heard before, and disorienting at first. Eventually, Slate began to recognize the musical patterns in the different animal calls, how they all answered each other and set countless countermelodies and new rhythms into motion as the song progressed. Taking every opportunity to relish the wonderland, smelling every new flower and inspecting every new insect he came upon, Slate made his way through winding lengths of what he termed the Orange Forest.

He came around a bend to hear an awful growling noise, something both terrifying and pathetic at the same time. Slate stepped off the trail to seek out the source of the noise, and found it coming from a hulking, white snarlingwulf. He was alarmed and surprised to see such a rare creature, before realizing the shaggy beast had gotten itself caught in a tree root. Slate's first instinct was to leave, as snarlingwulfs were reputedly vicious monsters, but as he went to turn the animal let out such a pitiful howl that Slate couldn't help but feel sorry for it. The poor beast was trapped, as trapped as Slate had been in Alleste. He just couldn't leave it to suffer.

Slate approached the animal warily, with no real idea of what he was going to do. The wulf gnashed its teeth and pulled its ears down to its head in a show of angry fear.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm only trying to help you," Slate said. "I... just don't know how."

The animal opened and snapped shut its jaws and tried to lunge at Slate, but couldn't budge. It fell upon itself in a great bluster.

"Hey, do you want me to help or not?" Slate asked, putting his hands on his hips.

The snarlingwulf rolled a reluctant growl deep in its throat and didn't move when Slate came closer to examine how exactly it was trapped. The tough nadderwood root had split the animal's heel, and the wound had been exacerbated by the animal's writhing.

"You've made quite a mess of yourself," Slate said.

The snarlingwulf grunted.

"I'm going to try to get your leg free, okay? But you can't attack me, alright?"

The animal turned its head, reluctantly agreeing.

Slate found a tough piece of nadderwood lying nearby and stuck it into the root tangle where the snarlingwulf was caught, then began to rock it slowly back and forth. He slipped as he did so, knocking against the animal's wound and causing it to shriek in pain. But it didn't lunge at Slate now. It accepted his apology and stayed patiently still while Slate continued to work to free it.

Slate put all his weight on the nadderwood and the root finally broke. The snarlingwulf pulled its leg free and ran from where Slate had fallen from the force of the root breaking. It licked its wound, and then paused for a moment, staring Slate straight in the eye, before limping away.

"You're welcome!" Slate shouted after the snarlingwulf. "Not even a thank you. Unbelievable."

He continued on toward Aislin, feeling rather proud and now brave. He wondered what his brother or father would say about his having saved a snarlingwulf. Surely, they'd be impressed.

The sun was nearly set now, and the woods started to flicker with tiny blue fireflies. Slate was marveling at the tiny bursts of light when, without warning, a figure in a green cowl dropped down onto the trail with a loud smack. The figure rose up and lifted an arrow-primed bow towards Slate's chest.

"Your pack or your life," a voice from under the cowl threatened.

Slate was startled, but not shaken. In one swift movement, he used his left hand to knock the arrow pointed at him away, then ducked and swung his leg out, which managed to stagger the stranger, though not bring him down.

At this, three more figures rose out of the surrounding brush, two of which had their own arrows drawn. The third was surely the biggest person Slate had ever seen, and carried a massive club in his left hand. Slate knew immediately that he was outmatched.

"I'm sorry! Please don't hurt to me!" he managed to blurt out, putting his hands up and slinking back from the figure in the cowl.

"Ha!" the man laughed. "A big show and now he's scared, is that right? I ask again: Your pack, or your life? This is not threat, it's a choice."

One of the other men added, "And you should choose, now."

Slate began to sweat. He stuttered as the three other hijackers surrounded him. The huge one batted Slate to the ground with a lazy swipe of his hand and then pinned him down under a massive boot.

"What's the matter, little one?" one of the men taunted. "Are you..."

He couldn't get his last word out, because the wounded snarlingwulf Slate had rescued earlier came exploding out of the woods in a burst of sticks and leaves. The animal landed on the back of the hulking brute of the group, freeing Slate, then sank its huge teeth into the back of the hijacker, who howled and wailed and thrashed as his accomplices ran for the woods. When the snarlingwulf had sufficiently shredded the brute's back, he pivoted off, to capture the fleeing leader of the criminals. With a snap-crunch and twist of the neck, the man in the green cowl was thrown into a tree. He hit it with a loud crack and then slid down the trunk, unconscious.

The snarlingwulf then joined Slate's side, barking and howling at the other men who had dropped their things and were fleeing into the woods. Slate wasn't quite sure if he was going to be next, and so he stood petrified with fear, waiting for the creature's next move.

When it became apparent that the wulf wasn't going to tear into him, Slate picked up his things.

"Thank you," he said awkwardly to the panting animal, before resuming warily on down the trail. Within a few steps it became apparent was that the snarlingwulf was following after.

"You're not going to eat me, are you?" Slate asked, turning to face the animal. "I don't have any food to give you."

The snarlingwulf came closer and closer to Slate, who stood his ground as best he could while trying to tremble as little as possible. The animal came so close Slate could feel its warm breath as it panted. Slate was just about to break into a panicked run when the wulf stuck out his snout and gave his face a wash with its giant tongue.

Slate moaned and wiped the awful-smelling saliva from his face. "Is that all you wanted to do?" he asked. When the animal licked him again, Slate tried to act happy about it and returned the affection with the best chest-scratching he could manage.

"Well, thank you, very much, for the help," Slate said after the scratch-down. "Maybe we'll meet up again someday." He turned again to walk away, now without any fear that the animal might do him harm. But the wulf started again to follow.

"I already told you, I don't have any food," Slate said.

This did nothing to dissuade the creature.

"And I have no idea where I'm going, either."

The wulf didn't seem to mind.

"Well, you can do whatever you want. But if you're going to keep following me, I'm going to have to give you a name, you know that, right?"

The animal was walking closer to Slate now, more at his side than behind.

"You remind me of Pilotte, from The Legend. Do you know that story?" Slate asked.

This provoked something like a smile from the beast.

"I think you do! Well that's going to have to be your name, then," Slate said. "Pilotte. Are you going to come with me all the way to Aislin, Pilotte?"

The animal trotted along as well as it could on its wounded leg.

"I'll take that as a solid maybe. It's a good thing, too. I needed a traveling partner," said Slate. "And we'll get something to eat soon, okay?"

With Pilotte at his side, Slate felt much less scared. He had someone to talk to, and something to care for. He didn't know how long the wulf would stay around, but he hoped it would be long enough to see his wound healed, and to repay him for his help.

4

Slate talked at length to Pilotte as the two made their way through the woods, and though Pilotte couldn't talk back, Slate could tell the wulf enjoyed his various retellings of stories from The Legend, and that the wulf empathized when Slate talked about how lonely he had been in Alleste. Pilotte was the best kind of friend, the kind that listened without judgement, and for this Slate made sure he got the most of any food the two scavenged along their way.

When the woods finally ceded ground to plains, Slate could see Aislin in the distance. Pilotte seemed hesitant to follow Slate out of the woods, but when Slate didn't push the issue, offering the choice to stay or leave, the animal ultimately decided to follow after.

Crossing a long field that turned into a backyard, Slate was met with a happy wave from the first Aislinean he encountered, a woman working in her garden. He waved back. When the woman caught sight of Pilotte, however, she screamed in horror and ran inside, and so Slate hurried quickly through the rest of her yard to the street in front of the house.

He was amazed at its craftsmanship of the street when he came to it. The bricks were so uniform, the whole of it was so level and of such parallel width, stretching on in both directions in a thick ribbon for what looked like lengths. It was unlike anything he had seen before. He stepped onto it almost warily, then started toward the city skyline with Pilotte close behind.

Along the sides of the brick road were several large estates of equally impressive construction, dotted with houses and pagodas. Such were the sizes of the mansions' plots that Slate and Pilotte accidentally walked off the main road up one or another of their giant drives multiple times, mistaking them for the main thoroughfare.

"I only thought there was ever one castle in a town," Slate remarked to Pilotte.

The two were passed by several horse carts as they progressed. Slate tried to get the attention of the passing drivers, to ask where he might find something to eat or information, but invariably, when they got a look at him, covered in the crust of the forest and accompanied by a giant snarlingwulf, they would speed hastily by.

Parting with Pilotte was apparently out of the question, but Slate figured he should probably do something to make himself more presentable, at any rate. He stopped to splash some water onto his face, to clear away some grime and tame his knotted hair. A voice surprised him as he was doing so.

"That's disgusting."

Slate whipped around, splashing the girl he saw standing there. She stood nearly as tall as he, and looked to be around the same age. Her dark brown eyes made her intentions hard to discern.

"I'm sorry?" Slate asked.

The girl laughed, her smile radiant and warm, and replied, "You don't need to be sorry. But washing your face in road water is disgusting. And unsanitary."

Slate thought this a bit forward, but ignored it and went back to washing.

"Where are you from?" the girl asked. "Is that your wulf?"

"I don't own him," Slate said, continuing to scrub. "But he likes to follow me. I don't think you can own a snarlingwulf."

"No, I wouldn't think you can. I can't believe how docile he is."

"Well, we're friends."

"What's your name?" the girl asked. "My name is Arianna Falls."

"My name is Slate," Slate answered. "Slate Ahn."

"Hello, Slate Ahn. Do you live here in Aislin?"

"No, I come from Alleste."

"Alleste? What, did you walk here?"

"Yes."

"You're joking. That's a week-long walk. That explains why you look like that. You look sick," Arianna said. "So does your wulf. What's happened to its paw?"

"It was caught in a root. I freed it. I don't think I'm sick, I just haven't slept or eaten properly in days, and I've been walking for lengths. Made it here in four days, actually."

"You really did walk here? All the way from Alleste? In only four days?"

"Yes. I'm on my way to Airyel, to join my father. He's found work there."

"Oh. Airyel's very far away, Slate. How do you plan to get there?"

"Same way I got here. Walking."

"It would be an awfully long walk."

"I like walking. Only thing wrong was that it was a bit lonely, before I met Pilotte. I haven't seen any people for days. Well, except for when I was jumped by some thugs, anyways."

"Did they hurt you?"

"No. But they tried. Pilotte took care of them."

Arianna took a moment to stare into Slate's tired eyes before asking, "Why don't you come with me, back to my house? It's just up the hill here, it's not far. You can get a proper wash, and something to eat. Maybe a good sleep. And we can bandage your wulf's ankle."

"That's very kind of you, but I'm really only trying to find some supplies."

"Do you have any money?"

"Why?"

"Rooms in town are very expensive. And so are supplies. And I doubt they'd board your wulf."

"Oh. Well just how far am I from Airyel?"

"I told you, quite far. Do you have any family or friends here? Do you know anyone in Aislin?" Arianna asked.

"No, I don't," Slate admitted.

"Well then where do you think you're going to go? You can't go downtown looking like that, you'll get arrested."

"Arrested for what? What have I done wrong?

"You've done nothing wrong, at least that I know of. But people around here don't understand anymore that someone can look like you do and not be a criminal," Arianna explained. "Things are strange lately. People are suspicious."

Slate saw a flash of sadness in the girl's eyes that mirrored his own. He could tell, somehow, that Arianna was a kindred soul. The first such connection he had made in months overwhelmed him, and he couldn't keep his eyes from welling with tears.

"Oh, come now, don't cry, Slate," Arianna said softly. "Wouldn't it be better instead to come with me, to get some food and clean clothes?"

Letting down his defenses, Slate wiped the tears from his eyes and answered, "I'd be very grateful for that, Arianna. Please, yes."

"There we are. This way, follow me."

Slate and Pilotte followed Arianna up from the road to a great, white house, then up its wide staircase to the front patio, where they moved into the shade.

"Wipe your feet," Arianna said as she opened the front door.

The strong odor of astringent medtermint bit Slate in the nose as he passed into the house.

"Arianna, bluebird, go around back please, dear! I'm washing the floors," called a warm voice from one of the hallways leading off the main entryway.

"But, Mom, I need to speak with you! I've got someone I want you to meet," Arianna called back.

"Well, how about you and your friend go into the kitchen and have some berry folds while I finish up? We must have the floors clean for your many guests, after all!"

"Very funny," Arianna mumbled under her breath as she pulled Slate back onto the front porch.

Slate was led around to the back of the house.

"My mother would kill me if we let your wulf in before a bath," said Arianna. "Do you think he'd mind waiting here?"

"No idea. Pilotte?" Slate asked the wulf. "Would you mind waiting here?"

The wulf circled itself and sat down with a huge sigh.

"Looks like he'll be alright," said Slate.

"He's very well trained," Arianna said.

"But he's not trained at all," Slate said, following Arianna through a set of double doors.

The doors led into a kitchen, one larger than Slate's entire house back in Alleste. Wooden counters rose from a red-and-orange-tiled floor interrupted by three iron ovens and another, open-flame, hot-stone oven. One of the iron oven's burners had a flame glowing under a steaming, cast-iron pot, which hiccupped as it stewed.

Slate's eyes focused on the center island counter, where he espied half-chopped nuts heaped in a big mound next to some conoma shavings. Off to the side of that were three berry folds.

"Fold?" Arianna offered.

"Yes, please! I love them," Slate said. "My brother and I used to get them at Assemblies."

"Assemblies? You went to multiple Assemblies?" Arianna gasped. "How? Why?"

"What, you never did?" Slate asked. "I thought everybody had."

"Hardly. Very few people from Aislin got to go to Assemblies. Your family must have been special."

"Not at all. There just weren't many people in Alleste to go, more likely."

"You actually saw the reenactment of the Tahal, and everything?" Arianna asked.

"I did," Slate sighed. "A couple of times. Only time all year we ever got to leave the village was to go to the Great Hall for those Assemblies."

Arianna shook her head. "Here I thought I met a... puddle-washer, and you've been to an Assembly. Tell me; were the Aislinean representatives ever any good? In the reenactments? My friend Brenna got to play Maro Aislin one year and I saw her audition and I'm sorry but it wasn't very good."

"Well, mainly my brother and I would try to make each other laugh during the reenactments, so I can't say that I remember any of them too precisely. I do remember that I bit through my lip one time trying not to laugh," Slate said. "I laughed anyways."

"Oh, the Gods themselves," Arianna said. "An Assembly! That's so exciting." She stared off in thought for a moment. "It's too bad there's no chance to go anymore. We really lost something when the Great Hall shut down."

"That was pretty much the end for Alleste, that's for sure."

"Oh?"

"Absolutely. Trade effectively ended after the Assemblies stopped. No one came north anymore. My brother left soon after the last," said Slate, "To try and find work. Most of the village left, really."

"Where did they go?" Arianna asked.

"South. Isn't that where everyone's going these days?"

"Seems that way."

"My father and I stayed longer than most, but the farm wasn't producing enough for us to eat in the past few years, even with what we could supplement with hunting. So much colder than in years past. So, he left, too, about seventh months ago. He's been sending me money every now and again. Not that there was anything to buy with it. I miss him. I can't wait to see him again."

"What about your mother?"

"She died when I was little."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Anyways, my father sent me a letter, that he found a place for us in Airyel. And, like I said, I met Pilotte on the way," Slate said. "I didn't intend to walk here, to Aislin. To be honest, it's kind of funny, but I don't really know the way to Airyel. I just left home with some dried fruit and nuts. I knew I had to go south, of course. Thank goodness for trail signs. I came here because I was hoping someone might point me in the right direction. And I was hoping I could get some more supplies for the rest of the trip."

"We'll have to get you some real food, then," Arianna said. She moved around the kitchen, finding a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, a few sticks of jerky, and butter. She put it all on a wooden plate with a knife and carried it over to Slate, who was then finishing his second fold.

"Thank you so much, Arianna. This is so unexpected, I don't know how I can repay you," he said, before setting voraciously into a meat stick while his mouth was still full of fold. "I hope it's not too much to ask, but do you think you have anything for Pilotte? To eat?"

"I doubt we have enough to satiate a snarlingwulf, but I'll see what I can find. And you don't have to repay me. You're in need of help."

"It's very kind of you, Arianna."

"Well. So, what are you going to do now?" Arianna asked. "That you're in Aislin? Now that you found help and direction?"

"Um," Slate managed between gulps, "Rest up for a day or two, I think that would be best. But not for too long. I want to stay ahead of the coming winter and get to Airyel before the mountains gets too snowy. A big storm could be really bad."

"I thought that you don't know where Aislin is?"

"I don't. Exactly."

"It's on the southeastern shore, Slate."

"Well, there you go. And I have to pass over the mountains to get there, right?"

"Possibly. Do you know where your father is in Airyel?"

"Not exactly."

"How do you think you'll find him?"

"I can go to his jobsite. He works at one of the Fundal Jarry mines."

"Is it really that easy? To find one person in a city of hundreds of thousands?"

"I don't know. This is all pretty new to me."

"Well then, why don't you stay here in Aislin for more than a few days?" Arianna asked. "To let Pilotte rest up? To get a better bearing on where you're headed?"

"I don't know anyone here."

"It doesn't sound like you know anyone anywhere."

"That's not true," Slate said, searching his mind for proof. He didn't find any. "I know Pilotte. I know people."

"You're right, you do," Arianna said. "You know me. And you'll know my mom soon. Look, we have a big huge house and it's just me and Mom and my brother and sister. There's a thunderstorm system blowing in, you don't want to head out in that. You should stay here and rest up and get some weight on those bones and let Pilotte heal and then think about what to do."

"It is a big house for just three people. What about your dad? Where is he?"

"My dad died when I was little. Like your mom."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I don't know, Arianna. I kind of wanted to get to Airyel as soon as possible. What'll I do here, anyways?"

"Well, I have school all day, ugh," Arianna huffed, "But when I get done, I can show you around town, and, I don't know, we can... wash our faces in puddles?"

Slate stopped eating. "You're in school?" he asked.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately? That's amazing! I've always wanted to go to school. We didn't even have one in Alleste. All we ever learned about was farming and hunting."

"So maybe we can teach you a bit more while you're here, too. Go ahead and fill up while I ask Mother to get the guest room ready."

"Really, Arianna?" Slate asked. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, okay, then. Thank you so, so much."

Slate was in dire need of help but felt uneasy taking it. It wasn't the way he had been raised. An Allestian was supposed to be self-reliant. But he was beyond weary, and Arianna and her copious kitchen could have convinced him of just about anything that morning.

5

Slate slept for nearly two days straight. The Falls had all left the house for the day when he finally awoke and exited the guest room to descend the winding staircase to the first floor. Entering the kitchen with a yawn, he found a plate of nuts and fruit out on the table. He sat and ate as the rising sun warmed his body through the picture windows on the southeast side of the house.

After breakfast, in the strange suspension of time that occurs in a large, empty house, Slate wandered from room to room, looking at the art on the walls and the various knickknacks and heirlooms that were tucked away into shelves and corners. He followed a tight hallway lined with a family tree of portraits to where it opened up into a giant library which rose a full two stories. The library ceiling was painted as the evening sky, a dark royal blue in a gradient to light purple, and dotted with tiny, glittering stars. Slate simply could not believe the number of books that were in the library. He hadn't ever imagined there were so many in the whole world, much less in one home. He read the covers as he walked to the center of the library, where a leather-bound atlas the size of Slate's upper half was spread open on an iron stand, alongside a desk covered with map-making tools and smaller atlases. The huge atlas was opened to a map of a land named Fjird. Slate had never heard of Fjird, nor did he know how to pronounce it. Fjird appeared to have only two cities, the rest of its land dominated by mountain ranges, and the whole place was covered by snow, as evidenced by the map's coloring. Slate studied the strange map for a long while, imagining what life must be like for people in icy Fjird, a place seemingly even more desolate than northern Aelioanei.

He didn't want to disturb anything in the library without permission, and so Slate walked back through the house and into the kitchen, where he now noticed the pile of dishes in the sink. He decided the pile would be a good place to start his contribution to the housework.

First, Slate leaned out the back door to make sure Pilotte was still there. The wulf stood up when Slate appeared, stronger on his healing ankle than he had been days before.

"Hi buddy! They been feeding you?" Slate asked.

The wulf came closer and nuzzled its snout into Slate's chest.

"Thanks for waiting while I slept, big guy," Slate said. "I was more exhausted than I knew. It looks like you got a bath! Did you get a bath?"

Pilotte's mouth fell open into a smile.

"What good people these Falls are, huh? We sure got lucky. Want to come inside while I get some work done?"

Pilotte continued to smile.

"Well, come on then. I'll get you some more grub."

Slate gave Pilotte all the meat from the ice box he felt he could without taking too much, which Pilotte made short work of.

"That was it, friend," Slate said as Pilotte licked over the bones left after his feast. "There's no more. Now, I'm going to do some dishes. Mind staying here?"

The giant animal fell on the floor in front of the window and let out a whiny yawn.

"That's the way," Slate said. "Just give me some time, and then we'll go for a walk later, okay?"

Pilotte was too happy in his sunbeam to answer.

When Slate was finished with the dishes, he moved on to sweeping out the floors. He was just starting in the entryway when Mrs. Falls happened to come through the front door. She was a kind-looking woman, with a warm smile, and heavy lids and dark circles hiding behind her thick glasses.

"Hello, Slate," she said, surprised to see him awake. "He is risen! And what a good guest he is, sweeping the floors."

Slate diffused the praise, saying, "Oh, it's the least I can do. I did the dishes, too, and if there's anything else you may need done while I'm here, please just ask."

"Well, I'm happy for the help, but you'll be required to do no more than your fair share of the housework, no more than anyone else," Mrs. Falls said as she searched for a place to set down the shopping bags she was carrying.

"Let me get those for you," Slate offered. He took the three brightly colored bags and asked, "Where do these need to end up?

"If you'd put them up in the bathroom in my bedroom, that would be perfect," Mrs. Falls said. "I'll start on dinner and finish this sweeping. Why don't you get outside a bit, get some fresh air and have a look around? Don't go too far, though. We don't want you getting lost again."

"I wasn't lost before," Slate said.

"Well. Go ahead up to my room now, and just be back for dinner at seven."

Slate carried the shopping bags up the staircase and down the hall into the master bedroom, then headed back down the stairs and whistled for Pilotte. The huge animal squeezed itself through the hallway from the kitchen, and then the two headed out the front door.

Tall grass mixed with rich brown threa that shone bright orange in the late-day sun alongside the road that Slate made his way down through the quiet countryside. He could hear the tinkling sounds of dozens of wind chimes dance across the landscape as the cool breeze made its way west.

Slate was enjoying the serenity when a mirage down the way flickered into what first appeared as the form of a person, then back into nothing, then waved into existence again: it was Arianna. Slate picked up his pace and ran toward her.

"Arianna!" he cried out. "It's me, Slate!"

"Slate! It's me, Arianna!" she called back.

Feeling a sharp pang of self-consciousness, Slate slowed his gait in a show of casualness. Arianna giggled at this.

"I was just out taking a walk with Pilotte here and happened to see you on my road," said Slate.

"So, you've been here three days and it's your road now?" Arianna asked.

"No, I..."

"I'm kidding, Slate. Hiya, Pilotte," Arianna said. "Who's the good boy?" She gave the wulf a pet which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy.

"How was school?" Slate asked.

"It was alright. We're in prehistory right now. Studying the Great Wars, so it has been tolerable lately."

"Great Wars?"

"Are there any others?"

"No?" Slate guessed.

The three walked for a while in silence, until a breeze stirred up the wind chimes again and broke the quiet.

"What exactly about the Wars were you learning today?" Slate asked.

"Well," Arianna sighed, "I'm sure you'd like the battles and the armies and stuff, as you are a boy, but today we were talking about my favorite subject: Galienda Veorenza's Freedom Runners."

"What about them?"

"So: The time is the first Great War, and the Nuvians are at the Junjut Gate, in the Ojikef Jungle. Outside the gate, there's a monastery, where a nun named Veorenza is caring for all the wounded soldiers. They're always telling her how they didn't want to fight and die for politicians, about how they don't feel any honor or sense of purpose in war. So Veorenza and her sisters begin secretly shuttling away the unwilling soldiers along an underground network of monasteries and Alries. She would tell wild stories to the generals about their capture by slave pirates, or that they had died. They say she saved thousands of men that way."

"That is a good story," Slate agreed.

"I love it when the rules are bent for the good guys, you know? I mean, why should the bad ones always get to do whatever they want?"

"They shouldn't."

"I like prehistory the best. It just seems like things were easier back then. That there was still a place for heroism. Now everything's becoming like a giant machine. More efficient every day, and less feeling. Less alive."

"I don't know," said Slate. "I mean, it's got to be better than the way things were, right? Why else would everyone be rushing to change so fast?"

"That's what you might think, but, better for whom? Our city is being overrun by politicians from Magri and from South Airyel, even from Proterse. People like Johannes Kale, people like Brella Greave. People who are exploiting the changes for personal gain. My mother says it'll be years before everything's sorted out."

"Oh," Slate said, kicking a stone across the road. "I don't know anything about politicians. We didn't hear much at all about politics, growing up in Alleste. We just didn't need them."

"No, I don't imagine you did. That's what the pioneers who founded Alleste were looking for. A life apart," Arianna said.

"Really? Why?" asked Slate.

"Well, the repopulation of the planet wasn't going like they wanted. But there's not really anywhere left to go to start over anymore now, is there? Alleste was one of the last untouched places."

"Repopulation of the planet?"

"After the Fall."

"What fall?"

"You don't know?"

"I don't know much of anything, Arianna, apart from farming and hunting."

"Slate, the Fall was a terrible asteroid impact that nearly ended all human life on the planet, some four hundred years ago."

"A what? An aster-what?"

"An asteroid. A mass of rock that falls from the sky."

Slate looked up apprehensively. "My Gods, really? Rocks? From the sky? Where do they come from?"

"From space."

Slate didn't know what this meant, exactly, but nodded like he did.

"Don't worry; asteroids that can cause destruction like that are very rare. But nearly everything was lost. Thousands of people died. The impact called up so much debris into the air that the Om's rays couldn't penetrate and the planet was thrown into an ice age. Thankfully, a lot of technology survived, which has allowed us to flourish so quickly as to cover the globe again in four centuries. But the event was the worst thing to ever occur in human history."

"That's... unbelievable. How on Alm did I never hear about that?"

"Purposefully, I'm sure. The people who first came to Aelioanei did so to follow a simpler way of life, to live off the land. To correct the mistakes the Gods had made. They viewed the Fall as a chance to start over again, to live closer to nature. But eventually, when the people heard how much easier life with the rediscovered old technologies was, most chose to abandon their farms and return to cities. The few who didn't, stayed in places like Alleste. To live purely."

"Well what did they think, they could just ignore the rest of the world forever?"

"I suppose so."

"That's so foolish!"

"To some. To others, maybe not."

Slate scoffed. "Why did my mother or father never tell me any of this?"

"I don't know. Maybe they wanted to protect you."

"I would have preferred the truth."

"Me too. I always prefer the truth."

Slate had to laugh at the absurdity of what Arianna had revealed.

"What is it?" Arianna asked.

"It's just kind of unbelievable," Slate said. "Not that I don't believe you. It just sounds like something out of The Legend."

"You know The Legend?" Arianna asked excitedly.

"Oh, absolutely. My mom used to read it to my brother and I before bed, every night," Slate answered. "I know it pretty much by heart. I even have a copy with me, in my sack."

"Then you know more than you think. The Legend is actually a mythologized version of the Alm's history."

"Mythologized?"

"Sort of like, actual events, amplified for poetic effect."

"Oh. You know, I thought that Veorenza lady sounded familiar. It's just like the fable of Halita the Wise."

"Yes, that's the same story! History is where The Legend got its inspiration. The Gods are those who lived before the Fall."

"Wow," Slate said, trying to wrap his head around what he had just learned. "Can you tell me more about the Gods? About history?"

"I'd be happy to, Slate."

"I'd really like that."

"No problem," Arianna said. "I love teaching. You know, my mom says I talk too much."

"But you do it so well," said Slate.

Arianna blushed. "Thank you, Slate."

By this time, the three had reached the drive to Arianna's house.

"Are you hungry for dinner?" Arianna asked.

"Very. I'm sure Pilotte is, too."

A chandelier decorated with whyres lit the Falls' dining room in a soft glow that glistened off the honey-cured lart and made radiant, golden rings around the tops of glasses. Arianna's brother, Brit, and her sister, Mart, were home for dinner, which made for what Slate learned was a rare whole-family meal at the house. Slate took a seat and joined with the family in holding hands and listening to Mrs. Falls recite a prayer of thanksgiving. Pilotte was happy to sit in the kitchen, eating a large plate of all the leftovers Mrs. Falls could clear from the ice box.

"So, what do you think of Aislin so far, Slate?" asked Mrs. Falls.

"Well, I like it," Slate said, gulping down an entire biscuit in one swallow. "I like your house, and you are all really nice, and, yeah, I like it!"

"I think he likes it," said Brit.

"I'm glad," said Mrs. Falls. "Were you able to make it far, before dinner?"

"Well, I made it a little way, but then I met up with Arianna," said Slate.

"Oh, I see. Did you two have a nice time?" asked Mrs. Falls. She looked toward Arianna, who was trying to cut a tough bit of lart.

"It was very educational," Slate answered for her.

"Yes, we did," Arianna said, giving up on the meat. "Slate wanted to hear about what happened here after the Great Hall was shuttered."

"And about the Fall," said Slate. "I had no idea that had ever happened."

Brit took the opportunity to offer his own opinion. "Well, let me briefly sum up the last half a year in Aislin for you, Slate: The Great Hall is closed and then, hey, that's it! Centuries of tradition? Gone. Where'd they go? Who knows? Then Johannes Kale shows up. Oh, hello, Johannes Kale. What's that about our way of life we've known for generations? Oh, it's gonna go too? Okay! What about those ancient texts at the university? Gone. Dissenters? Halo Brandt? All gone. The Gods replaced by bureaucracy. Welcome citizens indentured servitude, our new overlord."

"Brit, you sound like a fool," Mart said.

"You're the fool, Mart," Brit retorted.

"That's enough!" said Mrs. Falls, silencing her children.

Brit tried to choke back a laugh that got caught in his throat along with a piece of bothel.

"Johannes Kale is a politician, right?" asked Slate.

"He's the new mayor, and he's a strake," Brit said after taking a drink of water. "He's from Proterse. He has no idea what the needs of Aislin or Aelioanei are. He was appointed mayor in an election that most citizens weren't even invited to participate in."

"Brit!" Mrs. Falls said sharply.

"Why is he a strake? What did he do?" asked Slate, too interested to let the subject drop like Mrs. Falls obviously wanted.

"Well, let's see: The Great Hall is shuttered. The city is financially ruined, probably for good. Public funds have all gone missing. Kale appointed his own officials. Our outskirts are overrun with criminality... But really, what did he do?" asked Brit.

"Listen!" Mrs. Falls said, slamming her fist onto the table, rattling the plates. "Both of you! What have I told you? I don't ever want to hear politics at the dinner table!"

"Don't worry, Mom, we won't be allowed to speak at all before too long," said Brit.

"Enough, Brit!" Mrs. Falls said. "Shut your mouth! Only open it again to eat. Politics and digestion do not mix. There is a time and a place for everything, but right now the place is here, and the time is for the dinner I worked on for two hours. So let's just eat and worry about the state of the world later."

Once the meal concluded and the Falls family had retired to their usual after-dinner activities, Slate let Pilotte outside and decided to try the telescope on the back porch. He made out Obiers Ring in the night sky, and then turned the glass up to the waning moon. Its gentle radiance reminded Slate of one of his favorite stories from the Legend, that of the Moon Goddess Baoulemiere.

Arianna came out onto the patio without Slate noticing.

"Oh!" he yelped when he caught her watching. "Arianna, I'm sorry. You scared me."

"What are you doing?" Arianna asked.

"Looking at the moon."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is. Have you ever heard the legend of Baoulemiere?"

"Of course I have," Arianna answered. "But would you tell it to me again?"

"Of course I would," Slate said. "You see, Arianna, on the moon, Baoul-em, lives a Goddess, named Baoulemiere, who is the mother of all Alm's children. In the early days of the planet, she circled around it in a loving embrace of her creations. But when the heavens sent down their anger, their weapons hit Baoulemiere by accident. It is for this reason that her path around Alm is distorted. Now, she comes very close to our planet for two months a year, to try to find her missing children. When she remembers that they have died, she runs away into hiding, and so two months a year one can barely see her. That she can never remember her loss angers her ex-husband, the sea god Alo. He cannot handle the pressure of reflecting so much of Baoulemiere's misery for two months a year; it makes him rage and seethe to be so close to her grief. And when she is far away, he is so sad that he can't wake himself up. This is the reason behind the tides running to extremes twice a year. Why certain sea routes are impossible to chart, why our shorelines are so changeable."

"That's pretty good. You're rather skilled at telling stories, too, Slate," Arianna said.

"So that was really the Fall, wasn't it? That knocked the moon out of place?"

"That's right. You've got it now. Why do you look sad?"

"Just... The Legend is the world I've always known," Slate said. "One governed by Gods. I mean, I never really believed that the moon or the sea were actually controlled by people, but, still, the stories made sense. But now I'm learning that the world is so much different than I thought. That destruction really does fall from the sky."

"It's just a different way to tell the same story. The tales in The Legend still hold the ultimate truths," Arianna said. "Only most people can't see it anymore. We think our technology will save us. Humanity is confused right now. Still finding our way."

Slate nodded and stared at the moon.

"What exactly happened to your dad?" he asked.

"He got injured in a traffic accident," Arianna said. "Didn't live much longer afterward."

"That's awful. My mom had cidix," said Slate. "She died when I was ten."

"That's a hard age to lose your mother."

"She's not really gone, though. I remember her reading us The Legend, what she looked like as she read. She was pretty. Or, I'm just remembering her that way."

"I'm sure she was beautiful," Arianna said.

"You're really lucky to have your mom around. She's amazing."

"She is, I know. What about your dad? What is he like?"

"He's okay, I guess. Actually, he's a good dad. He cares about my brother and I a lot. Or did. Or, still does. I don't know. He only left to send back money. But sometimes I wish he had just stayed. I'd rather have had him around than the money. But I got to leave Alleste like I'd always wanted, when all was said and done. It sounds like he found what we needed."

"You're looking forward to finding him?"

"Yes. Just because I don't have anyone else. That doesn't sound good, does it? He was a good dad. Is. You know... I don't know."

"Don't think you don't have anyone else, Slate," said Arianna.

"Oh, I don't. I've got Pilotte, and I've got..." Slate started, as he turned to meet Arianna's gaze and then understood what she had meant. "And I'm really lucky I found you, too, Arianna."

"Sometimes, things just fall into place."

"Maybe they do, huh?"

"Don't worry," Arianna said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I know everything seems upside-down right now. But whatever happens, you'll never be alone."

"Really?"

"From here on out. I promise."

"Thanks, Arianna. You tired?"

"A bit. I had a long day. Mind if we call it a night?"

"Sounds good," Slate said. He leaned out over the balcony railing and shouted, "Pilotte! Inside or outside tonight?"

The wulf didn't answer, distracted as he was by digging at a furra hole.

"Outside, I guess," said Slate.

Later, as Slate was settling into bed, Mrs. Falls came in to apologize for what had happened at dinner.

"There is no need to apologize, it was delicious!" Slate insisted.

"I mean the arguing, Slate, not the food," Mrs. Falls said. "It wasn't very hospitable of Brit to start an argument."

"I'm not very used to hospitality," Slate said. "I come from Alleste."

"Oh, Slate," Mrs. Falls laughed. "You know, for all you've been through, you are one plucky young man."

"What have I been through?" Slate asked.

"Dealing with the death of your village, living alone like you did for seven whole months, your trip here. It's more than many your age have to cope with."

"Is it? You know, it's strange," Slate said. "Earlier this week, I felt so alone, so sad. Now I learn about Johannes Kale, and the Fall... the world is just so... big. So much bigger than just my problems. So, my troubles seem smaller. Does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does, Slate. It is certainly strange how the world can seem so small when you are unaware. And how it can seem so huge when you realize how many others are suffering. But nothing negates the reality of what you've been through."

"Yeah, but who hasn't been through difficult things before?" Slate asked.

"That's very wise, Slate." Mrs. Falls said. "But just because we all suffer doesn't mean that it doesn't still hurt. It is important to consider the bigger picture, but make sure to give yourself the credit you deserve."

"Okay," Slate said with yawn.

"It looks like it's bedtime," Mrs. Falls said.

Slate nodded sleepily.

"Alright, then," Mrs. Falls said as she rose from the bed. "Sleep well. Tomorrow, Arianna and I are going to the shops. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure," Slate said softly, as he felt his eyelids starting to get heavy. "I like Arianna a lot."

"She likes you too, Slate," Mrs. Falls said. "I can tell."

Slate yawned again and smiled, obviously fighting a losing battle against sleep.

"I know you're eager to get to Airyel, but, just so you know, Slate, no matter where you go, you always have a place here with us in Aislin," Mrs. Falls said, pulling an extra blanket up from the foot of the bed.

Slate murmured happily and nodded on his pillow. "Why are you all so nice to me, Mrs. Falls?" he asked.

"Because you're a kind, helpful person," Mrs. Falls said. "And it's our job as people to take care of each other." She blew out the bedside candle and made her way to the door. Just as she was about to close it, she stopped at the jamb. "We're all here for you, Slate," she said. "You don't ever have to worry that you're alone in this big, new world."
6

The storm that blew into Aislin was so severe and lasted so long that Slate wound up staying at the Falls' house for two more weeks. During that time, he devoured books with relish, making his way through the entire set of encyclopedias in the library to try and catch up with all he had never known about his world. He also attended some of Arianna's classes, where he sat rapt at all there was to learn. At night, trapped inside together due to the howling storms, Slate and Arianna became fast friends, playing games, reading The Legend, and talking about what the future might hold. Slate loved forming such a close friendship, but always at the back of his mind was the nagging notion that he had to get back on the trail to Airyel.

Still, when the storm system finally cleared, Slate struggled with how he would tell Arianna that it was time to leave. When he managed to work up the courage to make his announcement, after pacing around the back porch for hours, it was cut short by Brit, who brought home from school his own big news. Brit burst through the front door with a holler, just as Slate was coming through the kitchen, and then proceeded to make loops around the house, whooping and celebrating before his mother demanded an explanation.

"What on Alm are you so excited about, Brit?" she asked.

"Mother, my mother. Tell me, did you vote today?" Brit asked with a huge, presumptive smile.

"Of course I did," Mrs. Falls said.

"And how did you vote, Mother?"

"You know I voted against the Heritage Act, we talked about it at breakfast this morning."

"Well that's strange, Mom. Because no one voted against the Act," said Brit.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Falls gasped.

Arianna ran out from the kitchen. "What do you mean no one voted against it? It passed?" she cried.

"No, no, it didn't pass," said Brit. "But no one voted against it. Actually, no one voted for it, either."

"How is that possible? Come on Brit, just tell us what happened," plead Mrs. Falls.

"Oh, I'm happy to. This is the best thing ever," Brit began. "So, all the votes are all counted up in public, right, and nothing's been reported yet, because those are the rules, right? Well, just before the tallies are about to be announced, someone in the crowd stands up, a Green Shield, from what I heard, and asks the crowd, 'People of Aislin, how can we trust Kale's ballots?' Now, Kale is there, of course, and he's so confident, he quiets the crowd and says, 'I guarantee that this vote is one hundred percent accurate, with no tampering or distortion of any kind. The electoral system is foolproof, and we needn't listen to men such as this, who try to breed mistrust.' And so they begin reading off the tallies, and the place just explodes. Every vote, every single one, is for 'Freedom.' The Green Shield re-rigged the rigged election and caught Kale in his own lies, right out in the open!"

"Nnno!" gasped Mrs. Falls.

"It's true!" Brit cried.

The Falls family danced around the kitchen together, singing and cheering. Slate was happy for their jubilance, but couldn't really share it. He quietly left the celebrations to join Pilotte again in the back yard, where he continued to worry about how he might tell the Falls that he had to be on his way.

"Slate?" Arianna asked, coming out to join him on the patio. "Where'd you go? Is something wrong?"

"What?" Slate asked. "Oh, no. I just don't really know anything about politics. You know that. I'm glad the vote turned out good, though."

"You seem upset. Tell me what's wrong."

"...I think I have to be leaving, Arianna. Now that the storms have passed. Before deep winter. Before the snow starts to stick."

"Wait, what? You are going to leave already? Why are you going to leave?"

"I've really got to get to my father. I know he's expecting me," Slate explained. "I mean, I can't just stay here forever."

"But you don't even know where your father is," Arianna protested.

"Sure I do, he's in Airyel."

"But we are more than happy to have you here, we all really like you..."

"And I really like all of you, too. But, he's my dad, and he's expecting me. Listen, I've only known you for two weeks and you're already my best friend. This was not an easy thing for me to tell you. But I have to let my father know I'm okay. He's probably worried. You can understand that, right?"

Arianna searched Slate's face and then sighed. "As hard as it is, I can. Airyel is just so far away, Slate."

"There's nothing I can do about that."

"And it's a huge city, like nothing you've ever known."

"Much of the world is like nothing I've known, apparently. But, don't worry, I've got Pilotte to protect me."

The wulf looked up happily from the rather large pit he had been digging for the past few days.

"I'm going to worry about you, Slate," Arianna said.

"And I'll worry about you. But, if your father were out there, somewhere, wouldn't you try to find him?"

"Yes..."

"I can take care of myself pretty well. I can hunt, and cook. I'm an Allestian. I'll be fine."

Arianna sighed. "Okay," she said.

"And you'll be here when I'm done, when I come back, right?" Slate asked softly, putting his hand on Arianna's shoulder.

Arianna shook her head. "What if you never come back, though?" she asked.

"Why would you say that?"

"People leave, Slate."

"Most people might. But I'm not most people, Arianna. I won't leave you forever, I promise. Just like the story of Hent and Ote from the Legend. Whatever happens, we will see each other again, I promise," Slate swore.

"In a graveyard?" Arianna asked. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Before that, I promise."

Arianna nodded reluctantly. "You'd better come back, Slate," she said. "You'd better."

"I will! Hey, you know what? I'll leave my copy of The Legend with you, how's that? That way you know I'll be back for it. And for you."

"You don't have to..."

"No, I'm going to. It'll be my promise. You'll keep it safe, right?"

"Of course I will. I'll read from it every day, just like you do."

"I'll miss you, Arianna. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'll miss you too, Slate. I hope it's not too long before we see each other again."

"I had to wait my whole life to meet you in the first place. Any small time we may be apart will feel like nothing, just knowing you're out there somewhere."

"Well," Arianna said, sad but assured. "Don't dawdle. Okay?"

"I promise."

Later that night, Slate was reading an old visitor's guide to Airyel on the edge of his bed when Mrs. Falls came and knocked on his doorjamb.

"May I enter?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," Slate answered.

"Slate," Mrs. Falls began, "Firstly, I just want to say that we all appreciate the help you've been giving around the house for the past few days. Secondly, I want to let you know, again, just so you do, that you are welcome to stay here as long as you like."

"Thanks, Mrs. Falls."

"Arianna tells me that you feel that you have to leave tomorrow, to find your father in Airyel."

"Yeah."

"Well, I wish it wasn't so soon. But I understand. Just know that, wherever you go, you are always welcome here."

"Thank you," Slate said. "I don't intend to be there forever. I promise I will repay you someday, on my way home, or, wherever, however. For all you've done for me."

"You don't owe us a thing. However, if you never come back to at least visit and let us know you're okay, I will track you down and beat you."

"I'll be back through Aislin, that's certain. I've already made a promise to Arianna."

"Oh, thank the Gods. She cares about you so much. It's not often she gets so attached to someone. Probably because, these days, people seem to leave without much notice. Strange times, I suppose. I just hope that there is an Aislin for you to return to."

"Me, too. I feel a little scared, going out into such a confused world," Slate said. "I have no idea what to expect in Airyel at all."

"Well," Mrs. Falls said, "One can never be certain about the future. But we can be hopeful. Otherwise, everything is already lost."

"Do you ever wish you could stop things from changing? So fast?"

"It's funny you should say that. I have a favor to ask. I need you to carry a book to Airyel for me, Slate. I need you to bring it to a man there, named Guh Hsing. He owns a bookstore, so it should be easy to locate him."

"Of course, I can do that," Slate said. "But why don't you use the post? Wouldn't that be safer? They still seem to be functioning pretty well."

"I can't use the post," Mrs. Falls said. "I don't trust them like I trust you. It is of great importance that you get the book I'm giving you to Guh Hsing."

"Mrs. Falls, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't know if you want to trust me with something of such great importance. I hardly know what I'm thinking one minute to the next. The post would deliver your book for certain."

"Son," Mrs. Falls explained, "This is something that I wouldn't have brought to you if I didn't think that you were capable. You have proven you are. You made it all the way here from Alleste on your own. You're smart as a whip; I've seen how you've torn through our library. And you have the protection of a snarlingwulf, which is as rare as a silver thornicanth. Airyel may be far away, but it's not a difficult trip from here. I'm certain that you can make it. We need you to."

"We?"

"You'll understand it all soon enough. Now, I have some goldquartz to send you with, so that you can catch a boat out of Nowhere," Mrs. Falls said. "It will make your trip even easier. You'll deliver the book, and then you can find your father, just like you wanted."

"A boat?" Slate gulped nervously. "I've never been on a boat. What if I get eaten by a gibu, or it sinks?"

"Don't worry. Slate, I'm asking you for this favor because I know you are smart and strong and capable," said Mrs. Falls. "If fate has decided our book shall be lost, it will be no fault of yours or your character."

"I just don't know..."

"Slate, don't let anxiety control you. Trust me. You will see that that the book gets to Guh Hsing. There is no reason to fear otherwise. And he will tell you why, when you get there. I cannot."

"Why?"

"He'll tell you that, too."

Slate's stomach turned with a loud groan. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "If you really think it'll be okay, I'd be honored to take your book to Airyel for you, Mrs. Falls. It's the least I could do to repay you."

"If the book makes it to Guh Hsing, you'll have repaid me twenty-fold. And if it doesn't, I will love you no less," Mrs. Falls said.

"I will do my very best," Slate promised.

He and Pilotte set out early the next morning into a foot of fresh snow, with the book for Guh Hsing stowed in a new leather pack from Mrs. Falls along with a change of clothes, a few travel supplies he'd received as gifts from Arianna, and a decent amount of goldquartz. The snow crunching under his feet and the metallic smell in the winter air distracted Slate from his worry and sadness. The cold was bracing and invigorated his imagination for what was yet to come. Ahead were the Vallor Mountains, where the giants battled. Or so said The Legend. Arianna claimed the giants didn't live there anymore, if they ever did, but a Slate had a tiny flicker of hope in the back of his mind that they still might.

That first evening back on the trail, as he and Pilotte sat before a small fire eating roasted hare with fern sprouts, Slate felt sadder than he had thought he might for having left Arianna and the Falls. The only thing that kept his sadness at bay was the certainty in his mind that he would return to see them soon, as soon as he was able to find his father and let him know he was alright. Pilotte sensed Slate's sadness, and distracted him as best he could with a game of fetch, until Slate was so tired, he couldn't stay awake to dwell on his situation any longer.
7

As they headed southeast, Slate and Pilotte entered the very oldest parts of the Yellow Forest, those in the foothills of the Vallor Mountains. There, above the deep snow, droves of woodneedles worked extracting tiny bugs with their long, thin beaks, making the forest sound like a woodshop. The forest had plenty to eat for Slate, too, as there were patches of mushrooms springing up wherever the snow had not covered the ground, and too many blushberry bushes to count. Pilotte didn't care much for fungi or fruits, and so he got the greater portion of the small game the pair was able to catch before Slate stopped halfway up the mountains to sleep for the night in an old hiker's lean-to.

The next morning's trek over the pass didn't take but two hours. At the top, the warm air from the Anir Ocean greeted Slate like an old friend. The temperature rose as Slate and Pilotte came down the eastern side of the mountains, allowing for Slate to remove his heavy coat for the rest of the trip to the city of Nowhere, which sparkled like a jewel on the coast in the rising sun.

Slate was eager to see the wild place he had heard so much about from Arianna. While he had explicit recommendations from Mrs. Falls to find the first transport south, he figured looking around Nowhere beforehand wouldn't hurt. And putting off the boat trip, which he was still rather apprehensive about, was an added benefit. He set off with Pilotte onto one of the walking paths that looped through the sandy soil that surrounded the city and readied for excitement.

The sweet, rich smell of honeymarrot palms and their fallen white petals guided the way through a maze of slap-dash shacks to where the sandy path turned into a proper street. Buildings offering anything and everything had their doors open all along the street, inviting customers inside. Eager to sample what exotic culinary delights Nowhere might have to offer, Slate stopped into one of these stores, which had a wonderful smell wafting from inside. Pilotte waited on the curb, scaring passers-by to the other side of the street as Slate shopped.

Inside, Slate found a clear-fronted box stacked with trays of glistening baked goods: breads, cookies, bundles, cakes, and candy, in every color and flavor imaginable. There were even chocolate-covered windhoppers and spiced, dried fish for the daring. Slate spent some time trying to decide between a clant bunch and habricotte bread, before finally settling on a frosted cranberry fold. He asked the clerk behind the counter for two of the folds, plus the biggest bone they might have behind the deli, for Pilotte. The clerk ducked into the back, then reappeared with a two-foot larts rib. He wrapped the goods up in banch paper, then totaled them on a ledger. Slate paid, and rejoined Pilotte on the street outside. The wulf split the larts rib open and then crushed the rest to bits in short order

The wulf split his larts rib open and then crushed the rest to bits in short order. Slate ingested his folds almost as quickly, and then the two started to wander. In the artisan quarters, down streets crossed with lanterns and prayer flags, Slate saw incredible glass sculpture, and jade carvings, and he listened to a man who could sing two notes at the same time. He lost three pieces of goldquartz in a game of chance played right on the street that he was pretty sure he couldn't have won anyways. It was all so much fun that by the time the sun went down and the streetlamps were lit, Slate realized he had wasted the whole day without ever making it to the harbor. Figuring it was too late now to find transport, he yawned his way into a small inn called the Breakaway.

Slate was conned out of a sizeable portion of his goldquartz by a clerk at the hotel, who made up several tourist charges that sleepy-headed Slate agreed to. In the morning, after kicking himself for having paid the no breakfast fee, Slate stopped into the bakery he had found he day before, purchased more folds and another larts rib, and then headed for the city harbor with Pilotte, to try to find their ride south to Airyel.

As Slate approached the harbor, a series of haggard beggars stumbled at him asking for money. Some were younger than he, but most were gray and wizen. A few of them mumbled things about being Veterans of the Ha War, of which Slate had never heard. He felt bad about having nothing to offer the beggars, but worried that his remaining pieces of goldquartz might not cover his trip, if he could even find anyone that might be open for charter. The beggars weren't disappointed at Slate's unwillingness to give; they simply moved on and asked someone else.

The water in Nowhere's harbor was full of garbage and waste from the nearby shantytown that the beggars lived in, who used it as their waste bin and latrine. The waters were oily and covered in a sickly, green foam, but the strong winds from the northwest carried the stench away on salty-sweet air, and the orange-pink sky was a beauty to behold that morning.

Slate walked down to the far end of the last pier, to get a clearer view of the horizon. The wind met the end of the pier with all its force, precluding the viewing that Slate had hoped for, and forcing him to turn back. He made for the closest shelter against the wind, the hull of a tiny boat with the name Calamity painted in sparkling blue on its side. Looking up from where he and Pilotte crouched, Slate saw a spry, happy-looking older man with a bushy, white beard and a tattered fisherman's cap, smiling at him from the boat's deck.

"Hello," the stranger called to Slate.

"Hello," Slate answered. He stood up straighter. "Headed out today?"

"Are you kidding? Did you see that sky? Red in the morning, sailors take warning! There's a storm blowing in, son."

"So why are you cleaning your windows?" Slate asked.

"It's not that the windows need to be clean, son, it's that I get to work on my boat," the man explained. "Where you hope to be heading? And what on Alm is that snarlingwulf doing at your side?"

"That's Pilotte," Slate said. "He's my friend. And my name is Slate Ahn. I am looking to travel to Airyel. Do you know anyone that might be leaving today, despite the... red morning warning? I have four pieces of goldquartz I can pay."

The man's eyes lit up. "Hid Hidli," he said. "Listen, don't ever tell a Nowherer that you have goldquartz, son. This ain't the town to be flashing money around."

"Okay."

"Or, really, do whatever the hell you want, I don't care. Ha! Hey, what do you want with the traitors in Airyel anyway?"

"Traitors? I have a delivery to make. And, more importantly, I'm looking for my father, he's found work there."

Hid stopped cleaning. "How old are you, son?" he asked.

"I'm almost seventeen, sir."

"When's the last time you saw your father?"

"Just before spring," Slate answered. "He left Alleste for work, like everyone else. Same for my brother, who left about a year ago. I got a letter from my father that said that he was ready for me to join him, so, I'm on my way."

Hid took off his hat and scratched at his scalp, taking in a deep breath as he squinted into the rising sun. "From Alleste, are ya? Too bad, about the Great Hall, isn't it? Then Kale, in Aislin. Island's had a hell of time lately. Tell you what. I was thinking of making a try at an itchy fish today anyways..."

"Itchy fish?

"My wife would never let me hear the end of it if she found out, but whenever it's about to storm big like this, I go down to Harson's Island and try for an itchy fish. Incredible creatures. The things are huge. They have a big, spiked sail on their back, and they're the color of mesmeralds in the moonlight. See, they go into an absolute frenzy before a big storm, leaving their usual waters to gorge on the fish that show up to eat all the goodies a big storm dislodges from the sea floor. Storms like this one is shaping up to be."

"Have you ever caught an itchy fish?" Slate asked.

"Me? No, not yet. Stories say that people used to," Hid said, "But, like anything good, everyone jumped on it. Fished 'em to near extinction. Anyways, to my point, you can't make the trip back north from Harson's Island at night with the moon where she's at this time of year, so I usually camp out down there by Airyel after itchy fishing. If you want to come with me, you are welcome to. But I warn you, things may get a little rocky!"

"Oh, that's okay, Mr. Hidli, I would just really appreciate the ride," Slate said, relieved.

"Well, alright then! And call me Hid. Looks like it's off to Magri for business. Or so we tell the wife, right? Come on up, we've got some work to do. Do you know anything about sailing?"

Slate admitted, "Well, I've never been on a boat. To tell you the truth, I'm sort of terrified by the ocean."

Hid tried to contain his disbelief, swallowing hard and smiling down at Slate and his wulf. "There's nothing to be terrified about in life, if you know what you're doing, Slate. We're gonna have to teach you about the sea."

Slate and Pilotte climbed up the galley plank to board the Calamity as the soft rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Hid gave a tour, explaining that the vessel was an old postal boat he had converted using wood from the Passage Islands. The traditional sailboat out of Nowhere had a much narrower keel, compared to the Calamity's wide, flat bottom, which Hid used to access pearl beds that deeper-water vessels were unable to reach, and a fully rotating boom, which let him change directions easily.

It wasn't difficult for Slate to learn what little sailing skill the Calamity required. There was just a single mainsail, which allowed Hid, who was usually at sea by himself, to have greater control. Over the years, he had mastered how the Calamity's design best rode the particular winds of northeastern Aelioanei.

"Slate, you seem to be a natural," Hid said after giving a brief lesson. "You know, my father said that a sailor is born, not made. Also said that the only true sailor is the small-boat sailor. See, we gotta know how to trick the wind to carry us from one place to another. Have to know about rips and eddies, bar and channel markings, know about how the weather works. And most importantly, a small-boat sailor has to be able to learn the little quirks that give a boat its personality. How to coax her, bring her gently about. You'll get that all soon enough too, I'm sure!"

The happy old sailor sang over the crash of the waves as the Calamity's sails caught a strong wind, which tried as hard as it could to lift the boat right up out of the ocean. The little craft leapt and stuttered over the breakers close to the pier, and then began to pick up smooth speed once it was free of the harbor.

"We've got to take her east now," Hid called. "Aim for the dark clouds! There we go, Slate! We're on our way!"

8

A pod of dahlphins joined the Calamity for a while, jumping back and forth in front of the little ship as it rode along. On shore, the land climbed higher and higher up into the foothills of the Aeolian Mountains, before eventually disappearing completely into low-hanging clouds, leaving only flat-faced rock cliffs visible to the passengers at sea. Hid fixed the sail for trolling so that the Calamity could better move with the water's swells and surges, forces that he explained could throw less experienced sailors up onto the rock like jetsam.

Slate was studying the patterns of bubbles in the gray-blue water when he saw a slick, shining, black form rise up like a wheel and spin out into a long, orange-and-purple tail fin. The fin smacked the water's surface with a loud splash before disappearing back down into the abyss.

"What on Alm was that?" Slate gasped.

"What'd you see there?" asked Hid, furrowing his bushy eyebrows as he crossed to where Slate was standing.

"I don't know, a thing. A huge, black, thing, in the water. I mean, it must have been huge, but I just saw it's fin, a bright orange and purple fin."

"That was probably a sirrk, son." Hid scratched his ear. "Strange that they'd be north this early in the year, but I suppose our winters have been different than they used to be."

"A sirrk? Is that like a fish? How big is a sirrk?" Slate searched the water warily for other monsters. "Hid... are we going to die?"

"No. Maybe. Well, yes, actually. Everyone is going to die. But we probably won't die today. There are a coupla kinds of sirrks, but you prolly saw a ployback," noted Hid. The creature reappeared off in the distance, again heralded by a blast of water. "Yes, ployback," Hid confirmed. "That's its blowhole shooting water. It's how they breathe. They're big, but they're no worry to us. Biggest creatures on Alm, actually, sirrks. Absolutely huge. And they eat plankton! Those're tiny little sea scums. The waters up here have the highest plankton concentrations in the world, that's what brings them. And the dahlphins, and all the other life. It's a good place to be a fish. And to be a fisherman."

"What do they look like under the ocean, the sirrks?" asked Slate.

"Well, kind of like a really big malnos, but with a noad's face."

"So strange," Slate said mostly to himself as he stared at the water and waited for the next surprise.

As the boat continued its way through the fjords, it passed a colony of lumpy, grey, rock-looking creatures called glubbus that stretched out on the small islands that rose from the sea, all piled on top of each other and barking at the nerrs that flew in a frenzy around them. Pilotte barked along with the animals, who in turn stopped silent to stare at the wulf as he went by.

After the glubbus colonies, a name which Slate found perfectly described the lazy animals, a larger island, one covered with trees came into view through the mist.

"Here's a place where we can get out and stretch a bit," said Hid, as he began to steer the Calamity into the tiny island's bay.

The boat met the grade of the island's beach, and the tide helped to push it far enough up the sand for the three passengers to be able to hop out on dry sand.

"I'm getting kind of cold," Slate said, shivering as he helped Hid tie the boat up to a tree.

"Yeah, I can see that," Hid said. "There's a sweater and some wind pants in the cabin, go ahead and grab 'em. Also, grab the bretton root, this is gonna be a long night."

While Pilotte followed Hid into a small pine stand to collect fresh water, Slate climbed into the woolen sweater and the wind pants he had been offered. They were far too large, but he felt immeasurably warmer with them on. He stuck a squib of the stimulant bretton root into his mouth, lodging it firmly between his back teeth and his cheek, and went back out onto the boat's deck to find that Hid and Pilotte had returned.

"If you gotta make water or take water, this is the time to do it," Hid snickered. The old sailor started double-checking the Calamity's rigging, while Slate ducked into the trees with Pilotte standing guard.

Once the crew was all back on board, the Calamity again opened her sail. The craft slid down the beach back into the water as a deep rumble of thunder from off in the far distance volleyed around the rock faces in the fjord. All at once, the sky could hold no longer, and the rain began to pour down.

Winds came through the fjords with fury, churning the waters as they roared. An ocean swell grabbed the Calamity and pulled it into the confusion. The force of the swell was so great that it knocked Hid off his feet, and sent the ship's boom swinging wildly around. It nearly knocked Slate into the water, as the craft went careening toward one of the rock-slab islands.

"Grab the boom!" Hid screamed.

Slate threw his right arm at the boom as it came swinging back. He missed it with his arm, instead catching it with his jaw, which spun him around on the slippery deck. He managed to catch the boom under his arm as it came back around a second time, but a huge gust of wind filled the sail just as he did so, and lifted Slate up from the deck and carried him clear across it to the left side of the boat, and then swung him and the boom all the way out over the prow and back around to the right side. The Calamity broke into a free-fall from the crest of a collapsing wave while Slate was spinning, and for the briefest moment, all three of its passengers floated about the deck as if weightless.

The vessel smacked back down into the water and Hid and Pilotte fell, hard. The boom continued to swing, loose in the raging wind, dragging helpless Slate along with it, who was too afraid to let go. After three more dizzying trips around the mast, he managed to catch the banister that rimmed the boat with his foot. His body snapped taut, and Slate was left stretched over the boat's edge, rain battering him from above and the black water seething below. When Hid made it back up onto his feet, he slid across the deck, grabbed the boom, and pulled it back. Slate fell to the deck, shaking.

The flat-bottomed boat road up high and fast on the crest of the next peaking wave it met, so near to one of the rock-faced islands that Slate could see the rain cutting little waterfalls down its mossy surface. Hid brought down the sail in perfect synchronicity with the wave, and then banked ever-so-slowly to the right, avoiding collision with the island. With a series of delicate maneuvers, he brought the Calamity to rest.

Slate realized he hadn't breathed in some time, and started to gasp and choke.

"You okay, Slate?" Hid asked.

"I told you, I've never been on a boat," Slate answered, trembling. "I thought we were going to die!"

"But we didn't, did we? That wasn't nothin'! Welcome to itchy fishin'!" Hid said with a hearty laugh that somehow managed to warm Slate's spirits.

The sky strobed with lightning off to the north. The time between the flashes and the bellowing thunder after was growing shorter and shorter, meaning the heart of the storm was stalking the little boat through the fjord. As Slate counted the duration between one particularly bright flash of lightning and its thunderclap, to try and see how far away the lightning was, a long, green fish with a sharp snout and a spiky dorsal fin breached just in front of the boat. It glistened in the rain for a moment, and Slate could have sworn it looked right at him and even winked, before leaping clear out of the water, turning around in mid-air, and torpedoing back down into the depths.

"Itchy fish!" cried Hid, throwing his arms up to the pouring skies. "Itchy fish, itchy fish!"

"That's an itchy fish? It's huge! How are you ever going to catch one?" asked Slate.

"Well, we don't try for them here in the fjord," answered Hid. "They're diving hundreds and hundreds of feet here, we'd lose them for certain. What we're gonna do is head just a little east of here, closer to Harson's Island. The waters around Harson's aren't more than forty feet deep at best, so if we get one of the bastards, we might actually be able to hold on to it."

After passing four more of the angular rock islands, a flatter, greener island revealed itself.

"It's Harson's," said Hid. "Here, take over for a while."

Slate took the wheel and tried to keep the boat steady while Hid unpacked a harpoon gun, a four-foot metal rod with a three-pronged hook at its front end. Hid mounted the harpoon gun into its fittings on the right side of the boat.

"Here, you come over here now," he said to Slate once the harpoon was in place. "I have to position the boat just right to trick one of these clever bastards, so I'm gonna need you to shoot the thing."

"But I haven't ever shot anything before," Slate said.

"That's okay. You see that little bump on top of the harpoon there?"

"Yes, sir."

"You just have to line up the fish with that little bump, use just one eye, like this, so you get a real clear line, and then you release that crank there. Just pull out the pin. And don't miss! Got it?"

"Got it," Slate gulped.

Two itchy fish breached together, this time more horizontally, due to the shallower water around Harson's. Their torpedo-noses sliced back into the water with almost no spray, and then they re-appeared twenty feet away, leaping back in the other direction. It seemed that they were making parallel dives, back and forth in figure-eight patterns. Hid maneuvered the Calamity near to the middle of their loops.

"Never seen 'em trace such a regular path. Conditions are good here, Slate. If we just set here, and you target one of these sons-a-bitches, well, we may actually catch one," he said with an air of great enjoyment. "I should have brought you along sooner, Slate! You're good luck."

Slate grumbled and set the harpoon's sight on the spot where the fish would appear next. He waited for it to jump four more times, to get its rhythm just right, and then he knew it was time to take his shot.

A shock of lightning illuminated the sea, followed almost immediately by an ear-shattering blow of thunder. Slate's eyes were just readjusting when he made out the nose of his target. He aimed with a hard squint and pulled the pin out of the harpoon crank. The heavy weapon released with a 'thwap' that sounded loudly despite the storm, and sent the harpoon flying through the downpour. It struck one of the fish dead center, right below its huge dorsal fin. The fish dove back into the water, and then the harpoon rope began unfurling into the sea after it.

The fish popped up again on the other side of the boat, while Hid spun around to keep pace.

"Tie down the line, Slate!" he yelled.

Slate wound the harpoon rope around a stopper and tied it, finishing just as the line snapped. The strength of the itchy fish pulled the side of the boat down for a moment, and then the line went slack. Slate was terrified to see the fish's fin slicing through the water toward the boat itself. The fish leapt from the surface of the water and soared clear over the Calamity, wrapping the line over and across its deck as it dove back down.

"If we don't match his moves, he'll drown us! Sucker's tryin' to drown us, Slate!" yelled Hid.

The eye of the storm had made its way down and over Harson's Island. The rain relented momentarily.

"If we can just keep up with it, he's as good as ours," Hid said. "So let's stay sharp. Keep the line tight but not too tight, and give if you have to give, but not too much."

The eye passed quickly and the storm began to gain intensity again. The itchy fish on the end of Slate's line began surfacing closer and closer to the island, which meant that it was getting tired. The Calamity followed its every move for some two and half hours, slowly dowsing the seemingly unquenchable fire that drove the creature through the freezing waters. In the end, the fish's fin surfaced for good, this time up near the island's sandy beach.

"It's time," Hid announced.

He sailed the boat up slowly on the prey to within five feet of the bloodied water where it struggled. Hid and Slate pulled the heavy fish up and out of the water, using all their strength and then Pilotte's, too, to hoist it onto the deck. The massive creature flopped around when it hit the deck, refusing to give in even after so much blood lost and such a long struggle.

"Poor thing," Slate said. "Can't we put it out of its misery?"

"Best way to go," said Hid as he procured a flask from his pocket. He poured its contents into the fish's gills. The fish flopped a few more times before coming to rest with its huge, bulging eyes staring motionlessly skyward.

"Drunk and dead happy. Saints alive, we caught an itchy fish, son!" screamed Hid, his eyebrows pulling halfway up his forehead and his smile reaching nearly as far. He danced around the deck of the Calamity, clapping his hands and laughing. "Do you have any idea how amazing this is?"

"Well, I'm glad it's over," Slate said. "I know that much."

"You are telling me, son, you are telling me," Hid said with a huge sigh, staring down at the fish in disbelief. "And you were worried about having never been on a boat before. See, that's what you do when you're scared, Slate. You bite down hard on it. You own the fear, you conquer it. You catch the itchy fish! Let's take harbor here until the storm passes. Looks like it'll clear up soon."

Soon enough, the storm clouds dissipated over the far edge of the horizon, the thunder roared its last howl, and the moon reappeared, graced with a halo.

"We'll set up camp at Breakers for the night, about ten lengths or so from Airyel," Hid said. "That way we won't have to go through the hassle of registering the wulf, the fish, the boat, all of that junk. It's real nearby."

"How nearby?" asked Slate wearily.

"Real nearby," Hid confirmed happily.

The Calamity radiated a lazy green wake under the moonlight as it made its way back toward the mainland. Once Hid brought the flat bottom of the boat to rest at Breakers camp, Slate helped him string a line of lemp cord between two trees, and then the two draped a canvas over it, to form an a-frame tent. Slate broke off a tree branch and used the fronds as a broom, sweeping out the cones and small sticks from the floor of the tent while Hid collected rocks to build a fire pit.

By the time Slate had the tent ready for sleep, after transporting a few wet blankets from the boat to the fire pit for drying out, Hid had a large conflagration spewing smoke off into the chilly breeze and some small fish roasting over it. The two ate and talked about their wild adventure. When dinner was through, Pilotte crawled into the tent and took up most of the space inside, so Hid and Slate had to squeeze along one of his sides each and curl up, where they slept warmly and comfortably until the gulls cried out to announce the morning.

When Slate reemerged from the tent into the bright of day, wiping his sleep-swollen eyes, Hid was already re-packing the boat.

"Got some glint going on the fire there, help yourself," he said.

Slate stumbled over to the fire pit, which had kept hot coals all night. He poured a cup of glint for himself and sipped slowly at the steaming beverage as he watched Hid work.

"Leaving soon, Mr. Hidli?" he asked.

"Yup. Once the water heats up, the winds make it damn hard to sail north, so I'm already a few minutes behind," Hid said. "I've got to get the itchy fish on ice, so you're on your own from here on out. Give me a hand with the tent, Slate."

Slate gulped down his glint and then helped Hid fold up the canvas, take down the cords, and load them onto the boat. After Hid threw a couple of buckets of seawater into the fire pit, it was time to say goodbye.

"Guess that's it then, Slate," Hid said.

"Guess so. Hey, I really appreciate the ride down, Mr. Hidli," Slate said.

"It's Hid. And don't you worry, it was my gain. Turns out I needed a helper all these years. Who knew? So, what'll you do first?"

"Well, I have that package to deliver to Airyel," Slate said, "And then I'll meet up with my father."

"And then what?"

Slate thought for a moment. "Well, I don't really know."

"You gotta know what you're gonna do in life, Slate," said Hid. "Don't you have any aspirations?"

Slate realized his only real dream had been leaving home. And now that he had, he had no idea what more he wanted.

"Well, I'll get a job, probably," he said. "Maybe something with farming? And I have to go back to Aislin, at some point. But, no, I don't really know what I want to do with my life."

Hid could see that this made Slate upset. "Son, I don't like to preach but, if you're staring in the face of proof, well... I want to tell you what: Here's how life is: You find something, whatever it is, something for you, just for you, Slate. Whatever you can find that you care about. And you love that thing so much that it drives you wild. Think about it all the time. Go to it when you can't find anything else to believe in. Remember it when you think you're satisfied. And it can be anything, can be an idea, doesn't have to be a thing even. When you get to be my age, and you get to have that dream you've dreamt your whole life come true... you'll see what I mean. Make it a big dream. Make it anything you want."

"Okay. I appreciate the advice, Mr. Hidli."

"It's Hid. Truly sorry I can't stay and help you more, son. But I certainly will never forget the young man who helped me catch an itchy fish. I want you to come see me up in Nowhere, after you find your father, okay? And make it soon, because I don't have too many days left." Hid took out the goldquartz pieces that Slate had given him as payment the day before and handed them back. "And I can't take this, because you helped me so much with the catch. Wish I had something more to give you, in fact. But I don't. Money, anyways, I don't have any of that with me. So I thought maybe this'll work for ya." He reached into his boat to retrieve a pointed jawbone, and presented it to Slate. "Itchy fish jaw. Found it diving a few years ago. Figure you should take it, as a means to remember our catch."

"Look at that," Slate said as he took the bone. It seemed to glow like a pearl, smooth and glossy in the morning light. "Thanks, Mr. Hidli."

"Mr. Hidli was my father, Slate. You got to call me Hid."

"Sorry. Force of habit. I really appreciate it, Hid."

"Least I could do. Now remember, once you find your dad and get all that squared away, the two of you come visit me," Hid said. "You can always find me in the harbor." He gave Slate a pat on the back.

The last remnants of morning fog finally dissipated and the beach grew at once brighter and warmer.

"That's the cue for me to go!" Hid said.

The sailor climbed up into his boat, and then Slate gave the vessel a push back into the sea. Hid unfurled half of the mainsail, riding the wind in a spin toward the north, and then was pulled off into the distance.

Slate waved goodbye, watching until the Calamity became a speck on the horizon, indistinguishable from the crests of the innumerable waves.

"Well, I guess we keep on then, huh, Pilotte?" Slate asked the wulf, as he scratched its hairy chest. Pilotte confirmed with a wet wash of his enormous tongue that he was ready.

Before leaving the campsite, Slate decided to catch a few crabs for the day's journey, using a trick that Hid taught him to set up a trap: he dug out a pit near where the tidewater was reaching its farthest up the shore, and lined it with rocks. Then, it was just a matter of waiting for high tide to bring in some sea life, and waiting for the tide to go out again, leaving the sea life trapped and exposed to snatch up.

Once the tide had begun to move back out, hours later, after a day spent sheltering from the sun, Slate was eager to resume travel. He speared up the four crabs who had been trapped, stowed them in a towel in his sack next to his delivery for Guh Hsing, and then destroyed the trap, before he and Pilotte strode out of the salty sea air into the sweet-smelling Red Forest.

The forest along the eastern shore was thick with tall, spindly trees, and the light green moss of the stony floor was dotted with clusters of orange mushrooms that Slate learned were probably poisonous when he attempted to pick some and Pilotte whimpered warning. Squat bushes began to appear along the path, bursting with berries, as did bright, yellow sunblazes, their seeds naturally baked by the sun. Slate ate of the fruits and seeds as he walked along the gently sloping hills that stretched on a winding path down from the Aeolian Mountains.

After passing through a narrow canyon, Slate's jaw dropped when the towering city wall of Airyel rose up before him, so absolutely immense that it seemed The Legend had come to life. Here was what Slate had expected of the Blue Bridge, a mythical feat of engineering, a construction worthy of its reputation. His head swam with imaginings as he crossed over and across two rivers and through vast wildflower patches buzzing with insects, with the stone and timber wall always looming ever taller before him. Slate and Pilotte passed the remnants of many watchtowers, buildings, and cabins along the banks of the ox-bowing rivers that straked across the plain, vestiges of the time before the city limits were cut short by the impossible wall.

Slate was so completely transfixed that he didn't notice when he came to an occupied guard station.

"Excuse me!" a woman barked at Slate through the station's window.

Slate jumped and couldn't help but yelp.

The guard exited through the station's door, whisking a notebook from her pocket to start a routine it seemed like she'd gone through far too many times.

"What is your name, place of origin, and business within the city today?" she asked without raising her eyes.

Pilotte seemed unfazed, so Slate swallowed his anxiety and answered, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. My name is Slate Ahn, and I'm from Alleste. I am here to find my father."

The guard's cold, blue stare warmed slightly, and she made eye contact with Slate. "Hard times in Alleste these days, aren't they? Spell your name, please."

"S-L-A-T-E A-H-N. Yes, very hard times, ma'am."

"My father was actually from Alleste," the guard said with a tinge of sentimentality as she penciled in her notebook. "I remember visiting my grandmother there a few times, when I was very young. Spell the snarlingwulf's name please."

"P-I-L-O-T-T-E. Who was your father?"

"Grif Nim. Age?"

"I'm sixteen. I actually know the Nims," Slate enthused.

"It's a small world."

"Is it?"

"You'll need to keep this license on you all the time while you're in the city."

Looking over the form the guard was filling in, Slate asked, "Why do I need a license for Pilotte?"

The woman answered, "Any weapon has to be registered."

"But Pilotte isn't a weapon," said Slate.

"I don't write the laws, Slate," the guard said. "Just be glad you can still keep him. And be careful in there."

"Do you ever think about going back to Alleste?" asked Slate.

The woman tore off Pilotte's license and handed it over. "That'll be all," she said, closing her notebook.

Slate thought the guard might not have heard him. "Do you think you might go back, to Alleste someday?" he repeated.

"Move along," the guard said, turning to walk back to her station.

Slate watched as she pulled a large, red flag from a box hanging off the side of the station, to wave it back and forth for someone high above, in one of the wall's watchtowers. Without another word, the guard reentered her station, as the set of massive doors in the wall began to glide open. They moved in perfect, gliding synchronicity, filling Slate's entire field of vision. Here was his whole world literally shifting form before him. He and Pilotte passed warily through the doors, which then groaned shut behind them with a resounding thud.
9

The world inside Airyel's walls couldn't have been more different than the one outside. Huge estates rose up on the sides of the terraced valley, pouring opulence down onto the streets below over wrought-iron railings stuffed to bursting with flowers. Bramblebees of every color danced around the flowers, some bright yellow, others as red as taspberries, others orange or green. Marble statuary lined every property and stood in every park square, of which there seemed to be hundreds, dotted all across the town in honor of everyone and anyone the Airyellians could think to pay tribute to. And stretched across the wide, redbrick streets, high above the bustling crowds, garlands of pinea and jundaroses.

Another of the most immediately remarkable things about Airyel to Slate was that Pilotte was not the only one of his kind there. He noted many other strange creatures as well, from walecats, giant felines with bright blue bands of fur around their eyes, to stubranges, squat animals with fat legs and wide, scrubby bodies. Slate asked the apparent owner of one of these stubranges if she knew the location of Guh Hsing's bookshop, and was pleased to find it was only a few blocks away.

When he and Pilotte reached Guh's shop, an old building with a wooden sign that read The Shelf, Slate made sure the snarlingwulf had shade to wait in, then entered.

"Hello?" Slate called into the dark interior. "Hello, I'm looking for someone named Guh Hsing?"

"Who's that?" a voice called from the back.

"My name is Slate Ahn, I'm looking for someone named Guh Hsing."

An elderly man, with a deeply wrinkled face full of energy and hunched-over gait, shuffled out from the back of the store. "What do you want with Guh Hsing?" he asked.

"I have a package for him, from Aislin."

"What sort of package?"

"I'm not sure. It's from Naan Falls."

"Naan Falls?" the man repeated, his eyes popping.

"Yes..." Slate answered hesitantly. "Do you know where Mr. Guh is? Mr. Hsing? I was told this was his shop."

The old man moved furtively to the front window and scanned the street outside. "That's... there's a snarlingwulf out there," he said. "How did you... Is that creature yours?"

"No, but he follows me. Has ever since we met," Slate answered. "We're friends."

"My goodness," the man said softly. "You know, it's a rare person who earns the devotion of a snarlingwulf."

"I helped him out of a trap. He's a great traveling partner," said Slate. "Anyways, do you know this Guh Hsing?"

"It's me," the man said in a whisper.

"Who?" Slate asked.

"Guh Hsing!"

Slate scoffed disbelievingly. "You're Guh Hsing?"

"Yes, he's me!" the man said.

"So, this is your bookshop?" Slate asked.

"Yes, yes it is," said Guh. He sighed and looked worried. "Please, wait here. Right here. I'll be right back."

"Alright. Can Pilotte come in?" Slate called to Guh, who had disappeared again into the back of the store.

"Yes, that's fine!" came Guh's response.

Slate let Pilotte in and then strolled about the small shop as he waited. The afternoon sun poured in through yellowed curtains, bathing the interior in soft light. The big picture window at the front of the store nestled a seating area padded with overstuffed, beige pillows upon which slept two plump, orange cats, until Pilotte tried to say hello, at which point the cats fled. The store's aisles were delineated by three bookshelves, which ran back to a heavy wooden counter. The place was smaller than the library at the Falls residence, but its texts were more ornate, decorated with jeweled and etchleath covers. Bazzeb webs and dust showed that many of the books hadn't been disturbed for a long while. It was only the New Release section that showed any sign of recent visitation.

"You don't have much business here, do you?" Slate asked when Guh returned.

"How would you know that?" Guh asked defensively. "What would make you think that?

"Well, this place looks like a tomb."

"And you look like a foolish young man. Perhaps we are both mistaken?

"I'm not as foolish as I look."

"That's good, because... Listen, I have very good business. Let's not go by first impressions, shall we? I print here. Do you know printing?"

"No?"

"Can you read?"

"Yes."

"And where do you think the words in books come from?"

"Someone writes them there?"

"No. See, we don't have to write things by hand anymore. Look," Guh explained, as he showed Slate a machine resembling a wine press that sat on the back counter. Guh cranked up the top of the press with a hand pedal and then unscrewed from it a plate. There were words on the plate, though Slate couldn't read them easily because they were mirrored. "I arrange the letters onto this plate, and then we can ink them and print many copies, very quickly."

Slate watched Guh demonstrate: He took letters from a cabinet hanging on the wall, arranged them on a plate, and then screwed the plate back up into the press. He put a clean sheet of paper into a well below the plate, brought the press down a bit, and then wiped the letters with an oily cloth. He lowered the press all the way to the paper, wound it back, and handed the result to Slate, the whole action taking no more than three minutes.

"Well that's pretty neat!" Slate marveled at the resultant printing. It depicted on it Slate's name, three flower forms, and a little dog figure. "It's so fast."

"You see now how it is," Guh said. "That's how I have good business. I print up menus, pamphlets, for places in town. There are only two other presses in North Airyel, so we stay busy."

"Who's we?" Slate asked.

"Well, me, and the cats. And now, you. I could use your help. Strong young boy like you."

"I can't stay, though," Slate said. "I'm just here to give you the package. The real reason I'm travelling is to find my father."

"Don't be in such a hurry," said Guh. "Everyone is in such a hurry all the time. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?"

"I suppose I can wait long enough to eat. I'm starving," Slate said. "I actually have some blue crabs in my sack, if you've got a way to cook them."

"Blue crabs? Delicious. Oh, things just keep getting better, don't they, Slate?" laughed Guh.

The two cooked up the crab in a tiny, back-room kitchen along with some rice and a vegetable Slate had never had before, something Guh called mea. As they ate over the sink, their faces close to their steaming bowls, Guh asked Slate a litany of questions. Slate answered them half-heartedly, often wondering why Guh should be so invasive, but focusing mainly on the tasty snap-crunch of the mea.

"What about school, have you completed your schooling?" asked Guh.

"No, I haven't," said Slate. "Not formally. No schools in Alleste. But I did some studying in Aislin."

"You can read?"

"Yes, I can read. While I was in Aislin..."

"The Falls have one of the largest ancient libraries on Alm, did you know that?"

"No. But I'm not surprised. When I was there I..."

"And your family, what about your family?"

"Why do you have so many questions, anyways?" Slate asked.

"Because the answers are very important," answered Guh.

"Why?"

"Slate, I don't know how much was explained to you by Mrs. Falls, but you have stepped into something incredibly important. Something that will affect the entire course of Alm's future."

Slate choked on a bit of crab, turning red as he struggled to take it down. He finally cleared his throat and gasped, "Alm's future?"

Guh Hsing put down his bowl and shuffled to the kitchen door to close and lock it. Slate wondered if he should be worried for his safety. He looked to the window over the sink, and contemplated whether or not he might be able to fit through it if he had to escape.

"What would you say," Guh asked, "If I told you that I know who closed down the Great Hall?"

"I don't know. What should I say?" Slate asked.

"There are very strange things happening these days," said Guh. "Secret searches. Mysterious undertakings."

"I know, things are a mess," Slate said. "All I want is to get to my father. Anyways, it's late. Dinner was excellent. But now, Pilotte and I should really try and use what's left of the day..."

"Where do you think he is?" Guh asked. "Your father?"

"Over at the mine," answered Slate.

"Which one?"

"Fundal Jarry," said Slate.

"Fundal Jarry operate four different mines. Which one are you looking for, specifically?"

"Four? Well, I don't really know."

"Tell you what, Slate: I know a lot of people in town. I could ask around for you. It would be a lot easier than trying to find your father yourself."

Slate wanted to refuse the help, but knew the impulse was illogical. "I'd appreciate that, Guh," he said.

"Well, you did bring me my package. I'd be honored to do you a favor in exchange. I'll ask around first thing tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep in the room above the shop. I'll find you some pillows."

"Tomorrow? I guess that's alright. We made it all the way here, after all. And, again, thank you," Slate said.

He made sure to call Pilotte to join him upstairs. Even if it was only the cider making him paranoid, Slate felt safer with his traveling partner and loyal friend beside him in the dusty, cramped storage space above the printing shop that Guh gave them for a bedroom. Dingy as the space was, it was warm, the pillows Guh found for Slate were soft, and the room stayed nice and dark and quiet and allowed Slate deep sleep.

The next morning shook Slate awake with a series of loud bangs and a clamor of voices from the shop below. He moved closer to the stairs, to try to make out what the argument was about. He heard a low, raspy voice that he could not understand, followed by another, then Guh's, which he could hear more clearly.

"You can't come in here," Guh insisted. "I told you, you're not allowed!"

There was more growling from the other voices.

"It's my private property," Guh said. "Get out! Get out!"

The unfamiliar voices lowered their tones, then Slate heard stomping across the floor. After the front doorbell rang with the visitors' departure, Slate made his way down the stairs to ask Guh what all the commotion had been about.

"Good morning, Guh," Slate yawned as he stretched.

"Good?" Guh snapped.

"I'm sorry. Not good? What were those men here about?"

"Nothing," Guh sighed. "It was nothing."

"Sounds like the printing trade is a dangerous business."

"You don't know the half of it," Guh said. "Listen, I'm going to head out, to take care of some errands and see if I can't find out which mine your father is at. Would you mind helping me with some deliveries?"

"Oh," Slate said, surprised, "No. I've got nothing else to do. Of course I'll help."

"Excellent. I have another favor to ask: Do you think you could leave your wulf here, while you're out? To keep an eye on things?" asked Guh.

"I guess..." Slate said. "Are you in trouble, Guh?"

"I really have to be going," Guh said, evading the question. "The deliveries and addresses are there on the counter. Expect word about your father later," he added, before dashing out the back door in a hurry.

"What a strange man," Slate said to Pilotte, who was trying his best to squeeze his huge body down the circular staircase from the second floor.

Slate took the load of parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine from the counter, along with a piece of paper that listed the addresses they were to be delivered to.

"I hope you don't mind hanging out here for a little bit, Pilotte," Slate said. "Guh needs you to keep an eye on things. I'm going to be right back after these deliveries, and I'll bring you a treat, okay?"

The wulf seemed more than happy to stop his descent right where he was, squeezed tight by the bannister. He grunted contentedly and fell back to sleep on the stairs.

Slate's first delivery was just across the street, one large, flat parcel and two smaller, thicker ones for J. Wellington of Wellington's Haberdashery. A number of the foolish hats that North Airyellians donned around town sat in the window of this museum of bad taste, and Slate was trying to imagine why Mr. Wellington would even think to construct a specifically awful one, a nest-like affair replete with eggs and chicks, when someone wearing the very design walked directly in between Slate and the display.

He withheld his laughter as long as he could, breaking down two blocks later on the same street outside Carters and Sons, a hardware store that was closed. It was a sturdy and imposing brick building, like most of the others in town, executed in simple curves and hard edges. Slate slid their one, heavy parcel through the mail slot, and then cut down two more stone-paved blocks south and three east, to Babacelli's Wine. Babacelli greeted Slate with a giant, "Hey!" which startled Slate as he fumbled through his stack for Babacelli's three medium-sized parcels. "My menus! Hey!" bellowed Babacelli, stuffing a tip into Slate's shirt pocket and giving him a slap on the back with a fat hand. Slate hadn't considered the possibility of being tipped for his errands, and now felt more eager to finish the rest of his route, to see if anyone else was feeling as generous as old Babacelli.

The rest of the deliveries were all in an older part of town. On Graypyre Street were Johnson's and The Black Keys, where two and five more parcels were unloaded, respectively. That left two parcels, both addressed to one K. P. of Bartlett's Fruits. As Slate pushed his last two parcels through the mail slot at Bartlett's, the door swung open into the store.

"Hey, what're...?" barked the frazzled man in the doorway. "Oh, menus," he said, taking and then throwing them back into the store haphazardly. "Here, this's for you," the man said as he handed a palm full of goldquartz to Slate.

"Thank you," Slate said quickly. He stole away from the testy fruit salesman and turned quickly down the first alley he came to.

There, amidst the sawdust and trash, he sat on a rusty old barrel frame and counted his tips, a total of thirty-seven goldquartz from just the two customers who had actually been present for their deliveries. Slate was amazed at his fortune, and decided to stop at a mercantile, to purchase a giant bone for Pilotte and a new hat for himself in celebration.

He returned to Guh's shop two hours after he had left, finding Pilotte still sleeping on the stairs and Guh now busy at work on the press.

"All done, Guh," Slate said happily as he slapped down the remainder of the tips on the counter.

"What's that?" Guh asked.

"The tips I made, said Slate. "Or, what's left. I got a new hat and a bone for Pilotte."

"Those are for you to keep," said Guh.

"Oh wow, really?" Slate asked. "Thanks!"

"No, thank you," Guh said. "I'm sorry I was short with you this morning."

"It's okay," said Slate. "People get angry sometimes. What're you up to?"

Guh stopped his work and came to the other side of the counter where Slate was standing.

"Slate..." he began, "I have some bad news."

"What is it?" Slate asked.

"It's about your father. Now... I don't know how to give it to you."

"What is it? Is he in trouble? Is he not here?"

"I don't know how to do this the right way," Guh said, moving to where his coat was slumped over a stool. He took a small package from under the coat and brought it to Slate at the counter. "I got this from my friend," he said. "He knew your father... Take this, and go ahead and go out back and open it up."

"Okay?" Slate said, wondering why Guh wouldn't make eye contact.

He exited the back door and sat on a busted bench with the small package. Swallowing down his pounding heart, he opened it with trembling hands. It contained his father's knife. He noticed that the package also contained a letter. Before he unfolded the letter, he looked to the sky in prayer that its message wouldn't be too painful. It read:

My dear Slate and Greene,

It won't be long for me now. The doctor tells me I have maybe three days left. It's a hell of a thing to hear someone tell you that. But we all have to go. I never dreamed I was any exception. I wish only that I had enough time to see you both once more, to hold you, to tell you in person how much I love you. I'm sorry you have to find me like this, meaning not find me at all. I'm sorry I ever left, that I thought we needed more than we had in Alleste. Know that I only left to help you. And that I died trying to do the right thing, trying to help a stranger. Like I always taught you both, others are all we really have in this life, all that matters. The money I was going to send to you I leave to you now, with my knife. Carry it always, as I have you in my heart. And know that I'm watching over you. I love you, Slate and Greene. You'll both be great men, I know it. I've always known it.

I love you, boys.

Dad

Slate could hardly read the words due to the tears in his eyes. He took the knife from the box, the knife he had seen his father reach for so many times. Holding the knife seemed to cut something loose inside. Tears began to flow like rain. Through the distortion of his tears, Slate saw his father's strong, thick-skinned hands holding the knife instead of his own. They were a husband's, a farmer's. The strongest person Slate had even known. For almost a half an hour all Slate could do was weep, thinking of how he'd never be able to talk with his father again, would never be able to watch him work or hear him laugh.

When Slate stopped crying and came back to his senses, he realized Pilotte was lying at his feet. Slate reached for the wulf, who jumped up and nuzzled his huge face into Slate's chest. Slate leaned on his friend and cried some more, until he didn't want to feel such deep hurt any longer. He rose from the bench and went back into Guh's shop.

"He's dead, Guh," Slate said.

"I know. I'm sorry, Slate."

"Well what am I supposed to do now?"

"You don't have to think about that. Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Do you want to sleep?

"Yes."

"You go ahead and sleep, okay? And if you're hungry or you need anything at all, you just let me know, okay?"

Slate headed for the stairs without answering.

"I'm sorry, Slate," Guh said. "I know it won't ease your pain, but I lost my father unexpectedly a few years ago. I know how it hurts."

Slate nodded and walked up the stairs, then fell into the bed Guh had prepared for him and pulled the covers over his head.

He stayed in bed for a whole day, sometimes sleeping but mostly not, thinking about his father and how he'd never see him again and how lost he felt now. He had only left home to find the man, and now he was gone. Where was he to turn? What was his purpose now? He didn't know what to get out of bed for anymore.

But Slate had never been one to dwell on sadness. His thoughts eventually came around to what Hid had told him about a life's purpose, and wondering what his might be. He had never wanted to be rich, or gain great acclaim, like most people so both of those were out. He wasn't a great athlete or artist, so he'd never make a name for himself those ways, either. As he thought over what his life had been and what he hoped it might be, the one thing he kept coming back to was the Falls house. A place where everyone cared about and helped each other. A warm, comfortable place, with a massive library and a stocked kitchen and soft beds. He couldn't imagine anything better than to be in such a loving place, and in turn couldn't imagine that place without Arianna. And so he fixed that as his purpose, to have a home, and a family. Maybe he'd stay with Guh a while, so that he could work and have some savings to help build a life, but to find such tenderness as he had with the Falls, to return to Arianna as he had promised, was where he was going to devote his hopes and energies.

Guh's insistence that Slate eat finally reached him, and Slate stumbled back down the stairs into the bookshop, then out the back door, to join Guh and Pilotte for dinner.

"Go ahead, eat all you want," Guh said when he saw Slate had finally gotten up.

Slate stabbed at some food with his fork, but couldn't bring himself to eat anything.

"So what are you going to do now, Slate?" Guh asked.

"I don't know," Slate answered. "I just got up."

"Well you couldn't sleep forever."

"I know that."

"Do you have any idea what you'd want to do?"

"I think I'll go back to Aislin. Go back to Arianna."

"Well, there you go," Guh said. "I knew you'd figure something out. But before that, how about a trip, to take your mind off your father?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know that when my father died, I had to leave town, to get away from my memories and myself, before I could start feeling good again."

"You did?"

"Would you like to do the same?"

"I don't know, Guh. Another trip?"

"I have all the sympathy in the world for you, Slate, but I also don't want to see you wallow in your sadness. One has to try to lift themselves up when they're down."

"Do they?"

"They do. Now, I'm going to be leaving soon."

"You are?"

"Slate, things are getting dangerous for me around here. But before I go, I need to ask one more favor."

"Let me guess, you need some more books delivered?"

"Actually, yes. Listen closely," Guh said gravely, as he leaned in toward Slate across the dingy table in the back alley. "Here is the truth: The Falls, from Aislin, are descendants of AlriFal!"

Slate could tell that Guh expected the news to be met with astonishment. "Who?" he asked.

"AlriFal. One of the seven great sages who wrote the Book of Knowledge."

"What?"

"When the seven sages who compiled the Books of Known Knowledge after the Fall grew old, they each retired to lives of solitary contemplation. AlriFal took his repository of knowledge to Aislin, as one of the first settlers of Aelioanei. The Falls own house was built upon the exact same location that AlriFal chose, on the foundations of his library."

"Guh Hsing," Slate interrupted, "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Just listen! The library at the Falls house protected AlriFal's copy of the Book of Knowledge for hundreds of years. But there is now a search on for the Books. Who is leading it is not entirely clear, but they are traversing the globe in search of the ancient texts."

"Why?" Slate asked, barely following.

"It is unknown. At least, to me. But they won't find what they're looking for in Alleste, will they?"

"Why not?"

"Because you've brought it to me, of course!"

The old man now produced the package Slate had delivered. It was free of its wrappings, and so Slate could see its glimmering crystalline jacket. Guh handed the sealed book to Slate. He fumbled with it, unsure of how to react.

"...I think it's locked," he said.

"Indeed," Guh murmured.

"So how do you know what's inside?"

"Pieces of the knowledge have been whispered from generation to generation since the Fall. It is the forbidden lore that has spurned Proterse's technological explosion! Why, the techniques that have begun to creep up even here in Airyel."

"So if the knowledge exists outside the book, why is it so important?" asked Slate.

"Because the deepest secrets were for the longest time locked behind a language barrier. The Books that have been opened are untranslatable. But the city of Opal Pools, on the eastern coast of Proterse, has translated a copy," Guh said. "And they are building a weapon of terrible, terrible destruction with what they have learned."

"So why did Mrs. Falls want you to have the book?"

"She is a member of the Protectorate, as am I. We who have overseen the protection of the Gods' books for the last three hundred years," Guh answered.

"Protectorment?" Slate asked, still trying to wrap his head around all he was hearing.

"The Protectorate, yes," Guh said.

Slate rubbed his eyes and frowned.

"Slate, you must realize the importance of what I'm telling you," said Guh.

"Oh, I believe you. Sorry, Guh," Slate said. "I, just. I didn't even know about the whole Fall until a few weeks ago. And I just found out my dad's dead. And now, what you're telling me..."

"I see you struggle to believe. Come with me," said Guh.

He got up from his seat and called for Slate to follow him into a hallway leading to the shop's office. There, he led Slate through an opening revealed in the back of a fireplace. The opening went into a tiny passage that ended at a circular staircase, which wound down into the bedrock. Guh lit a number of candles at the bottom of the staircase and then Slate could see around him. The space appeared to be another library, one even more ancient and untouched than the bookshop upstairs contained.

Guh took from a shelf an ornate key, cut from quartz in a talon shape, with three ridges of incisions around its circumference. At the top of the talon was an asthern's head, sculpted perfectly from the grain of the quartz. Black clane inlets for the asthern's eyes completed the design, which even in the dim light of the cave was one of the most beautiful pieces of art Slate had ever seen.

"Are you ready?" Guh asked.

"For what?" Slate asked.

"I am going to open the Book. This'll be our moment of truth," Guh said. "Here, hold it so I can insert the key."

Slate held the book from Mrs. Falls tightly as Guh carefully inserted the point of the talon key into the lock. When it reached the first ridge of inscriptions, the key stopped, and so Guh tried twisting it, which released one layer of diamondcrest bindings. This exposed a second keyhole, on the underside of the case, which released another set of bindings when the key was inserted into it up to the second ridge of inscriptions. When Guh tried to twist the key back out, the bottom of the key detached, leaving a flat bottom on the asthern-head. This fit perfectly into the wider rim around the hole on the top of the binding. A last twist of the key to the left popped the rest of the diamondcrest casing off completely, leaving the pieces of the key irretrievable from their keyholes.

"So now what? I almost expected an explosion or something," said Slate.

"Well, we had to get the cover off."

"And we did that."

"Open it, Slate."

The illustrated pages within the Book were full of incredible things. Machines, animals, plants, places, people, all so new and different that Slate couldn't begin to understand. And accompanying all the illustrations was a strange text that Slate could not read.

"It's amazing," Slate said after flipping through the pages for some time. "Just... what does it mean?"

"I know it's hard to comprehend, especially written in protoprotersian, but I try to understand. Like... this picture, here, with the arrows and the bizarre little creatures, I think it's a medical text. I think the whole volume is medical. My friend, Voutre, has begun to experiment with an optical instrument that can magnify living particles to an incredible degree with glass lenses, making them visible to our eyes. What he's seeing in the minutest examinations of the human body very strongly resembles the pictures in this book."

"But if any of the stuff was at all relevant or applicable, wouldn't we know about it, now? Wouldn't it have been handed down? Or couldn't we write about it in modern Protersian?"

"Certainly every age of man thinks it's the brightest one, Slate. But perhaps what is in these ancient books is beyond our capabilities, yet. Perhaps fantastic machines and wonders are just around the corner, waiting for re-invention. I've done some research on my own, and if you compare it..." continued Guh, as he flipped through a second book to a section containing pictures of plants alongside human forms, "See, here, this picture looks just like a graybane flower, and it points to the head. And we all know that graybane calms headaches, right? So I tried another one, this one here that looks like a dead ringer for yiuyiu, correlated to the eyes. Tell you what; it made me half-blind. So there's no positive or negative association with the correlations, just that they are linked. Also, there are plenty of plants that aren't represented in the books, and there are some plants in there that I've never seen or heard of."

"I've seen books on plants more extensive and relevant than this, ones that have been produced within the last few years," said Slate.

"But you see, Slate, it's the combination of information from the entire set of the Books of Knowledge that holds the true power. It is the summary of all the knowledge together that grants the possessor the powers of the Gods. And it is this power that Opal Pools has used to create their horrible new weapon."

Slate stared at a page in one of the books, trying hard to take the drawings seriously, but he couldn't. "I don't mean to be rude," he said, "But to an Allestian, it all just seems like a lot of nonsense."

"What you think is nonsense may spell the end of freedom for many people on Alm," said Guh.

"Well what can be done about it? And why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you to take the three copies of the Book that I have here and transport them to Aurora Falls for me. For a meeting of the Protectorate, where the seven volumes will be reunited for the first time since the Fall, and we will decide what to do with them. I cannot make the delivery myself; there are already too many people looking for them. People like the men who were here this morning. Who know I'm associated with the Protectorate, and suspect I have them already. You would not attract such suspicion."

"Where is it you want me to take them?"

"To Aurora Falls. Across the ocean. To Proterse."

"All the way across the ocean to Proterse?"

"You would be paid handsomely for your efforts, and remembered forever. This is a very exciting opportunity."

"Then why aren't I excited? Guh, I don't really care to be paid handsomely or remembered forever. I just want to go back to..."

"And that is why you are the right person for the task. I know you are still sad, and I understand. But doing this for me, for us, will shake you out of your sadness, and help a huge number of people. It will affect the entire course of the history of Alm."

Slate sighed. "I'll ask you the same thing I asked Mrs. Falls, back when I thought the books might be full of recipes or fairy tales: What if I lose them? What if I mess up?"

"They are safer with you than with me," Guh said. "The searches are intensifying. If the Books stay with me, someone will surely take them. At least they have a chance with you to make it to Aurora Falls."

"And there's no one else you could ask?"

"Not that I could trust."

"Why should you trust me?"

"Because Pilotte does. Because I've seen your character. I know you're a good person, Slate. And they're coming no matter what. It's now or never. I give the books to you or I have them taken from me. And the consequences of that could be too grave to imagine. So will you help me? Will you help us all?"

Slate shook his head. "When would I have to leave?"

"As soon as possible," Guh answered.

Slate stared at the ground and weighed the offer against returning to Aislin right away. The latter seemed like a much better option, but Slate knew that he'd have to answer for what happened to the Book when he got there, and didn't want to disappoint Mrs. Falls or Arianna. And something to take his mind off losing his father would probably be good, too. Moreover, if only for all the help he had found along his way to Airyel, he felt obligated to pay some of it back. He rolled his eyes and answered, "Sure. Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll take your books across the ocean," Slate said. "But I don't have any money..."

"We'll pay for everything," Guh said.

"Alright," said Slate. "Can we finish dinner now?"

"I'm happy to hear your appetite is back," said Guh.

"Yeah," said Slate, feeling a little better. "I guess life has to go on at some point, right?"

"That's right," Guh said. "We'll eat well; you have quite a trip ahead of you."

The next morning, Guh prepared a huge breakfast for Slate and Pilotte, which Slate still didn't have much of an appetite for, but Pilotte was happy to finish.

"The cats left with my friend Canaya this morning. I suppose there's no reason for either of us to stay here any longer," Guh said with light melancholy. "It was a good shop. But it's time to go now. I'll be waiting for you in Aurora Falls when you get there, alright?" He handed Slate a bag full of supplies.

"Alright," said Slate. "I sure hope I can make it. What is going to happen to your bookshop?"

"Whatever must," Guh answered. "It's empty. All they can find now is the basement, which may confuse the new owners but no longer holds any secrets. Those go with you now."

"Are you sad, to leave the place you've lived your whole life?" Slate asked.

"Only for the memories I have here. It was my father's shop, you know. But I'll take our memories with me. Remember, seek out the ship named Sefose in South Airyel. That will take you to Proterse. I've got to leave now. Enjoy your adventure, Slate Ahn. It's going to be incredible! And I'll see you soon."

With this, the old man flipped the sign in the window from open to closed, and stepped out front door. He waved through the window from the street and then was gone, leaving Slate and Pilotte alone in the shop.

"You ready, Pilotte?" Slate asked the wulf.

Pilotte wagged his tail, knocking a whole shelf of books onto the floor.

Slate smiled. "Then here we go."

He thought of happy memories of his father as he hiked the small distance between North and South Airyel. It was sad, that all Slate now had of his father were memories, but Guh was right; those memories would always exist, and so, in that way, Slate had never really lost his father, nor would he ever.

Towering chimneys of industry blew columns of smoke and steam up into the sky as Slate and Pilotte approached South Airyel. The Florian Ocean knocked at the city's break walls, bejeweled with the lights of the harbor and the fires of innumerable ships. Even at the city's edge, the air was thick and congested with the pollution from the waterfront factories, the crumbling streets strewn with garbage. Crouching beneath broken edifices and sagging pillars were sets of hungry eyes leering from the shadows. The place was a nightmare.

"Keep close," Slate said to Pilotte. "We won't have to be here long."

Because the city sloped down to the ocean, Slate could see the harbor from nearly anywhere in town, which saved him the anxiety of having to ask any of the mean-faced citizenry for directions. He proceeded down through crumbling infrastructure, eventually finding his way to a park near the waterfront where he sat down on a graffiti-covered bench to eat, thinking how cold and uncomfortable the bench was compared to the mossy floor of the forest.

After Slate's hurried meal, a grizzled old sailor told him where he could find the Sefose, the ship on which Guh had secured him board. Slate and Pilotte followed the sailor's directions to pier seventeen, which was deserted, save for some junk fishermen who worked in heavy clothing to protect themselves from the waste choking the docks. Slate watched them for a moment before noticing a bill hanging from one of the pier's posts. It read:

Sailing To-Morrow:

The Merchant Ship Sefose

Captain Alistair Slocum and Crew of Twelve

Available: ONE rooms quarters for

Transportation to Proterse via the Passage Islands

Docking in Jaidour

Those present at ten hour will be interviewed for consideration.

Slate was confused as to whether he already had a room on the Sefose or if he would have to be interviewed yet. As there was no one around to ask, he and Pilotte headed back into town to find a room for the night. The manager at the inn they found seemed reluctant to house the wulf, but a bribe erased his concern. The room was warm and the bed just the right amount of broken-in. Slate washed his clothes and himself in the small, communal bathroom down the hall, then set his clothes out to dry before climbing into bed and falling fast asleep.

Slate awoke hungry, and so roused Pilotte for help in scrounging up breakfast. The two stopped briefly at the front desk to settle their bill and ask directions toward something to eat before stepping out into the morning hustle.

After eating, Slate and Pilotte returned to pier seventeen, to find the Sefose waiting. Slate expected a crowd, or at least a few others looking to rent the bed available on board, but there were none but the shipmaster present.

"So, you're the lucky lottery winner, eh?" the shipmaster asked drolly as he handed Slate a ticket.

"I... guess? I was sent here by a man named Guh Hsing. Do you know who that is?" Slate asked.

"No idea, son," the shipmaster said.

"He said he secured me passage on this ship."

"I didn't hear anything about that."

"But there's a room available?"

"That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

"Yes... but is there anything else I have to do, or is that it?"

"That's it. Just get onboard, that's all. And make it snappy, we're all ready now."

"I'm sorry if I'm late," Slate said.

"It's fine. Come on," the shipmaster said.

"And my wulf can come with me, right?" asked Slate.

"Yes, it can," answered the shipmaster. "Now, let's go. We've got a lot of ocean to cover. Ocean teeming with pirates."

"Pirates?" Slate whispered to Pilotte as the two made their way up the gangplank.

The Sefose was tugged from the pier not long after. Slate stood beside Pilotte on the deck and stared back at his island, his whole life up until that point, as the ship drifted away from shore. He wondered about Arianna and the other Falls, about his brother. He wondered if the island might be different when he returned, or if he would. It wasn't until Aelioanei disappeared behind the swelling fog that Slate's thoughts turned to Proterse and what might lie ahead.

10

The other passengers and crewmen with whom Slate made contact onboard the Sefose were withdrawn, fearful of the apparently omnipresent threat of pirate attack. This left Slate and Pilotte mainly to themselves, to play fetch on deck and watch the birds swoop over the dahlphins that jumped and frolicked in the choppy gray water.

On the third day out from South Airyel, true to fears, a terrible war cry broke the silence and a pirate sloop sidled up swift and fast alongside the Sefose. The crew and other passengers went into an immediate panic, running around the deck and lower levels of the ship aimlessly. A few even jumped off into the ocean.

"Run!" a red-faced woman shouted to Slate as she tore by. "Run for your life!"

Slate had no idea what to expect as the pirates threw lines and began to board the Sefose, but he knew he had to act fast to protect himself. He and Pilotte ran down the busy steps from the ship deck to reach their room, where they spun around in circles wondering what action to take next. Cries of anguish soon let Slate know that the pirates were in the hallway outside. Just after he managed to grab the heavy sack full of Guh Hsing's books, one of the brutes smashed down the door.

Slate spun around to face him. "No one in here," he barked in a flash of inspiration.

"Wha... who're you?" asked the pirate, with a look of dull-witted confusion.

"What do you mean? I'm a pirate," Slate said with as much conviction as he could, "Like you!"

"You are?" the real pirate asked, scratching his scraggly beard.

"Well I wouldn't be searching for loot if I wasn't, would I?" Slate asked.

This question must have convinced the pirate, as he grunted something under his breath, shrugged, and left the room.

After the brute had moved on, and with a new plan for cover devised, Slate raced back up the stairs to the deck.

At the top of the stairs, there was a man screaming and cowering. Slate scooped the man up and over his shoulder as the man squealed and kicked, but despite his protest and weight, Slate was able to clear the length of the ship's deck still carrying the man, dodging flying bodies and fistfights all the way.

Before Slate could reach the prow, three of the pirates set upon Pilotte with ropes and netting. The snarlingwulf howled and bucked and managed to throw them off, then took a large chunk out of one of their sides, before five more pirates joined in capturing the beast. They bound him tight in their ropes and threw the animal overboard onto their waiting sloop, where he landed, thankfully, on a pile of pillaged silks. Seeing this, Slate dropped the poor man hanging from his back onto the planks of the Sefose, and dove without abandon after Pilotte. He landed on and then climbed down one of the many boarding ropes that ran to the pirate's sloop. After making sure Pilotte was not seriously injured, Slate hid his bag in a pile of rope and grasped at to do next.

When the pirates started their retreat from the Sefose, heavy with plunder and raging with adrenaline, none of them paid any attention to Slate. They fought with each other over their share of the takings for hours after they cut loose, and then still none of them had noticed by dinner later that night that a stranger was onboard. Slate kept his head down and spoke little, and by the end of the night, when all the men were high on drink and smoke, he had managed to make conversation with enough of them that he seemed almost to belong. After the men had passed out from intoxication, Slate and Pilotte found a place amongst the silks to sleep themselves, or at least wait nervously for sunrise.

Slate did fall asleep eventually, and somehow, deeply. He was startled awake by a meeting of sorts, which was called to order by the captain of the sloop.

"Good work yesterday, men. It looks like we only lost a few," the pirate captain said proudly to his crew gathered on the deck.

"Who'd we lose?" one of the pirates barked.

"We lost... who did we..." the captain stammered, fumbling as he examined a scroll of names. "Well, it doesn't matter who," he finally said.

"You don't know who we lost, do you?" the pirate asked.

"I don't have everyone's exact name here, no," admitted the captain.

"What's my name, eh?" another pirate asked.

The captain was growing indignant. "Look," he said, "I don't know all of your names, but that's not why we're here, is it?"

The crowd laughed and the captain flushed red at their insolence.

"Fine. Just fine," he muttered. "In any case, there is another shipment of silk that we should come very near this afternoon, and it looks like we still have enough space in the hold to take that cargo, as well."

"Why on Alm would we want more silk? Who's going to pay for that garbage these days?" one of the crew asked.

"It's for the captain's underwear!" cracked another.

The pirates roared.

"Listen, if any of you want charge of this ship, I dare you to take it," the captain growled.

Slate noticed him stroking a silver, club-like tool stowed in his belt.

"Oooh, captain, yes, captain," another pirate teased.

This pushed the captain over the edge. He pulled the silver thing from his belt and held it toward the sky. A thunderous explosion burst from its tip with a flash of fire. This quieted the pirates to a stifled giggle. The captain then lowered the tip of his thunder stick at the crew, and passed it before them in a slow turn.

"If any of you really want to challenge my authority," the captain said, "I dare you to do so now."

The men refused his eye contact as they tried to contain their laughter and shifted about.

"That's what I thought. Expect the silk ship sometime after high noon."

One of the crew then made a loud, wet raspberry sound, that sent the rest of the men into hysterics once again. The captain frowned and then slammed the door to his quarters shut after storming through the jamb, which caused a small sign that read "Captain's Quarters" to fall off onto the deck.

"Well. Can you believe the nerve?" Slate asked the pirate standing next to him, feigning solidarity. The pirate scowled and spat in his eye.

Slate stayed as close to Pilotte as he could until the preparations for the raid on the silk shipment started, at which point he was conscripted into helping ready the boarding ropes. When it came time and the sloop rode up next to the silk ship, Slate could see the terror in the faces of its crew as they stood watching their approaching doom. Just as the sloop was in place but before the boarding lines were set, the captain reappeared from his quarters with the sniveling order that the pirates leave no one alive.

When the first nets were thrown from the pirate sloop to the silk transport and the villains began their attack, Slate thought that he might be spared having to go aboard, but he wasn't to be so lucky. Instead, he was tossed up from his hiding space onto the silk ship by a hulking pirate with a gleam in his eye and a hearty laugh that suggested that piracy was his simply his favorite thing in all the world.

Slate landed on the side of his right ankle when he hit the deck of the silk ship, and then slid through a pool of blood before managing to get traction. The blood was pouring in rivers from a lifeless woman nearby, bent into a heap next to her wailing child. Slate had the thought to play dead beside her and wait for the massacre to cease, but the same pirate that had tossed him up into the fray to join the raid threw a scabbard his way, and so he reluctantly rose.

"What are you doing, don't just stand there!" the pirate hollered.

Slate began searching the pockets of the dead woman to appease the pirate.

"Wait until they're all dead before collecting the spoils!" the pirate yelled. He then he lunged at Slate, pulled him with one huge arm up off the deck, and threw him again, now into the confusion of bodies and blood.

One of the silk ship's seamen came running at Slate, brandishing a knife held up over his head. Slate managed to deflect the knife with his scabbard. He dodged and then kicked the man in the stomach, sending him to the floor.

"Just play dead!" Slate whispered to the man.

"What..." the man began.

"I said play dead!" Slate repeated.

Looking up, he must have seen something trustworthy in Slate's eyes, as he did cease to flail and closed his eyes.

Just as soon as Slate had stood back up, another of the pirates shoved a helpless woman into his arms.

"Slit her throat!" the pirate growled, as he sent a fountain of teeth gushing forth from the mouth of one of the other passengers.

Holding the struggling girl's arms behind her back, Slate tried to whisper to her to calm down, but the girl was completely hysterical and continued to flail wildly in his grip.

"I said, kill her!" the pirate ordered, before slicing the arm of an unlucky young silk trader clean off. The arm hit the ship's deck with a sickening thud.

"Steady now," Slate said under his breath. He raised his scabbard to the girl's throat. With just the slightest amount of pressure, the knife drew a trickle of blood. When the rivulet of blood reached down to the girl's hands, she screamed one last time and then fainted, which was exactly what Slate had hoped for.

Slate dropped her gently then reared around to see a crazed, reddened face flying at him, which he managed to halt immediately with an outstretched fist. The recipient of his punch spun around three times from the force and then fell over the side of the ship. Slate raced to the banister after him, where he saw that one of the silk ship's lifeboats, full of six other lucky escapees, had already begun helping the unconscious man out of the water.

After much more fighting, which blended together in Slate's mind into an inglorious mess of anguished faces and crimson silk and blood, the trading ship and all its crew were dispersed. Slate had managed to make it through the foray without having to kill or seriously harm anyone, and other than what were sure to be huge bruises, no one had managed to harm him too severely either, though the gory horrors he witnessed during those few awful minutes were surely going to weigh heavily on his dreams.

After the attack on the silk ship, it was four more days to the Passage Islands, the home of the pirates. Slate spent those four days making himself as scarce as possible and checking on Pilotte, slipping him scraps and petting him with soothing words when none were watching. Slate considered how he could have been nearly back to the Falls by now, if he hadn't agreed to Guh's request. But now, here he was, heading who knew where with murderous pirates. He was still healthy, though, as was Pilotte. And the two would be free soon enough, Slate didn't doubt that. Though just when, or how, was still anything but certain.
11

There were many other ships, of all shapes and sizes, anchored in the crescent bay of the Passage Island into which the pirate sloop sailed, and hundreds of men and women swarming over the beach. The island was lush, as teeming with tropical birds and flowers as the vibrant corals of the bay were with schools of multi-colored fish and pods of dahlphins. It seemed a paradise, and sad to Slate that it had been co-opted by such villainous people. Surely it hadn't been the natural beauty of the islands that the pirates had come looking for when they chose the place for home, but its great distance from the reach of the law.

When the sloop dropped its anchor, the real work began: a long afternoon slogging up and down the sandy beach, carrying plunder up to the safe point, out of reach of the highest tide, and from there into a deep, ferny grotto. Slate managed to stash his bag full of books during one such trip, but found poor Pilotte had been taken away while he was gone. He knew had to find him, somehow, as soon as there was free time.

After the work was finished, the pirates dispersed, some of them climbing up a long stairway to sleep in the camp overlooking the bay, others to the freshwater pools for fishing, but most to one or another of the numerous slapdash taverns on the tiny island. When it seemed sure that he wasn't going to be missed, Slate grabbed his bag from its hiding place and slipped away, disappearing into the foliage to further explore and find where Pilotte had been taken.

He found a cave, hidden behind a waterfall and flowery vines. Inside the cave, piles of gold and treasure glittered like hot iron across the reflective striations in the stone. Slate was only just growing accustomed to the dimness when he heard something approaching outside him. He dove breathlessly into a pile of silk.

From hiding, Slate watched a thin-limbed shadow on the wall reach out an arm toward one of the mountainous silhouettes of plunder. Slate leaned so far forward from his hiding place as he looked on that he tumbled right out of it and into a pool of light, noisily scattering a stack of jut drinking cups across the cave floor as he fell.

"Who is it?" the shadowy figure across the cave gasped.

Slate grunted.

"Doney? Caloran? Hey, I was just... just checking, making sure I had put all of my take from today into the store..." the intruder fumbled. "Yep, yep. Looks good," he said nervously. "Everything looks good here, so...

"What do you mean, you were just checking?" Slate asked, assuming the role of prosecutor, figuring that's how the other pirates would act in the situation.

"I was... Hey, who are you, anyway?" the pirate barked. "And what are you doing in here?"

"I'm looking for someone."

The pirate scoffed. "Oh? Someone? In here?"

"Not a person, I'm looking for the snarlingwulf we brought in today," Slate said.

"In the loot cave? He's out with the other animals, near the pit."

"Oh, right," said Slate. "Of course."

"Bloody barbaric, that."

"What is?"

"The fighting. Pitting those poor creatures against each other."

"They're going to make the wulf fight?"

"Of course they are."

Slate tried not to look too upset.

"But that's what you get when you work with pirates, isn't it?" the man said with a shrug.

"Work with pirates? What, you aren't a pirate yourself?"

"Nah, I'm my own man," the gangly, greasy pirate answered. He pulled his suspenders regally and added, "I'm an independent contractor."

"Really. Isn't there better work you could find?"

"Better work? What, at one of the new mines? In politics? Why are you here, if there's better work?"

"It's different for me, I'm only..."

"Listen, we all go to different lengths to justify our behaviors. I only need to justify my actions to me, see? I don't care about what anyone else thinks. That's most everyone else's problem. Why should anyone care about what all the other fearful, ignorant monkeys think about what they do? I could never understand."

"You don't think people should care about what anyone else thinks?" Slate asked. "At all?"

"No, sir. I think everyone should follow their own path. I know I've never stood in anyone's way as they followed theirs."

"Aren't you noble, slaughtering silk traders."

"Slaughter? Listen, I've taken some old lady's jewelry, sure, I've threatened frightened women and children and men, and I don't feel pride about it, but I've never killed anyone. Never stolen from the poor."

"You've stood by while others did, though," Slate said.

"You haven't? I can see the scarlet proof that says otherwise right there on your shirt."

"You really don't understand," Slate said.

"Oh, get a load of the self-importance with this one. "I've got my own high-minded excuse to tell myself, too. The way I see it, the whole riotous crowd we call society wants to go off to war and destroy themselves lately, and we're going to need at least one of us to stay out of the fray. Who else would rebuild after they blow everything up?"

"You really believe that humanity is hopeless?" Slate asked. "A lost cause?"

"This generation. Yes, I do."

"And what if it's not?"

"What if the clouds were made of pink sugar fluff? Dreams."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find my wulf and get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Off this island."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Any way I can."

The pirate swayed in the stagnant cave air and scraped at a scab beneath his greasy, thin beard for a while, wearing a look of dull bewilderment. "Alright, sunshine," he finally said, "Tell you what. I've been thinking about getting out of here myself for months now, and taking my fair share of the plunder with me. But my plan needed a partner. Now, if you help me, I'll help you. We can get out of here together. What do you say?"

Slate looked the pirate over and considered the offer. He surely didn't trust the man, but also didn't feel that he was being dishonest. "You'll really help me?" he asked.

"If only to help myself," the pirate answered, with a broken smile.

"Well alright," Slate said. "I really hope I'm not making a huge mistake. In any case, my name is Slate."

"Slate, my name is Hatty. Good to meet you. Now, you better follow through, or it'll be both our necks. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, I know," Slate said, wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead. "Now, where did you say I can find my wulf?"

"You're wulf? You're not a pirate at all, are you?" Hatty asked. "This is your first time here, isn't it?"

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Slate answered. "Please, where can I find my wulf?"

"On the other side of the beach, behind the viryall grove," Hatty answered. "But you should wait until tomorrow to go looking for him. There's a trade day tomorrow, so it'll be your best distraction. We'll both get up early, you'll go get your wulfy, and I'll commandeer us a sloop. We'll meet on the beach, just before sunrise. But you'd better follow through, Slate, because if I get caught alone, I'm telling them all about you."

"Listen, I'll be there. Just make sure you are, too."

"I will be, I will be."

"Alright. Sunrise," Slate confirmed, before leaving the smirking pirate in the cave and wondering what on Alm he had just agreed to.
12

Slate wasn't able to search for Pilotte that first night on the island, as he was swept up into a drinking game. He awoke early the next morning with a splitting headache, to stumble down the crumbling footpath from the camp to the beach as the dark purple clouds began to spray light morning mist on the island.

Hungover, Slate was turned around and around the darkened beach until he found a muddy path through the bush into the inner island. The path led him to what could only mockingly be called an arena, a filthy scrap of land surrounded with rotting seating where the pirates held their sick games. Just behind this space were the rusty iron and wooden cages that held the poor contestants.

Slate found poor Pilotte wheezing in the dirt in one of the cages. The wulf recognized him and leapt at the fence, whimpering.

"Shhh!" Slate whispered, to little effect. He found the latch to Pilotte's cage unlocked, and opened it. The wulf limped on shaky legs to nuzzle his cold nose into Slate's chest.

"What'd they do to you? Come on friend, we're getting out of here," Slate said, petting Pilotte's matted fur softly.

As the two began to leave, Slate noticed a matterwall in the cage next to Pilotte's. The creature looked barely alive. Its left eye was missing, the socket scarred over, and its fur was clumped with dried blood and mud. Slate whistled softly and then reached a hand into the cage to try to get the matterwall's attention, but the animal could barely lift its head from the rain puddle it sat in. Slate did manage to attract the attention of a woodbear on the other side of the path that ran between the two rows of cages. The woodbear roared something terrible at Slate, not so much in anger but as a statement of indignation. It charged the front of its cage, slamming against the bars violently and shaking the walls, over and again. The cage looked ready to fall apart.

"These poor things," Slate said, looking around at all the miserable animals. We can't leave them here, Pilotte."

Most of the cages had locks. After an unsuccessful search for keys in a hut at the end of the path, Slate went to inspect one of the locks further and realized that it was simply hanging on the cages from the inside. It wasn't activated. Nor, did it seem, were any of the locks.

Slate was removing one of the locks when the cage's occupant, a horny clovoxen, appeared as if from nowhere to crash into the almost-open door. The door flew open with Slate in front of it, throwing him back into the mud. The latch slammed back down, and the clovoxen charged again.

Slate sat up in the mud and thought. He couldn't just set the delirious animals free, as they might trample or kill him unintentionally. Or, maybe, intentionally. He didn't see why they should have anything but contempt for human beings. Searching around for some idea of what to do, knowing that Hatty was supposed to be waiting for him on the beach, Slate saw that the tops of the cages had slats he could probably walk on. From there, he reasoned, he would be able to open the cages without endangering himself.

"You'll protect me, right, Pilotte?" he asked the wulf watching on.

Pilotte stood up a bit taller in a show of solidarity.

Slate scaled a tree growing next to one of the cages, jumped on top, and then laid down on his stomach and undid the door latch. The cage swung open, and a sickly-looking raelwulf with his tail between his legs slipped out and disappeared silently into the jungle.

The next cage contained a dalcrag, a hairy creature with a great hard plate for a forehead that was circling its cage in a rut it had worn into the mud. The dalcrag ran at the door of its cage once Slate opened it, knocking it clear off its hinges. The animal then began a wild charge, all about the arena and the holding area. It smacked its head into the other cages and tore down the hut at the end of the pathway as it rampaged, before hurtling into the jungle brush after the raelwulf.

Slate released a jix next, which raced after the dalcrag. Then there was the poor matterwall that couldn't even bring itself to stand when offered freedom. Slate swung down to the ground from atop its cage and tried to urge the animal out, but soon realized that it was too late. He wished he had some way of putting the creature out of its misery, or that one of the hungry other creatures would make a noble end of its life and eat it.

As Slate backed out of the matterwall's cage, the dalcrag he had freed reappeared in a charge straight toward him, pursued by the jix. The dalcrag came so quickly that Slate wasn't able to move out of the way, and the creature collided with him, hard. The blow was so intense that Slate was lifted clear up off the ground and thrown back down into the mud. The dalcrag then disappeared into the jungle once more, honking wildly, as the jix who had been after it now sank down and coiled its massive back legs to leap at Slate. It growled and flashed its fangs, and Slate's heart began to beat so hard that he could hear it. The jix sprang forward. In those few milliseconds that felt like an eternity Slate sat petrified, watching the creature three times the size of Pilotte soar through the air toward him with its huge jaws wide open and its teeth glistening in the dawn.

Before Slate had time to think of how he might save himself, Slate was overtaken by the Pilotte's shadow, as the wulf leapt up over his back to meet the jix in mid-air. Pilotte sank his sink teeth down into the jix's neck before the two had alighted back to the ground. The jix howled and wailed as Pilotte fell upon it. Slate scrambled up, his back burning with pain from the dalcrag blow. There couldn't have been much time left now.

"Pilotte, come on!" he said, watching as his battered friend growled and gnashed its teeth to keep the jix at bay.

Slate swallowed hard and ran the entire length of the holding area, throwing open the latches on all the cages as he went. The whole menagerie of animals, in all states of health and anger, sprang from their captivity now, some to briefly quarrel with one another, most to disappear out through the jungle onto the beach.

When the area was clear, Slate and Pilotte headed down the path toward the beach themselves. There, a few pirates had already been surprised by the wild creatures running rampant in the morning sun. Some of the animals were washing their wounds in the salt water, others were just running, without direction, stretching their sore legs on the sand. And others still were setting on their captors. Slate watched a walecat overtake one of the pirates, pushing him down to the ground with its massive paws and then making ground meat out of his back. A dalcrag was following behind another of the men, looking like it was enjoying knocking its toy back down every time he got up to run away.

Slate watched as more and more of the pirates flooded the beach and the scene grew increasingly gruesome, while the crews on the decks of the arriving trading ships looked on in confusion. Amidst the carnage, Slate espied what could only have been Hatty, charging right through the melee on the beach and diving into the water. He was headed for the sloop, it seemed. Surprisingly, it looked as if he was actually going to uphold his end of the plan.

Some of the quicker-thinking pirates took to the salty water of the bay after Hatty, and a few had even thought to head for the sloop that he soon reached and began to ready. Slate watched a well-placed kick from Hatty dislocate one of the pirates as she was trying to scale the side of the craft. When Slate next saw the main sail fall, after she did, he knew it was now or never.

He and Pilotte ran full speed across the beach, dodging a charging ginkoiz and diving outstretched into the water when they came to it. They swam furiously, and managed to reach the sloop before many others. Hatty helped pull Slate aboard, and then Slate Pilotte, and then it was left to Slate to throw off any others that should try to board their sloop as Hatty finished preparations. Slate grabbed a loose plank and swatted at the hands of the men and women attempting to board while Pilotte roared and snapped at them.

The steady stream of island refugees looked poised to become unmanageable when Hatty finally announced the sloop was ready. He loosed the mizzen sail and the craft spun slowly around in the wind, to point toward the end of the bay and the open ocean sparkling beyond. Slate had racked up quite a score of thwarted pirates and was a little disappointed when the boat began to move and leave the rest behind. The freed animals were still wreaking havoc on shore, the pirates still running for their lives and losing the race. Slate laughed at the scene, bid it good riddance, and waved at the bewildered passengers on one of the arriving trading ships as the sloop passed out of the bay and into the rougher swells of the open ocean.
13

It wasn't until they had been at sea for some time that Slate, Pilotte, or Hatty realized they weren't alone on the sloop Jean Bee. Sometime after breakfast, but before high noon, a small cacophony started emanating from the Captain's cabin. First was a thud and a shattering of glass, then there was a boom, and then a constrained moan of pain that found release in the salty air when the cabin door burst open and the pirate captain fell out onto the deck. He was obviously very hung-over, if not still drunk, and he smelled as awful as he looked.

"It's the captain!" Slate called to Hatty. "He's awake!"

Hatty set the wheel and came down from the sterncastle, laughing.

"Well, well. Looks like we have a stowaway!" he said.

"What's all this?" the captain barked, confused by the open sea around him. "Who are you two?" he demanded, trying to appear in charge of the situation and himself.

Pilotte lifted his head, observed the fumbling captain, yawned, and went back to sleep.

"Who are we?" Hatty asked. "Might I ask, who are you? And what are you doing aboard our ship?"

Slate didn't miss a beat. "Indeed. And why is it you should be in our cabin, sir?" he asked.

The usurped captain looked pathetically confused as he spun to and fro around the deck, moaning softly and trying to make sense of what was happening. "Command me? But I'm the captain of the ship. Who do you think you are?" he asked. "Where is everyone else?"

"Oh, see, he must not be well," Hatty said with an affected sigh. "He thinks he's the captain of our ship."

"I am Captain Verialus Cointer, I am in charge of this sloop, and I take my governance from no one but myself," the captain growled with a grimace as he reached for the thunder stick tucked in his belt. He fumbled and dropped the heavy object onto the deck, where Hatty easily kicked it out of his reach and retrieved it.

"Well, Captain, it seems as if you've just issued yourself your termination papers," Hatty said as he tucked the implement into the sash sitting high around his waist. "Your services aboard this vessel are no longer required."

"What is that, anyways?" Slate asked Hatty.

"This here is a quickshot," Hatty said. He lifted the apparatus up over his head and pulled its trigger to demonstrate how it was used. The device went off with a loud bang and a poof of smoke.

"What's the point of such a horrible thing?" Slate asked.

"Well, it's not just noise and smoke, see..." Hatty said. He aimed the quickshot at the door of the captain's cabin. With a second explosion, Slate saw that the device actually launched projectiles, as evidenced by two smoldering holes through the door.

"Pretty fancy, eh?" Hatty asked. "Terrible weapon, though. Cowardly."

"What, have you never seen a quickshot before?" Verialus asked Slate. He was now sitting cross-legged on the deck, wearing a pitiful look of defeat. "I've been overtaken on my own ship by a boy who has never even seen a quickshot before," he moaned to the sky.

"Sir, perhaps you should return to bed until your senses are stronger," Slate said to the former captain.

"I don't wish to! You cannot tell me how to act!" the captain said obstinately. "This is my ship!"

"But oh, it's not, and yes, we can," Hatty said, gripping the quickshot menacingly.

"But! But!" the captain sputtered, until he finally stood up, threw his hat down, paused to steady himself, huffed, and then tottered into his quarters. A loud thud and the sound of snoring followed soon after.

"That's pretty ingenious, really," Slate said of the quickshot. "May I see it?"

"Well now..." Hatty said with a deep breath. "I don't think that's going to be possible."

"Why not?" Slate asked.

"Because if you had it," Hatty said, "Then I wouldn't, and that just wouldn't be smart. To give you all that power."

"What, don't you trust me?" Slate asked.

Hatty smiled and shook his head no.

"But you've no reason not to," Slate said.

"Debatable, but I can trust myself," Hatty explained. "See, I'd let you see it if I had another for myself, but as long as there is only one, I prefer it stay in the hands of someone I know intimately."

Slate understood what Hatty meant, but still, so long as Hatty had the weapon, and was awake, Slate felt under his subjugation. Hatty seemed benevolent though, and maybe even trustworthy, sacrificing himself as he had to help escape the island. In any case, Pilotte, though injured, wasn't going to let anything happen, anyways.

Later in the waning afternoon, the sun bore down hot as Slate tended to the wulf's injuries.

"Poor thing," Slate said, pouring strong alcohol onto a particularly nasty sore on the Pilotte's neck.

The wulf winced and howled softly.

"He sure trusts you," Hatty said from the sterncastle.

"He should," said Slate. "He's one of my best friends and I'd do anything for him."

"You're lucky to have each other."

"It's awful the way they treat animals. Awful the way they treat everyone, really. Even themselves."

"Yeah, well, they are pirates, aren't they?"

"Well. I set them all free," said Slate. "Let all the animals out. When I saved Pilotte. I saved them."

"You think you saved them?" asked Hatty.

"Sure I did. I let them out and, now they're free. You should have seen them going after the pirates on the beach."

"That was probably amusing for a while, I'm sure. In any case, free or dead. I'm sure you expedited their deaths."

Slate hadn't considered as much.

"Yes, I'm sure they're all on the butchers block by now," continued Hatty. "Exotic meats for the trading day."

"Oh," Slate said. "Well now I feel awful."

"Slate, it's better you set them free. They were being forced to fight, were dying slowly anyways. Better free or dead. Remember that."

"I guess you're right," said Slate. But he wasn't sure.

The rest of the trip to Jaidour was hastened by an early Searching Season storm system that blew up from the southern sea. Under pitch-black clouds which poured their fury down on the sloop, Slate and Hatty made small talk about trivial things to pass the time. Pilotte regained much of his strength during the journey, and the three became something almost like friends, though the quickshot and Hatty's aloofness kept them from growing too close.

On the fifth day out from the Passage Islands, the beacon from the lighthouse of Jaidour pierced through the sheeting rain in pulses as it illuminated the angry atmosphere, calling the Jean Bee out from the madness of the storm to harbor along the sandy cliffs of the western Protersian coast.

"We're going to have to time this right, if we hope to go unnoticed," Hatty told Slate. "Jaidour is under near-lockdown lately, with what is happening in Opal Pools. They won't be expecting any ships during Searching Season, but that doesn't mean the coast will be unguarded. From where the patrol boats sit outside Jaidour, the glare from the ocean will be at its brightest in about an hour. And the best place to hide in the ocean, is the brightest. Hopefully we can get close enough to the calmer waters by that time that we can ditch the sloop and row the rest of our way."

"And if we can't?" Slate asked. "If they see us?"

"Well, if they capture us, we're likely to be jailed indefinitely. So we'll have to come up with something else if that's the case," Hatty said matter-of-factly.

The rain subsided completely as the sun rose higher and the clouds dispersed. As Hatty prepared a rowboat, Slate got to steer the sloop himself, something he had been eager to try since leaving the islands. A fortuitous current of air filled the headsail as Slate dropped it, which sent the sloop sailing swiftly toward the landmass on the horizon.

It was just as the lighthouse of Jaidour itself became visible on the spit ahead that Verialus Cointer fell out of his cabin again, obviously refreshed in his drunkenness. He began to load his own lifeboat with small goods, mainly bottles of wine.

"Captain?" Slate asked, watching the man struggle against himself. "Captain Cointer?"

"Don't captain me, young man. Never seen so much disrespect in my life," the pirate grumbled. Slate wondered what respect a pirate captain should expect.

"What, uh..." Hatty began, trying not to laugh at the drunken captain, "What you doin' over there, Verialus?"

"It might behoove you sea dogs to know that there are three ships approaching from the coast, at great speed. In case you might be concerned," Verialus sniffed. "But what would I know about anything?"

"What is talking about?" Hatty asked. A quick look through his binoculars explained what the captain meant.

"What is it?" Slate asked, unable to see anything looming ahead with his naked eye.

"Well..." Hatty said, "I can't... Yep... Three ships, I think three... they aren't flying any flags, though. That I can see, anyways."

"Those are government ships. The only ones allowed to not identify themselves. Though it kind of gives them away, doesn't it?" the captain said with a cackle. "I'm sure any one of them would love to bring in the Jean Bee." He started lowering the rowboat down into the water on the ship's winch, but lost control. The boat dropped into the ocean with a great splash.

"You're just going to abandon ship? Honorable to the end," Hatty said. "Let him go, Slate. We don't have time for his nonsense. Take your position."

Captain Cointer then saluted and threw himself off the Jean Bee. Luckily, he and managed to land in his rowboat. He must have knocked himself unconscious in the fall, too, because the boat drifted off with the current, the captain slumped over his precious bottles of wine.

"Can you escape the ships?" Slate asked Hatty, refocusing on their new threat.

"No, I don't think so. The fire power on those ships wouldn't let us get more than five leagues," Hatty said, scratching his beard.

"Hatty!" Slate cried, suddenly very worried. "What are we going to do?"

"Well... I've got an idea," Hatty answered. "You ever fired off a blastporter before?"

"I haven't, no," Slate answered. "You're not thinking of fighting those titans, are you? There are three of them!"

"Not fighting, just distracting," Hatty murmured.

He spun the Jean Bee around to where the starboard side paralleled the three ships now nakedly visible on the horizon.

"Follow me!" Hatty shouted to Slate, leaping from the sterncastle and grabbing onto a nearby line, which he rode down to the deck. There, he began readying one of the seven small blastporters that poked their charred heads through the portals along the side of the sloop.

"I said come on! Let's go!" he shouted at Slate, who was frozen in terror at the sight of the ships approaching. Slate snapped to attention and raced down the boards to the third blastporter, where Hatty was preparing its charge.

"Like this!" Hatty shouted with hurried anxiety, demonstrating to Slate how to pack the weapon. He poured from a nearby store of gunpowder a fair amount of the explosive, and then packed it down with a long-bristled swab, before rolling a heavy sphere that strained his neck muscles to bulging into the chamber. Slate moved on to the fourth blastporter to do the same, and soon the rest were ready.

"Now what do we do?" Slate asked.

"We wait," Hatty answered.

"Until what?"

"Until they're in firing range."

"And then we fire?" Slate asked.

"It'd be a good time," Hatty answered.

"What of the men onboard?"

"What of them?" Hatty asked. He began waving his arms to the ships as if asking for help. "They are coming for us, Slate. The shells should only disable or slow them down, they aren't explosive. Now, wave your arms, like this."

"And then we turn back, or head north?" Slate asked, raising arms in the air.

"No. You'll see. On point now, they're coming closer. Keep waiving."

It was still another ten minutes or so before the warships were within firing range. The time spent waiting was agony; Slate just wished they could hurry up, to get whatever was about to happen over with as quickly as possible.

When the ships were very near indeed, they turned parallel to the little sloop and began to lift their sails and slow down.

"Okay, here we go. They're moving into position. Take this," Hatty said to Slate as he handed him one of two sparkboxes, "Get those fuses lit!"

Slate ran to the first of the seven blastporters and sparked the fuse as Hatty returned to the wheel. Just as the seventh fuse was lit, the first of the blastporters went off, with a huge plume of smoke and a noise like a clap of thunder. The force sent the blastporter rolling back across the deck of the sloop.

"You were supposed to secure them!" Hatty shouted as the other blastporters erupted.

"I didn't know!" Slate screamed back.

The first three shells from the Jean Bee missed the government ships completely, but the fourth and rest hit the closest square in the hull. This sent the warship careening off to the south, pushing the other two ships along with it as they strove to avoid collision.

"Ha ha!" Hatty shouted. "What a hit! Load 'em up again!"

Slate found the blastporters extremely hot to the touch, and seared his hand when he first attempted to re-load. He fumbled a bit with his burn but was able to overcome the set-back and had all seven blastporters reloaded in little time.

"Spark 'em when they're ready! We gotta hit 'em one more time before they split!" Hatty cried.

He had maneuvered the Jean Bee a bit southward to compensate for the government ships' relocations, and so the second volley of shells was able to directly strike all three of the ships, though the widespread meant they were less effective than before. In fact, there was nothing in this second round of shells to dissuade the approaching ships at all; the sloop had lost its element of surprise. Soon the massive ships were separated and moving into attack position.

"We're going to have to press forward!" Hatty cried. "Sailing right through them is our only hope. They're too big to turn around, and we have to hope they won't shoot toward each other."

"Right through them?" Slate gasped, the sloop gaining speed and bouncing wildly along the ocean under Hatty's ace navigation. "But we could die!"

"Captivity isn't for me, Slate. And it shouldn't be for you or anyone else! Free or dead!"

Foamy water that came up like a hand over the side of the sloop, smacking Slate hard on the back and soaking the store of blastpowder he was scooping from. As Slate struggled to move across the slippery deck toward drier powder, the sloop came up against a huge wave, one that lifted its front up at a near forty-five-degree angle. The Jean Bee groaned and moaned as it strained against the sea, before the wave collapsed on itself and the sloop sank back down, deep into the water, then rolled over far to the left, its masts nearly horizontal, then the right, before coming level. The rocking almost dumped the ship's crew into the ocean, but they managed to hang on, as the blastporters slid about the deck.

When the sloop began to surge forward again, the blastporters chased Slate and Pilotte across the deck, as Hatty did his best to fight against the wind-battered ocean in the sterncastle. The ship bounced and skipped like a rock cast from the shore, its planks and beams groaning and crying out as they struggled to remain together.

One of the government vessels was able to move swiftly enough in the gaining wind that it could position itself for firing. Slate watched the smoke trace the ship's shells' way to the sloop, those first missed making a neat line of one-two-three-splashes in the water before the rest connected and sent pieces of the Jean Bee exploding upwards and outwards. Through the dust and debris raining down from the explosions, Slate could see that the damage was severe, possibly too much for the sloop to bear.

"I think we're taking on a lot of water!" Slate shouted up to Hatty, who was locked to the wheel with a look of fierce determination.

"I can tell!" Hatty shouted back.

As the sloop slipped between the great government ships, Slate could hear the crews onboard them calling and shouting. The Jean Bee grew sluggish with all the water it had taken on accumulating, leaning to the starboard side. Though the spit reaching out from Jaidour was so close now, it didn't seem like the boat was going to make it.

"What are we going to do?" Slate begged of Hatty.

"We're going to have to beach her!" Hatty shouted back.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, hang on tight!" Hatty shouted.

Though the boat was water-logged losing speed, it was obviously still moving fast enough to where an impact with the coastline was going to be catastrophic.

"We're going to crash! Hatty! What should I do?" Slate shouted helplessly.

"Hope for the best!" Hatty shouted back. He roped the wheel into locked position and leapt up to catch hold of some rigging. "Try to hold on to something that moves!"

Slate spun around looking for something to hold on to. He saw Pilotte bracing himself, and then his bag, washed into a corner. Just as he had made it to his bag and wrapped one hand around its handle, another round of shells sounded from the government ships, seconds before the sloop collided with the shore, hard. The whole of the already weakened ship buckled under the impact, splitting the deck into a 'v'. Pilotte disappeared through the splintered deck as the force of the crash catapulted Slate into the air.

He soared high, up past Hatty, who was snapped back by the rigging as if on a leash, up past shells flying through the debris of the exploding ship. For a brief moment, he could see Jaidour, and then his body twisted in the air and he saw the three ships on the ocean, and then the rocky spit below him. How suddenly it was all going to be over, he thought. His trajectory arrested, he began his descent to the jagged rocks below, closed his eyes, and prepared to die.

With a loud thwack of taught canvas his eyes popped back open, as he bounced off one of the sloop's sails like it were a trampoline, just as the mast wedged itself into the sandy coastline. He fell back to the canvas and bounced again, this time neatly and gently off onto the beach. Pilotte appeared, somehow unscathed from the wreckage, and raced to make sure Slate was alright.

Hatty hadn't been as lucky, which Slate discovered when he climbed to where his bag was dangling from the splintered mast. Slate found the poor rogue nearly split in two himself, splayed across rocks and broken wood.

"Hatty!" Slate cried, rushing to the pirate's side.

"You had better get out of here quickly," Hatty gurgled as he closed his teary eyes.

"Hatty," Slate said, assessing the pieces of the pirate as if he might somehow be able to put them back together. "Hatty, I'm so sorry..."

"No, Slate. Don't worry about me. I'm almost free. Now run! Run, Slate!"

With this, Hatty stopped breathing, and his splintered limbs stopped twitching shortly thereafter.

Slate wiped his eyes and managed to stand up. It was hard to move quickly with grief weighing so heavily, but he knew he had to. He knew those three ships weren't acting alone, that others would surely be dispatched to the scene of the crash. Pilotte urged him to keep moving, and the two raced through pieces of the exploded ship toward the lighthouse ahead. As fleetly as wisps they flew past it, before disappearing deep into the waiting jungle on the other side.

Slate ran for what seemed like lengths, until he stumbled upon a cave. He charged deep into the cave and hid, with Pilotte at his side. The two stayed there, waiting for cheated death to come searching, until the sun went down, and through the dark night.

14

Slate awoke feeling guilty. He knew he never would have made it to shore past the government ships by himself, probably not even off the Passage Islands. It had all been Hatty. But Hatty had paid the price. A part of Slate felt like he owed the universe for the difference, like his luck had been too good and was sure to turn. But Pilotte's easy demeanor made him feel much better, reminding him that there was nothing to be immediately worried about. And so the two left the cave, and found a thin trail through the remaining jungle, coming off of it not long thereafter into a park. Slate used a fountain to wash off soot from the blastporters and dirt from the cave, and then he and Pilotte made their way into Jaidour.

Many of the towering buildings were decorated with surreal sculpture, grotesque faces tinged green and yellow with moss, and the faces at street level were just as intriguing: so many hundreds and hundreds of faces unlike any he had seen before, bearing greater variation than he ever imagined the human form to possess. The multitudes of emotions and stories behind the faces seemed unfathomable, and while Slate felt a bit rude staring, he simply couldn't help it.

Slate asked one of the strangers how he might get to Aurora Falls. He learned that a trade freeze had interrupted passenger travel north over the sea, which was the usual and shorter route, and that his only other two options were heading through the Ojikef Jungle, which the stranger heavily advised against, or a three-week land route that wound around the southeastern shore of the continent and then back up into the interior.

"What do you think, Pilotte?" Slate asked his companion after thanking the stranger for the advice. "I want to get back home as soon as possible. I don't want it to take three weeks to deliver Guh's package. What about you?"

Pilotte smiled as if to say he didn't really care.

"I guess I'll have to give it some thought," Slate said to his companion. "Thank you for the input."

The two made their way down the swirling green avenues in mid-town, where the buildings were shorter but more opulent, looking for somewhere to eat. On the sidewalk, one of Jaidour's more colorful citizens was poised beside a statue, shouting at passersby.

"The end is near!" the man cried. "Opal Pools will be the end of us all! Repent! Repent while you still can!"

Slate noticed that few of the other men and women in the street were paying the man any mind.

"Do you think the end is near, Pilotte?" Slate asked his friend.

Pilotte sniffed haughtily as if to say such thoughts were nonsense.

After a quick snack of trual, which proved to be the only Pilotte would ever reject, the two turned up a steep, cobbled street for no reason other than Slate liked how it looked. Soon thereafter, voices calling in his direction came echoing down the street.

"Catch him! Catch that boy!" they cried.

Slate turned back to see a young man with white hair and a deep scar across his face come running frantically down the street in his direction. The look on the young man's face was one of sheer panic. Not far behind him were his pursuers, a small mob.

Slate slipped into a doorway along the side of the road to get out of the way. Somehow, despite the two being the only people on the street, the young man being chased by the mob managed to smack into Slate and knock him over. The two fell into a door together, which popped open from the impact, and they tumbled onto an entryway carpet.

"What's the matter with you?" the stranger growled, throwing Slate off and kicking the door shut again.

"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you? You look like you're in a lot of trouble."

"Good work genius, I am. Here," the stranger said as he unloaded half a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese with a bite taken out of it, and a nearly-picked cluster of salops from under hit shirt.

"What's all this?" Slate asked.

"No idea," the stranger answered as more and more goods came out of his shirt collar. He jumped up to try and see out a small window alongside the door, but couldn't reach. "You had it when I got here."

"Come on," Slate said, letting the obviously stolen goods the stranger was handing him fall to the ground. "Did you really think that was going to work?"

The stranger almost smiled and answered, "I had to try, didn't I?"

The mob outside knocked twice on the door, before they could be heard squealing and running away from Pilotte. Soon, their clamor dissipated, and the street was quiet.

"That was quite a crowd chasing you over some bread and cheese," said Slate, checking out a window next to the door to make sure the coast was clear.

"Well, it's not the first time I've helped myself to their goods, let's just say that," said the stranger.

"Why do you steal from them? You think it's okay?"

"Because I'm hungry and I don't have any money and no one will give me a job."

"Fair enough." Slate said. He now opened the door to the street slowly, revealing Pilotte's huge, hairy face through the crack. At seeing his smile, Slate opened the door a bit more, and checked both ways to make sure the men had left. "I think we're in the clear. Do you think they'll be back, though? Does Jaidour have police?"

"Of course they do," the stranger said.

"Would the police here get involved in what you did?" asked Slate.

"Do you think they should?" asked the stranger.

"No."

"Well, then we can be friends! Is that your snarlingwulf?"

"Yes, it is. Well, he isn't mine, it's not like I own him. You don't own a snarlingwulf. But he follows me, everywhere. Pilotte is his name. Mine is Slate Ahn. What's yours?"

"Pilotte, Slate, my name is Ertajj Khomz."

"Ertajj, it's... nice to meet you. Do you live here, in Jaidour?"

"No," Ertajj laughed. "No, no."

"What are you doing here?" Slate asked.

"Well, I'm actually still working on that."

"Any ideas?"

"Nothing. Thing is," Ertajj said, "I snuck my way onto a freighter back in Cole and it ended up here by chance. I didn't plan on Jaidour at all."

"Why did you sneak onto the freighter?"

"Just runnin'."

"What from?"

"You name it."

"Okay. I'm new here, too. From Alleste, originally. That's on Aelioanei. I've just had the most horrible experience with pirates, and..."

"If you have to know, the real reason we left were the jackals that burned our homes to the ground. First, they condemned the whole community. We were growing our own food, we had our own money. That doesn't work for them, does it? Can't tax it, can you? Development, as they call it, was just an excuse to get rid of us. Just like they get rid of anyone who doesn't fit into their system."

Slate listened as Ertajj went on a wild rant interlaced with political ideology and conspiracy theory. When at last he reached some sort of conclusion, Slate had no idea what any of it had meant.

"Oh yeah, I understand," he lied.

"So, there's that," Ertajj said. "Now I've not been in Jaidour a week and I've already got a bad reputation. What a life! That's why you gotta have friends. Like you! Come on, let's see if we can't find my other mates."

"The people you came here with?" Slate asked.

"Yeah. It's me, Juke, and Dahzi. The Miscreants. They should be in the park. Wanna come?"

"I suppose we can do that," said Slate, making sure Pilotte seemed alright with the decision.

While Ertajj led the newcomers downtown, he offered endless commentary on anything and everything. Ertajj claimed to know the true history of Jaidour, how it had been stolen by people from the east after a mass-murder of the original inhabitants. It was for the natural resources the ground possessed that the invaders had taken their land, and as far as Ertajj saw things, little about the character of the Jaidourean people had evolved since then. In every house, the angry young man from Cole saw a monument to cruelty. Even the street signs supposedly bore names that told those in the powerful elite the city's true history, written in blood. It was entertaining, and sometimes funny, but Slate sensed a deep hurt beneath Ertajj's performance.

"Well, here we are. Jaidour. Proterse! All the way across the ocean. And how are we going to get to Aurora Falls, buddy?" Slate asked Pilotte as the two waited outside a market while Ertajj bought cider.

Pilotte dropped his jaw and panted.

"I don't have any idea, either," said Slate.

"Hey, Slate, I found 'em!" interrupted Ertajj. He had found his friends, Juke and Dahzi, across the street, and had somehow gotten intoxicated in the short time Slate had been waiting.

"It's Stanton and his Calloray, isn't it, then?" the taller of Ertajj's friends said of Slate and Pilotte.

Slate recognized this as a reference to the tale of Stanton the Pretender.

"That's The Legend, isn't it?" he asked.

"Not bad, Ertajj, he's up on his Legend," the young man said.

"Absolutely," said Slate. "And you must be...Vuvpil?"

"Cha-cha! From the mountains of the skies! No. Actually, I'm Juke. Nice to meet you." Juke's skin was dark, and he had distinctive tattoos on his forehead and hands.

"Aw, look at them making friends," Ertajj said.

"And you're Dahzi?" Slate asked the third young man.

"Yes, I have been for some time now," Dahzi answered. He voice was quiet, and his heavyset frame and big eyes gave an air of childlike innocence.

"Well this is just perfect, isn't it?" Ertajj asked. "What are we standing around for? Shall we get somewhere a bit more...secluded?" he proposed, flashing the bottle of cider hiding inside his coat.

The group took a long walk through the jungle surrounding the city, joking, stopping for drinks and pipes, and talking. They climbed trees and skipped rocks. In fleeting moments, Slate felt like he was young again, back with his brother in Alleste. When the sun went down, Slate and his new companions drank and laughed themselves to sleep around a campfire.

"Another beautiful sunrise," Slate said groggily as he rose the next morning.

"Meh," Ertajj said, opening one eye to espy the waking day. "Same as any other."

"Where should we go today?" asked Juke. He had been up for some time.

"Let's go downtown and see what trouble we can stir up," said Ertajj. "Who we can piss off."

"Sounds good," said Juke.

Pilotte walked out in front of the others as they made their way downtown, his tail wagging happily.

"Don't have to worry about anything with him around, I bet," Dahzi said of the wulf.

"There's always something to worry about," said Slate.

"These houses make me sick," said Ertajj, scowling at the opulence around him. "They've each got enough room for a small village, and the city's got a problem with homelessness. Bunch of Ghasts living around here, I'm sure."

"Ghosts?" Slate asked.

"Ghasts. Not ghosts." said Ertajj.

Dahzi giggled. "Ghosts. Ha."

"Ghasts?" Slate asked. "What does that mean?"

"He's thick," Ertajj grumbled.

"He just doesn't know," said Juke. "Slate, if you believe it, the Ghasts are a secret society that controls the world from behind closed doors. How or where or why they originated is unknown. Supposedly, they travel the known lands, collecting information and artifacts from the Golden Age of the Gods. The time before the Fall."

"The Books of Knowledge," Ertajj interjected.

"The Books of Knowledge?" Slate repeated.

"That's right. What do you know about them?" asked Ertajj.

"Oh, nothing. No more than you, I mean. Have you ever met one of them?" Slate asked. "A Ghast?"

"Oh no, I've never met one, no," Juke said. "I don't mean to make it sound as if they're ubiquitous; it is all very underground. You hear about the Ghasts every once and a while, over a campfire or in gossip. Personally, I think it's all very interesting, but I don't believe it. It's a myth. An urban legend. I live in the real world."

"I believe," said Ertajj.

"Really?" asked Slate.

"Don't listen to Ertajj," said Juke. "He has a wild imagination."

"Jealous," Ertajj said.

"Keep dreaming," said Juke, rolling his eyes.

The five stopped to buy more cider and pipe moone, and jerky for Pilotte, then found a park at which to enjoy their indulgences. Once Slate had enough cider, he started telling the others what he had learned of the Books of Knowledge from Guh, stopping just short of revealing that he possessed some of the books himself.

"And here I thought you were a clueless island kid this whole time," an impressed Ertajj said after Slate had finished. "Turns out you've heard some things. Bring it on, Opal Pools, that's what I say. The faster we get this society ready for the revolution, the better, I say."

"The revolution?" Slate asked.

"The coming revolution," Ertajj said. "When the politicians and their vain stabs at power are finally brought to justice. They horde, they lord over us and suppress the knowledge our ancestors left us. Their greed vilifies humanity!"

"Oh no," Dahzi sighed, putting his head in his palm.

Loud with drink, Ertajj continued. "Since we first crawled out of the caves and began our domination of nature, human history has been a story of struggle, contests between exploiting and the exploited, those with information and the oppressed ignorants. But now we've got Opal Pools, and the Green Shield! And the Book of Knowledge! It's the end of empires! The truth will set us free, and not only the truth and the knowledge from the book, but the knowledge of the book! Let everyone know that they have been subjugated and programmed from birth to be a pawn in the elite's games! And that these days are over! Let each one become their own god!"

"Tell it, Ertajj!" cried Juke and Dahzi in a tone both joking and sincere.

"I will, you nonbelievers!" Ertajj went on. "When that day comes at least I'll be ready, while the rest of the world will suffer. I'm ready to die for the new world. I'm ready."

"When the cider stops flowing, you'll be singing a different tune," Dahzi said.

"Tell it, Dahzi!" Juke said with a laugh.

"I heard that the Book of Knowledge was created by an evil sorcerer," Dahzi said.

"Daz, there aren't any sorcerers," Ertajj said. "Just stupid men who can't and shouldn't be trusted with whatever is in those books. Man's stupidity is his ruin."

"I guess. Though, it would be better for people who could be trusted to possess the books, right?" Slate asked. "If they even exist?"

"You show me one person that can be trusted, and I'll consider it," Ertajj said in a dark tone, after taking a long swig of cider.

"You certainly can't be trusted, you squatter. You loiterer!" Juke said.

"Or you, you shifty native-born!" Ertajj retorted.

"Or you, you island-born rube!" Dahzi said to Slate.

The three friends from Cole laughed. Slate smiled politely.

"Anyways," he said. "I don't think I ever told you guys, but I'm headed for Aurora Falls; do any of you anything about getting there?"

"I know it's not easy, with the trade freeze," said Juke. "What are you headed there for, anyways?"

"I... have to pick something up," said Slate. "It's why I'm here on Proterse in the first place."

"Pick something up?" Ertajj asked.

"Yes."

"Well," said Ertajj, "I hope it's not too heavy."

Slate rolled his eyes. "Do any of you know anything about passing through the Oji-something Jungle? I understand that it would be faster than the three weeks it would take to go the southern route?"

"It would be faster, but the Ojikef is a very dangerous place, Slate," said Juke.

"I don't really have three weeks, though," said Slate.

"Why not?" asked Ertajj.

"I have to get back to Aelioanei," Slate answered. "There's a girl there..."

"Oh, but you don't have anybody," Ertajj interrupted. "Please. Whatever. Come on, boys, let's go find something worthwhile to do."

"You... now? You're all leaving?" Slate asked.

"Just like you," said Ertajj. "See you 'round, Slate Ahn."

Dahzi gave a sad smile and Juke nodded an apology as they followed after Ertajj, who stalked off without another word.

"Goodbye!" Slate called after the three as they faded into the street crowd. "Guess it's just you and me again, Pilotte. Come on, let's see what we can see about this Ojikef Jungle."

Along the far outskirts of Jaidour, Slate stopped at a general store, to ask if they knew anything about hiring guides. After the clerk told him no, Slate was approached by a dark man in a leather hat and a long, black coat who had overheard his query.

"Did I hear you say you're looking for a guide for the Ojikef?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, why?" asked Slate.

"Because I might be able to help you," the stranger said. "Ever been through before?"

"No, I've never been in at all."

"Hmmm. Where do you want to end up?"

"I need to get to Aurora Falls."

"Alright. I could get you through the jungle to Chreopoint; you'd be on your own after that. It's about a week-long trip. What's with the wulf?"

"That's Pilotte," Slate said. "He's coming, too."

"He would make it easier. But listen," the stranger said, "I'm not taking just you two. The dangers are too great and the pay too small for one person and a wulf. Find a larger traveling party and it might be worth it for me. At least four people."

"Four?" Slate repeated.

"And we couldn't leave for a day or so, on account of that rain we had. We get too cold and wet in there and we might catch Direwreck Flu and die very painful deaths. Unless that sort of thing appeals to you."

"Not especially. So when is the soonest we could leave?"

"Well," the stranger calculated, "I'd say, to be safe, three days from today, if the rain holds off until then."

"And what would you require as far as payment?" Slate asked.

"Fifty pieces of goldquartz," said the man, scratching his stubble.

"Alright, fifty pieces," said Slate, downplaying the large sum. He didn't have that much. "Now, how can we find you? If I can find two others?"

"Any of those fifty pieces for me now?

"No, I'm sorry."

"Well. I'm usually downtown. I only just got back from a trip through today, in fact. Muddy as a sty in there. And we lost one."

"Lost a...person?"

"No, a sock. Anyways, kid, my name is Theolus Reever. Look me up near the docks in town, at the Blinking Fish, if you're serious about making the trip. I'll be there for the next three days."

"Certainly, thank you, Theolus. My name is Slate. Are you heading downtown now? I am. Perhaps we can travel together?"

"I travel alone, except when I'm pulling people through the Ojikef," Theolus said. "No offense. I'll see you soon, if you're serious."

"I am, trust me," Slate said. "I'm so thankful I ran into you."

"That's great. Till next time," said Theolus, considerably less gregarious than when he had first thought he had a sure sale.

Slate waited for Theolus to disappear down the thin road and then he and Pilotte started their own way back to town. It took almost two hours, though when he got there, Slate realized he hadn't considered where he might stay. He was also pondering where he would possibly get enough goldquartz to pay Theolus when he heard a voice call out to him. He looked up to see it was Juke.

"Hey, Slate!" Juke said happily. "Where you headed?"

"Juke!" Slate cried with great relief. "Oh! What are the chances I'd find you here?"

"Small?"

"Probably. Hey, I was wondering, do you have any idea where I might be able to make some goldquartz?"

"I don't really know the town," answered Juke. "But you might ask Dahzi, he's got a lot of money."

"He does? You... think he'd lend me some?"

"He does. And he might. But you'd have to ask him yourself. I can't answer for him. He and Ertajj will be back from Buxd's Cove later tonight."

"Oh. They're gone? Why didn't you go with them?"

"Just didn't want to. Ertajj can be a little much."

"I could see that," Slate said. "What do you want to do until they get back?"

"Well, I might have come upon a bit of moone..." Juke teased.

"Really?"

"I'm headed to the park, want to come wait with me?"

"I could use the break," Slate said. "Let's go."

The two lazed in the park, passing the time and a pipe of the relaxing moone. Pilotte caught a decent-sized curnot for dinner, which the three enjoyed around a fire. Slate was far from his worries when Ertajj and Dahzi returned, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs.

"I smell drugs! What're you vagrants up to?" shouted Ertajj as he charged up an embankment to where Slate and Juke were relaxing. Dahzi shuffled along behind him.

"Don't oppress me, oppressor!" said Juke.

"Hey guys! How was it, how was your trip?" asked Slate, struggling against the moone to rise and greet his friends.

"Jukey! Slatey! Fellas!" Ertajj said. "I smell moone, don't I? Any of that left? No? Shit. Anyways, Buxd's Cove, it was great. Amazing, colossal, incredible. I had always heard the girls in Jaidour had a cold shoulder, but I'll tell you what, the rest of them is plenty warm!"

"Had a bit of luck, did you?" asked Juke.

"Did I ever. Even Dahzi got lucky!" said Ertajj.

"It's true," said Dahzi, huffing and puffing as he finally reached where the others were congregated.

"That's great, guys," Slate said. "Listen, Dahzi, I need to ask a favor..."

"Looks like someone found out who's got the deep pockets," said Ertajj.

"I know it's awfully forward," Slate continued, "but I was wondering if you could loan me fifty goldquartz?"

"For what?" asked Dahzi.

"For a guide through the Ojikef Jungle,' said Slate.

"What, you weren't going to invite us?" asked Ertajj.

"I honestly thought you didn't want anything to do with me," answered Slate.

"Only when I thought you didn't want anything to do with us," said Ertajj.

"Oh, no. Dahzi, would it be too much?" asked Slate. "To loan me the money? I can repay you when we get to Aurora Falls."

"Sure," Dahzi said. "I wouldn't mind. And we're going with?" he asked Ertajj.

"What, are we going to slum it in Jaidour forever? All these larts around here, I wouldn't be able to stand it," Ertajj answered.

"Thank you all so much," Slate said. "I already even found us a guide. His name is Theolus Reever. He says he makes the journey through the jungle all the time."

"Who has the gall to charge fifty pieces of goldquartz for guide services? How long is the trip, a week? At most? It's not as if he'll be preparing our meals," said Ertajj. "Will he?"

"I agree with Slate though, I think we need his help. Have you heard the stories about what happens to people in the Ojikef Jungle?" Dahzi asked.

"No," Ertajj responded.

"Of course you haven't, because none of them ever leave," said Dahzi.

"Aw, please. You're being offensive to Jukey here," Ertajj said. "Those savage Nions in there are his ancestral people, you know."

"Hardly," said Juke, a bit defensively. "I was raised in the same society as you were. And I share Slate's fears about traveling through the jungle by ourselves. I think we could use a guide."

"What does that mean? Nions?" Slate asked Juke.

"Where'd you think he got the marks from?" Ertajj answered for Juke, referring to Juke's facial tattoos.

"Come on, Ertajj," Juke said. "Stop it."

"Never be ashamed of who you are," Ertajj laughed. "Juke is from the jungle, Slate. He's a Nion, raised as a non-Nion. Didn't you ever wonder about why he looked so weird?"

"I never thought he looked weird at all," answered Slate.

"Simple Slate," Ertajj sighed. "You're just the sweetest tit around, aren't you? Anyways, you think it's alright to entrust ourselves to this random guide you found? That's the recipe?"

"It's better than going alone," Slate said. "I'm going no matter what, but he said he needs at least four people."

"Fine, fine," Ertajj said. "Go in there alone and you'll die. But your guide is getting fifty goldquartz minus the cost of two jugs of cider!" He bounced back down the park's embankment toward a corner ale shop.

"Never a dull moment with that one," said Dahzi.

"Though sometimes you wish there would be," said Juke.

The next afternoon, Slate found Theolus where the guide had said he'd be, at the Blinking Fish, a foul-smelling alehouse in Jaidour's fish-packing district. The young man gave Theolus half of the payment for the journey, on promise of the other half when they reached Chreopoint. Slate imagined that the money would likely be spent on drinks before the afternoon was over, but he had no choice other than to trust that he hadn't just given borrowed goldquartz to a scam artist.

For the next two days, the four friends scavenged around town for things that might help them in the Ojikef. They found packs, coats, boots, some bug netting, and a few canteens. Only somewhere as affluent as Jaidour would have such a store in its dumpsters.

Camping on the banks of the mighty Jai River amongst the fragrant mewdock flowers, Slate cherished the opportunity to sleep under the stars and how much fun he was having. His delivery was proving to be quite the adventure, and it wouldn't be long until he delivered his package for Guh and was on the way back home.

15

Slate, Ertajj, Juke, Dahzi, and Pilotte sat bored and waiting on the far outskirts of Jaidour.

"So, Slate. This Theolus person. You gave him half our goldquartz. How exactly do you know him again?" Ertajj asked.

"I met him here," Slate said. "Down the road."

"Down this road? When?" Ertajj asked.

"A couple days ago. When you two where at Buxd's Cove."

"And what made you think to trust him with our goldquartz?" Ertajj asked.

"My goldquartz," Dahzi corrected.

"I... We... He'll be here," Slate stammered.

"What makes you so sure, Slate?" Juke asked.

"Because. I know he'll be here," Slate answered.

Another hour ground past and tempers were about to break when at last a wagon pulled by a tired, gray horse came into view down the dusty road. The wizened horse wheezed to a stop and Theolus offered no words of apology or explanation for his tardiness before he immediately began tossing supplies down onto the road.

Slate watched for a moment, waiting for acknowledgement. Theolus threw a length of rope at his feet.

"Why are you standing there?" the guide asked. "Tell the other three to get on over here and start gearing up. We've got a lot of time to make up if we're going to get to a campground tonight."

"But it's so late in the day already," Slate said. "We've been waiting..."

"We can't be here after dark, because we'll get robbed, killed, or worse," Theolus interrupted. "The fyre addicts living out here in the far reaches will bite you to watch you scream. We're far better off in the jungle. Just trust me to do my job, and get your friends over here to do theirs."

Slate hastened over to his friends. "Told you he'd show. He's saying we have to leave right away," he informed them. "We have to leave tonight because of something called fyre addicts."

"Oh, if there are flamers around here, he's right. I can take just about anyone, but those people are crazy," Ertajj said.

"Hey, kids," Theolus called from the wagon, "Quit your jaw flapping and get over here!"

Goods and tools were parceled, then stowed and strapped into packs and bags. After a small lunch of jerky and nuts, the expedition loaded into the wagon. The old horse could hardly get the full wagon moving again, but once it did, it never faltered.

"Alright, kids," Theolus said after four lengths. "This is where we get lost."

"Is he joking?" Dahzi whispered. There was nothing but thick jungle on either side of the road.

"I hope," Ertajj answered. "Either way, this should be fun."

The guide let the old horse free and gave it a smack, which sent it back in the other direction. Without wasting a second, Theolus started into the thick.

He set a pace that was hard for Slate and his friends to keep, what with so much weight on their backs, but Theolus didn't care to hear their complaints. The Ojikef provided distraction from the toil: it was wild with color and life. Beyond the small trees and flower bushes along the road, taller trees with broader palms began to appear. Orange and purple vines twisted and wove themselves through the trees and water trickled everywhere, in small and steady drips and cascading falls. It was beside one of these larger waterfalls where Theolus stopped for the first time, after almost two hours of continuous hiking.

"This would be the beginning, then," he announced.

"The beginning of what?" panted Slate.

"The trail to the jungle," said Theolus.

"What jungle?" asked Dahzi. "A different jungle?"

"How many jungles you think there are around here? The Ojikef Jungle. I hope you boys didn't think that we had made the Ojikef yet," laughed Theolus. "Because we've got two more hours until we hit the campsite, and that's just inside the first stand of mille trees. Drink up now if you're thirsty; this water is clean. We won't stop again."

Ertajj groaned and threw a handful of leaves and dirt at Slate, who was too tired to retaliate.

By the time Theolus located the campsite, the others were so exhausted that they fell asleep before dinner was ready or their tents were raised.

Slate awoke to the soothing sounds of a rain shower. He opened his eyes to see the rainclouds hanging lower than the jungle canopy itself, rolling like an upside-down sea through the treetops. He imagined little ships sailing across the upside-down sea, and what wonders the tree-top worlds might hold for the passengers.

The gray dissipated as morning broke and new chirps and howls changed guard with the night's. The rest of the expedition rose as Theolus prepared a stark breakfast, but before anyone had much of a chance to eat it, he began shouting orders to return to travel. Without so much as a cup of glint between them, the group was up with their packs on and moving again.

The heavy rain over the prior weeks had left the spongy floor of the jungle muddy, a slippery kind of mud that acted like a vacuum sucking at the travelers' feet with every step.

"How much longer should this take?" Ertajj asked.

Theolus answered, "If you mean the whole journey through to Chreopoint, well, that depends. If it rains any more, it could be a while. A long while. If the rain holds off, we should be able to reach the Ojikef River in four days, and then, if all that goes well, we could make Chreopoint about three days after that. But don't think about days, it's useless."

The jungle grew darker as denser growth allowed less sunlight to penetrate. Slate sensed something scary but familiar in the darkness, a mechanism inside that he had perhaps never had to use outside the jungle, a phantom anxiety. It occurred to him how the dark thoughts spurred long ago by the mysteries of the deep jungle must have had a powerful hand in shaping humankind's fearful nature.

Slate assumed at first that it may have only been that paranoia, but over the course of the second day, it began to seem as if Theolus was growing displeased that the travelers were keeping up so well. He would drive harder at any sign of one of the young men faltering, and answered even the smallest complaint with venomous condescension. Though Slate had neither the energy nor clarity of mind to bring accusations out in the open, it was telling that Pilotte had taken to walking in the guide's blind spot.

At dinner on the third night, Slate thought he would confront Theolus outright, rather than let the anxiety brew.

"Theolus, I understand that you are familiar with the jungle and have made this trip many times," he said. "But I have to ask, why do we have to drive so hard? We haven't encountered anything so far that would necessitate moving so frantically."

"Ever seen a walecat, kid?" asked Theolus as he sank his knife into the chest of Pilotte's latest kill.

"Yes," Slate said.

Theolus muttered something under his breath as he pulled his knife down the animal's belly. "Well, sorry you boys are having a tough time of things," he said. "I really am. But if we were to encounter some Nions, you'd be thanking me. Things could get much worse. Be happy we're moving this fast."

"I don't see how moving quickly helps us avoid..." began Ertajj.

"It's about averages, okay?" Theolus said angrily, his knife dripping with entrails. "Think: fewer days in the jungle, less opportunity for the Nions to cut off your scalp. Less chance of rain, less chance we get sick and die. How hard is that to understand?"

"Don't get so upset, Theo. I was just asking a question," Ertajj scoffed.

Theolus sneered. "It's Theolus, boy. I don't need any of your questions. Ask another and I'll take your goldquartz and leave you to your own devices," he said. "Believe me, it would be much, much easier!" He sat back down to his butchering as if nothing had happened.

On the fourth day, the jungle was loud and hot, and the trail sank and rose continually, with never a stretch of level path running longer than ten steps. Slate sweat and worried over how he had gotten his new friends involved in such an awful ordeal, and whatever it was in the dark growth that seemed to be stalking him.

The team had just passed into the territory of some screaming tree tandos when Slate noticed Pilotte's tongue lolling from his mouth. Slate stopped to offer the wulf some of his canteen, when a crackling noise of quick movement came from atop a hillslope on the right side of the trail.

The young men cast wide eyes at Theolus, who responded without words that they needed to hide. Under Theolus' mute instruction, the boys dashed under the cover of a glossy palm bush. The whip-fast old guide bounded off an exposed root onto a low tree branch. He pressed his back against the tree's trunk and waited.

As Slate watched from hiding, seven men appeared over the crest of the hill and began to descend onto the trail. They crouched low as they moved, their shoulder blades rolling with the coiled power of walecats' and their legs sturdy and thick as dalcrags'. Once the seven had coalesced on the trail, only feet from the palm bush that barely concealed the four young men, the Nions began to move toward the tree where Theolus was hiding. They encircled it and stopped, all in perfect unison, then silently turned their heads up at the guide.

"Run! Run, boys!" Theolus shouted, breaking the silence.

Dahzi screamed and scrambled out from under the palm bush. The seven-headed tribesman spotted him and the other hidden trespassers, and fractured.

Two Nions descended on Dahzi, who fell to his knees, put his hands to his ears, and howled. Slate threw his pickaxe in the direction of Dahzi's assailants, only for it to miss and disappear into a mass of thick growth. Juke was next to break from cover, jumping onto the back of one of the men moving for Dahzi. He was thrown from the Nion's back through the air, and landed against a rock with a crack so loud that it echoed.

At this, one of the Nions shouted something unintelligible, which stopped short the other six. They began moving together toward Juke, who was unconscious. Theolus took the opportunity to slide down his tree and crawl over to where Slate and Ertajj were gathered.

Since the appearance of the Nions, Pilotte had seemed not defensive but ultra-aware, his ears pressed forward, his tail tall and still. Something about their presence caused the wulf to act differently than Slate had ever seen him act before.

After the jungle inhabitants had observed Juke, one of them came toward the trembling trespassers, asking in perfect Protersian, "Why are you with this boy? How long have you been with him?"

Theolus began to respond, but was silenced with a high-pitched yelp and steely glare from the native. "I ask one of the young ones, in the bush," the Nion said.

Ertajj spoke, answering, "His name is Juke, and he is my good friend. I have known him since I was seven."

"We are all passing through the jungle together," Slate added. "Theolus, too. He's our guide."

At this, the Nions reformed their circle around Juke and resumed discussion. After a few minutes, during which Dahzi managed to regain control of himself and Theolus seemed like he might have run off at any second, the seven tribesmen formed a straight line.

The man in the middle stepped forward to speak. "What is your business in the Ojikef?" he demanded. "Have you not heard the rumors that we kill those who attempt passage?"

Theolus attempted a sincere smile and plead with the men, "Your legend is well known, certainly, and we have much cause to fear. We mean no disrespect. We wish only to make it to Chreopoint. We only have so much time, and ocean travel is currently not possible. Please, if you let us continue on our way, we will never speak of our meeting."

The Nion announced, "We will care for this dark boy here, who bears the marks of the Banowa, and you, too, if you are his friends. Come. Follow us."

Two of the tribesmen lifted Juke's slumped body off the ground and began carrying him away. The rest of Theolus' party had no choice but to follow.

Upon reaching what Slate assumed to be the village of the Nions, he and his weary fellow travelers were led into a small hut. The tribesmen kept Juke with them, leaving the others in the hut to eat and smoke. After four hours or so, the tribesmen re-entered the small hut with Juke bandaged and clean before them, and took seats amongst their guests. The leader took a deep inhalation of smoke from a pipe adorned with a red flower that he wore on his belt, and blew a purple cloud up and out of a hole in the roof. He passed the pipe to Dahzi, seated to his left. The leader began to speak.

"We have spoken with Juke. We have determined that you are to be granted passage through our jungle. We will take you first to our village."

Theolus choked on his drink. "Of course, of course, we would be honored to visit your village!" he sputtered.

"Good. Please wait here for us to summon you in a short while," said the Nion leader.

Then passed a quiet five minutes during which the pipe was circled around the hut. Once it was finished, the Nions stood, bowed in synchronicity, and exited. Ertajj's sigh of relief spoke for everyone left behind.

"Do you boys have any idea what this means?" asked Theolus, dreams and delusions bubbling up in his eyes. "No one has ever been to a real Nion village before! This is sure to pay, sure to pay, boys, sure to pay!" he raved.

"No one but, say, the Nions, right, Theolus?" asked Ertajj.

"Shut up, Ertajj," the guide barked.

Shortly thereafter, the Nion tribesmen helped the travelling party lighten their loads, taking some of the gear onto their own backs before leading the way back into the thick. As it happened, they all spoke Protersian well, with clear, deliberate enunciation, which they used to calmly answer an annoying litany of questions from Theolus.

"So what is the name of where we are going?" Theolus asked.

"Our village doesn't have a name. It is our home. So we say we are going home. This is yiente, off our tongues. Or Ojikef, off of yours."

"How long have your people lived where we are going?" Theolus asked.

"What do you mean, where we are going?" the Nion asked.

"This location we are going to," Theolus responded.

"We have lived on Alm forever," the Nion said.

Theolus was quiet for a moment and then asked, "So why is it that you don't let anyone pass through the Ojikef?"

"It is for the benefit of the land and of time."

"Excuse me?" Theolus asked.

"So that Mother Alm and Father Time may still have a place to run free," the Nion explained.

Theolus chuckled. "And you kill people for such nonsense?"

"We kill no one. Perhaps you've heard rumors that we kill people. Rumors are stronger than clubs," the head tribesman said.

"So you're not going to kill us?"

"No. But you were going to die without help. You were headed into a valley from which you cannot leave."

"I thought you said you'd made the trip before?" Slate said to Theolus.

The guide smiled awkwardly and shrugged.

"You would not survive on your own," the Nion said. "You are lucky we have found you. Come."

Slate shot Theolus an angry glare, which the alleged guide ignored, as the team began to follow after the Nions.

After climbing for some time, the party reached the highest ground in the surrounding jungle, where it was barren and dry. It wasn't long that the group was in these heights before one of the Nions stopped, posed, and released an astonishingly loud sound from his lungs. Soon, a cry came back from somewhere down in the valley below. The party followed a game of call-and response past yawning cave-mouths gated over with vine and branch, back and forth over a clear, winding river glimmering with darting, silvery fish. At a slight bend in the river, near a field of grass, they came to a stop.

"Here," the Nion leader announced.

"Is this the village?" asked Ertajj, looking around. "It's just more of the same."

"Quiet, boy, show some respect," said Theolus.

"Lessons of respect from Theolus? Maybe that's why we came all the out here to middle of nowhere," said Ertajj. "To find the lost treasure of Theolus' humanity!"

Everyone laughed at Ertajj's joke except for Theolus, who grumbled incoherently.

While waiting for the Nions, who had retreated into another of their circular conversations, the outsiders took seats on the dewy soil next to the river. Pilotte splashed about in the crystal water, trying to catch the elusive silver fish that streamed between his legs.

Two native women appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. They looked much like the men, though they were shorter, with finer features, and their faces did not bear the tattoos the men's did. The Nions exchanged greetings and had a brief conversation. The two women then turned from the men and spoke to each other alone, before one of them spread her arms and began to move toward the river.

"Men of Jaidour, welcome to our home," she said. "We are pleased that you are here. We hope that you will come with us to our village, where we can care for and feed you."

"I will!" Theolus said without hesitating.

Slate looked to his friends for their opinions. Ertajj threw up his arms as if to say he didn't know what to do or care, Juke nodded enthusiastically, Dahzi simply smiled back, and Pilotte seemed perfectly at ease, as if to say the Nions offered all the protection the group needed.

"Okay," Slate said. "I mean yes, I agree to your request."

"Of course!" Dahzi and Juke said at the same time. They congratulated each other on their synchronicity.

"Sure, whatever," said Ertajj.

"Wonderful," the woman said. "It is agreed, then. Please leave all of your things here and follow us."

"What do they mean, leave all of our things? Are they kidding?" Theolus asked one of the tribesmen.

"Your possessions will not be harmed, I promise you," the Nion said. "You cannot carry your outside goods into our sacred space, it will offend the gods," he explained. "You may wear your clothes however, as that is your taboo."

Well, if there is anything missing when we get back, I'll know," Theolus said. "I want everything I have exactly as it is when I return."

"Don't worry, Theolus, your things will not be touched," the man promised.

The foreigners shed their packs and all but their lightest clothes, revealing bruises and cuts that testified to the danger of their journey thus far. Slate felt uneasy leaving Guh's Books behind, but trusted the Nions when they promised security.

Ducking low through a tunnel of twisted branches, the group at some uncertain point crossed into the Nion village. Its grounds were smaller than Slate had expected, and the village plainer, assembled mainly of long huts built around fire pits. It was clean, though somewhat claustrophobic, and buzzing with happy activity. The villagers seemed to have already received word of the visitors, as a heavy, old woman in a lart pelt came waddling hurriedly up to Juke.

"It's true!" she said of his tattoos. "You have the Banowa! Child, where did you get this?"

"I don't know," answered Juke. "But I'm hoping you can tell me."

"You come with me, child!" the woman said joyously, grabbing Juke by the wrist and pulling him off as he waved a surprised goodbye to the others.

Theolus hastened around the village, trying to communicate with the tribespeople. When it became clear they wanted nothing to do with him, he retreated bitterly to where Slate, Dahzi, and Ertajj were sitting beside a huge viliali tree.

"Stupid heathens," Theolus grunted. "Living in the dirt."

"They're not living in the dirt, Theolus," said Dahzi. "They live in huts."

"Primitives, nonetheless," Theolus said.

"Howso?" Ertajj asked him.

"Howso what?" Theolus responded.

"How are they primitive?" Ertajj asked.

"Look at them. Walking around half naked. Nothing to show for themselves but sticks and stones," Theolus said.

"If I lived in the jungle and hadn't been told there was anything wrong with it, I'd probably be half-naked, too," said Ertajj.

"They don't have any culture," Theolus said. "No libraries, no opera houses. No museums. They haven't elevated themselves above animals at all."

"Oh, Theolus," Ertajj laughed, "You're such an ass."

"When's the last time you were in an opera house anyways, Theolus?" Slate asked.

"That's not the point," Theolus answered.

"They don't live much differently than we did back in Alleste, on Aelioanei," Slate said. "I don't think they're primitive at all. At least they know an impassable valley from a passable one."

"Shut up," Theolus said. He looked around scornfully. "I can't wait to get out of here."

"Good luck finding your way," Dahzi said.

Slate and Ertajj busted out laughing.

"You're all bunch of ingrates," Theolus said, kicking at the dirt before stomping off.

Juke returned to his friends a short while later, seeming somehow different than he had before.

"Hello, brothers," he said to his friends.

"Hey there, buddy," said Ertajj. "Where've you been?"

"Truly, where have I been?" Juke asked. "Where are any of us?"

"Uh... In the jungle?" Ertajj responded.

"Perhaps," Juke said. "But at the heart of it, where are we, really?"

"What's the matter with you, Juke?" Ertajj asked. "What did they do to you?"

"Only reconnected me with my true self," said Juke.

"Your true self? What do you mean?" Dahzi asked.

"I mean that these are my people. The belonging I've been seeking my whole life... I think I've finally found it here," Juke answered.

"Belonging?" Ertajj scoffed. "What about us? I thought we belonged with each other?"

"I don't doubt that to be true," said Juke. "But I think that I may want to stay here a while, to learn more about my heritage."

"Aw, crap," Ertajj said. "I don't want to stay here, Juke, it's hot and sticky and awful."

"I don't expect any of you to stay," Juke said. "But when you leave, I don't think I will be going with you."

"Nonsense!" Ertajj roared. "I don't know what you're on about, Juke. We're here two hours and you're talking in riddles. It's supposed to be us against the rest of the world, don't you get it?"

"It could never be only us forever," Juke said. "I understand why you're upset. But this isn't the end for us. I just need some time, to figure out who I am."

"I'll tell you who you are, you're a fool for wanting to stay here," Ertajj said. "But you know what? Fine. Whatever. Do whatever you want. We don't need you."

"I'll miss you, Ertajj," said Dahzi.

"And I'll miss you too," said Juke. "But this isn't goodbye forever. Just for the time being."

"Crap," Ertajj said. "Well, great. We'll go have fun without you."

"Don't be bitter, Ertajj," Juke said.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Ertajj barked. He scowled at the others and then stormed off.

As he was leaving, Theolus came stalking up. "What a waste of time. There's no great mystery here, after all," he said. "Not any treasure, nothing! What a bust. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"Leaving for where?" Slate asked.

"Chreopoint," Theolus said. "We've got to wrap this up."

"Do you actually know how to get to Chreopoint, Theolus?" Slate asked.

"Of course," Theolus answered.

"Have you ever actually made it through the jungle before?" Slate asked.

"Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't. But I got some new directions now, anyways," said Theolus.

"You're a piece of work, Theolus," said Slate.

"Yes," said Theolus, "Yes I am."

The next morning, some of the villagers helped to replenish and repack the visitors' bags, and a small feast was prepared for their departure. After all in attendance had eaten more than enough, Juke stood up to make a speech.

"Please excuse my words, I don't mean to give any of you indigestion," he began.

The group gathered around the long table laughed.

"Theolus," Juke continued, "I must thank you for your help so far. The village offers you this small treasure in thanks."

A tribeswoman tossed the leathery guide a pouch containing a few pieces of goldquartz nugget.

"This is raw goldquartz! They said they didn't have any!" Theolus snorted, before managing a, "Thank you."

"And what can I say about my friends..." Juke began, but he was cut off by Ertajj.

"That's about enough," he said, standing up and leaving the table.

"I'm sorry he has to be like that, Juke," Dahzi said. "We're going to miss you so much."

"It's alright, he'll see," Juke said. "We will meet again."

"Of course you will," Slate added, though he couldn't really be sure.

After final goodbyes to the Nions, Slate, Dahzi, Ertajj, and Theolus squeezed back out of their village, followed closely by Pilotte.

"Here we are," Theolus said when the team reached the banks of the Ojikef River. "I told you I know where I'm going. Our raft should now carry us all the way to Chreopoint."

The raft, a gift from the Nions, was a light-weight craft sewn of thick and durable hin canvas wrapped around four hollow wooden tubes. The raft held the weight of the travelers and their provisions well, and was well-balanced, so that they could move from side to side without sinking any of the corners too far into the water.

"Do you know anything about rafting?" Slate asked Theolus. "Or is this your first time for that, too?"

"Shut it," mumbled Theolus.

"Why are we still listening to this guy, anyways?" Ertajj asked.

"Listen, I may have been heading the wrong way for a second, but I would have gotten us to Chreopoint, okay?" Theolus said. "The heavy storms changed things... the landscape looked a lot different, alright? I'm going to see you through, you can take my word for it."

"I won't be recommending you to any of my friends, in any case," said Ertajj.

"Pity," Theolus said sarcastically. "Now, come on. We're going to need to cooperate. We'll all have to follow my paddle orders, whether you think I'm capable or not. Cooperation is just how rafting works."

"We'll listen, Theolus," Slate said. "Just, please, do your best?"

"I don't need you telling me how to do my job," Theolus said. "Let's push off the bank. On three."

The raft slid down the silty banks and into the foamy river and the team started to float downstream.

16

The river journey was easy and unremarkable at first. There was a long stretch that wasn't rafting at all, where the river disappeared under rock, but other than this section, when the team had to portage the light raft, there was little to complain about. The crew was able to enjoy exotic birdwatching and the food that the Nions had sent with them as the raft swam slowly down the course of the Ojikef River, sharing the languid pace of the puffy clouds drifting overhead. On either side, the banks were unbroken green walls of vines, leaves, and trees. Endless, thousands of trees.

Two days passed by almost without incident, save for a brief terror on the second night, when the team was startled awake at their campsite by a wild lart that nestled in to sleep with them. Pilotte caught the animal as it tried to run away, which made for a delicious breakfast the next morning.

Later in the morning on that third day, the raft came to a three-way split in the river.

"Which way?" Slate asked Theolus.

The guide didn't look to have an immediate answer.

"The one on the right," he said after a few seconds of deliberation.

"Are you sure about that?" Ertajj asked him.

"Sure I'm sure," Theolus said, his expression belying his words.

Not fifty feet later, rapids broke up the smooth course of the river. Roots and fallen trees started to clutter the waterway, creating whirlpools and dams that pulled at the raft. Seeing that the situation was getting more dangerous, Theolus ordered the others to begin securing down supplies.

"And you're sure these rapids are the right way?" Ertajj asked again.

"Just do what I tell you and we'll be alright," Theolus barked, avoiding eye contact.

The crew was strapping packs and oars into canvas holsters when the raft met the river's first major drop in elevation.

"Drop!" hollered Theolus, noticing the drop only as it happened.

Ertajj nearly fell out as the raft plunged into a churning mess of bubbles and froth. Dahzi managed to reach out and grab him, clinging to the raft by grabbing hold of one of the oars with his other hand. Ertajj briefly got stuck in an eddy that spun him around and around and tried its best to pull him from Dahzi's grip, but the eddy wasn't strong enough to hold him, and spat him out after a few rotations. Slate helped Dahzi pull Ertajj back onboard, just before Theolus announced another drop ahead.

"Tie yourselves down! Quickly!" Theolus said. "We've got more trouble coming up!"

The front half of the raft lurched out over the edge of what was revealed to be not just another drop in the river, but more of a waterfall. The raft perched there on the edge of the falls for a short while, teetering and threatening to dump its passengers and their belongings over the falls. Pilotte poised to jump, torn between staying with Slate or making the jump to shore that only he could manage. Instead of either, the wulf turned and leapt out over the waterfall, diving into the pool below. Farther and farther the raft crept out from the edge after him, until its bottom could hold the horizon no longer.

The raft slipped and tumbled down the falls. It cut into the frothy water like a diving bird, smooth and swiftly, as the crew tied to it was pulled down with it, their vision obscured by a white wash of bubbles. For one, clear moment, Slate saw the underwater world around him, how close the sides of the raft were to slabs of rock which surely could have destroyed it had it fallen just the slightest bit to the right or left. And then the buoyancy of the raft caught up with its dive and pulled it back out of the water, and the four tethered passengers were yanked from underwater with it. The punishingly loud storms of water bashing down on the rocks all around drowned their screams.

The raft then managed to bump and spin and slide just so off the lurching, angular stones at the base of the falls, and continue down a bit further along the river, to where there was a calmer current. The crew was of course pulled along the same lucky route that the raft found, all the while thrashing and struggling to get back on top and gasping for air, as Pilotte followed along the banks, barking wildly, desperate for how he might help.

As Slate was variably dunked below the current and tossed up above it, he tried to get the attention of his other crewmates, but the confusion was too great. He also failed to climb back into the raft using one of the oars as a ladder, when the oar became lodged somewhere between two invisible rocks below the water's surface and split, then was torn from his grip by the angry undercurrent.

For a moment, Slate thought he saw that the river ended, not too far ahead, but that didn't make any sense. It wasn't a delta, a merging, or split with another river, instead it looked as if the river just stopped. As if it reached the end of the world. Beyond was nothing but clear blue sky, not marred by even the slightest wisp of cloud.

The river became calmer as it approached the end of the world, allowing the four travelers to partially or totally pull themselves back into the raft. Just as the raft met the seeming end of the river, Theolus managed to rip an oar from its binding and jam it into the crack of a boulder in the middle of the stream, which at last halted the raft's movement.

"All the way in boys, hurry, get in!" he urged. "Don't know how long this will hold!"

Slate helped Dahzi and Ertajj out of the water. It was then that the whole crew had a moment to take notice of how much higher up they were than the ground below, so very far below, with its thousands of jungle trees stretching out from the riverbanks for lengths off into the distance. The oar Theolus had jammed into the boulder snapped, already broken from the first fall. The raft surged forward.

"What are we going to do?" Dahzi cried.

The raft rode clear to the edge of the soaring waterfall, where Pilotte stood barking wildly, spun around once, and then fell. It actually stayed level for some while, and the crew experienced the odd sensation of riding the air as if on a sled. They were able to peer over the raft's edges and see the pool waiting below. And up above, along the edge of the fall, was Pilotte, howling as he watched them shrink from view.

But then the raft tipped, and began turning top-over-bottom, faster and faster, its crew all the while fixed inside by gravity. The wind whipped and battered the airborne raft, as green turned to blue then to green over and again and again for the terrified passengers. And then they and the raft met the waiting pool with a resounding, thunderous smack.

The air was knocked out of Slate's lungs and the raft blew apart on impact. Slate was now was hopelessly trapped in the ratty folds of the disintegrated raft with the others, drowning as the hollow logs that had previously been the raft's sides met and enveloped the crew under the force of the water. Slate fought against the canvas and the water with wild desperation, as did the others, but the forces around them proved impossible to assail. Slate began to cry with frustration, suffering the kicks and punches of the others struggling to free themselves, then saw red, and then purple, which finally faded to black. His felt his fingers stop working, and then an odd moment of relief, before his other senses faded to nothingness.

When Slate regained consciousness, he was lying on a rock in the middle of the river. Ertajj was splayed next to him, breathing, but still unconscious. Dahzi was on a smaller rock across the way, but Theolus was nowhere to be found.

"Ertajj?" Slate asked. "Ertajj?"

There was no response. When Slate went to move toward his friend, a deep, stinging pain shot across his back. He winced and bore it, managing to stand up on the slippery rock.

"Dahzi?" he called across the water.

Dahzi mumbled something inaudible in response.

"Dahzi, are you okay?"

Dahzi pushed himself up and looked around to see who was calling him.

"Slate," he called when he spotted him, "Are we dead?"

"No," Slate answered. "I don't think so."

"Where's Pilotte?" Dahzi asked, now pulling himself up to sitting. "Where's Theolus?"

Slate searched the banks of the river. "I don't know," he said despondently.

Ertajj suddenly lurched up, shook, and coughed water out of his lungs, gasping for air.

"Ertajj!" Slate cried, falling to his side.

Ertajj continued to cough and wheeze until he could breathe regularly.

"Good Gods," he finally managed, panting. "What... the... hell."

"Are you alright?" Slate asked him.

"I guess, considering," Ertajj answered.

"No broken bones for anyone?" Slate asked.

The three friends searched themselves, then each other, and, miraculously, none of them had been severely injured, beyond scrapes and bruises. Slate had the worst of it, a bleeding laceration across his back.

"Where's that bastard Theolus?" Ertajj asked, standing up on shaky legs. "Is he dead? I'll kill him!"

"He's nowhere in sight," Slate said. "Neither is Pilotte." Suddenly remembering his pack, he realized it, too, was gone. "And neither are any of our supplies."

"Theolus!" Slate called out. "Theolus!"

There came no response.

"Great," Ertajj groaned. "Our guide and the goldquartz, gone. Well, no reason to sit here like a couple of dirallias. Let's get the hell out of this damn river."

The three left the river for its banks.

"That son of a bitch," said Ertajj. "I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but if Theolus is in fact dead, well, the river did the job I would have. Idiot had no idea where we were going. Dragged us over a damn waterfall!"

"I really don't think he meant too," said Dahzi.

"I'm sure the Nions told him about the split in the river, he just probably didn't listen," said Ertajj.

"I just can't believe I lost Pilotte," Slate said, searching the water but hoping he wouldn't find the wulf's body there.

"Well, we know he's alive. I mean, I saw him watching us fall. Didn't you?" Ertajj asked.

Dahzi and Slate nodded.

"Still no idea how he'd find us down here, though," Ertajj said. "That had to have been a quarter of a length, that fall. Now Pilotte's all alone, and we're easy prey."

"Oh, what are we going to do?" Dahzi asked, gnawing nervously on his worn-down thumbnail.

"Well, we should follow the river," Slate said sadly. "It'll lead us out of here."

"How much longer do you think it will be?" Ertajj asked.

"No idea," said Slate.

"Great," Ertajj said with a sigh. "This is just great."

The three walked along in silence, until they found the wreckage of their raft, caught in a root system along the riverside.

"It's completely shredded," Dahzi observed.

"But, look! I think I see some of our supplies," Ertajj said, running ahead. "I need some sort of long stick," he said.

Slate found one, which Ertajj used to fish out a pack caught up in the tangle of wreckage.

"It's my pack!" Ertajj said. He opened the soaking bag and dumped its contents out. "Which means we've got something to eat! I mean, the bread's ruined, but we can salvage the meat, and the zans."

"That's good news, at least," Slate said. "There's a decent amount of food there."

The three sat and ate a little of the food, careful to conserve their rations, as the birds in the surrounding jungle made a cacophony. As he ate, Slate wondered what would happen to Pilotte, and what he was going to tell Guh Hsing about the books he had lost.

"So, that delivery to Aurora Falls isn't going to make it, is it?" Ertajj asked, echoing what was on Slate's mind.

"Obviously not," Slate said. "I feel just terrible about it. And about Pilotte. And about bringing you all here. Hatty. The Falls. Just, everything."

"Nobody to blame but Theolus," Ertajj said. "Seriously, what a moron."

"Come on, now," Dahzi said. "He's probably dead. No need to beat a dead moron."

Ertajj chuckled. "Still."

"It's not his fault, it's all mine," said Slate. "That any of us are here at all. I just wanted to get it over with, the trip, I was so foolish. What do I know about jungles? About Proterse? About anything?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Slate," said Ertajj.

"How can I now be? What are we going to do now?" Slate asked.

"I'm going home, as soon as I find a road that leads there," Dahzi said. "I think I've had enough adventure."

"Am I still invited?" Ertajj asked.

"Of course you are. You, too, Slate," Dahzi answered.

"Thank you," Slate said. "But I've got to go tell my friend in Aurora Falls what happened, and then I really need to be getting home."

"Aurora Falls is still so far away," Ertajj said. "Why not just skip it and come with Dahzi and me?"

"I can't," Slate said. "Guh will be expecting me."

"Expectations aren't always met," Ertajj said. "Case in point."

"I know, but I have to go," said Slate. "It's the only reason I'm on Proterse at all."

"Reasons change," Ertajj said. "Maybe your real reason for being here was to meet us!"

"That's a happy coincidence," Slate said. "But my delivery was really important."

"Fine, fine," Ertajj said. "Do what you want. Dahzi's family will treat us well, though. Did you know he's a prince?"

"A what?" Slate asked.

"That's right, he's a prince. An honest-to-goodness, about-to-inherit-a-kingdom, prince," Ertajj said.

Slate looked to Dahzi, who nodded sheepishly.

"Where you think he got all that money?" Ertajj asked. "He just likes to slum it with the likes of us. Don't you, Dahzi?"

"I certainly wasn't ready to be a King when I left home. But I think I've seen enough of the world now. I'm ready," said Dahzi.

"A prince? Really?" Slate asked, making sure he wasn't being toyed with.

"It's true, Slate," affirmed Dahzi.

"Well that's incredible," Slate said.

"Yep. The whole kingdom of Morai, it's all going to be his," Ertajj said.

"That's amazing, Dahzi," said Slate, though he didn't know anything about Morai.

"Is it? I didn't have anything to do with making the country. I happened to be born into it. That's all," said Dahzi. "I just hope I'll be a good ruler. It's a lot of responsibility."

"I'm sure you will be great," Ertajj said. "Just being concerned about whether or not you'll do a good job is probably a good sign that you will. Anyways, are we all done here? The flies are killing me."

"I'm ready," said Dahzi.

"Sure," Slate said, looking back up the river in hopes that he might spot Pilotte if he looked hard enough. Still there was no sign.

Slate, Ertajj, and Dahzi walked all day and then found an overhang to sleep under when the night came. The next day they rose with the noisy jungle and continued along the riverbank, talking and striving for high spirits despite their situation.

After lunch, during which most of the rest of their food stores were depleted, the banks of the river became congested with trees that made hugging the exact side of the waterway impossible. The three were forced deeper into the darker jungle.

"I don't like it in here as much," Ertajj said, tugging at a difficult vine.

"No," Dahzi said. "Me either."

The way grew tighter and tighter, the greenery closing in on all sides and choking out the sun overhead. Huge insects crawled around the tight passageway, chittering and tickling the strangers to the jungle with their long antennae and hundreds of legs. And then, something huge started moving through the growth alongside the three travelers.

"Do you guys hear that? What is it?" Ertajj asked.

"No idea," said Slate. "Try to keep your voice down."

The deeper into the growth the three went, the closer the mystery in the nearby jungle came. The noise of breaking branches and snapping vines grew to be almost as loud as the fateful rapids had been the day before, and then, in a clearing, the source of the cacophony showed itself.

"Pilotte!" Slate cried, overjoyed.

The wulf struggled to turn around in the small clearing, his excited tail whacking the travelers as he spun, but when he did, Slate was doubly surprised to see his sack of books dangling from the animal's mouth.

"And you've got my delivery!" he cried.

"That's... unbelievable," remarked Ertajj.

Slate lunged at the wulf and unleashed a fury of scritches.

"I was so scared I was never going to see you again!" he said, welling up with tears. "Oh, Pilotte, I'm so glad you found us!"

The wulf seemed happy enough but annoyed with the claustrophobic surroundings.

"I know, it's terrible in here, right?" Slate said. "Let's go, let's go! Find us the way, Pilotte!"

The wulf took the lead, burrowing a tunnel through the jungle wide enough for the others to follow after. It wasn't long before the choking jungle broke, and the four travelers were able to walk along the riverbanks once more.

"Alright! Back on the banks! And with Pilotte! Isn't it amazing he found us?" Slate asked his friends. "And with my bag?"

"Honestly, yes," Ertajj answered. "But we're still in the jungle, I'm afraid."

"Much safer with Pilotte here, though," Dahzi said.

"Doubtless," Ertajj agreed. "I just wonder how much farther we have to go. That's another very large mouth we have to feed."

"Well, if a snarlingwulf can find you in the middle of a jungle, perhaps there's reason for optimism," said Slate.

"You go ahead with that," Ertajj said. "I'll carry the pessimism until we find a way out of here. And I'm sure Theo's corpse is singing a different tune, also."

Relief came sometime later, when the team spotted a watermill set up along the Ojikef River.

"Civilization! We're saved!" Ertajj was the first to exclaim.

"Thank goodness," Dahzi said. "My legs are killing me. I'm not made for this sort of physical activity."

"I don't think anyone is made for this sort of physical activity," said Slate. "Let's see if anyone's home at the mill."

There wasn't, but almost as good, there was a road, leading from the mill out of the jungle and onto a wide, flat plain.

"Aaah," Slate said overlooking the plain. "Look at all that flat, treeless wonder."

Ertajj smiled and grabbed Dahzi's arm. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" he asked.

"Maybe once or twice," Dahzi answered. "Now, I'll be really happy when we find an inn."

"Let's do that, then," said Ertajj. "Down the road, boys! Down the road to dinner!"

The four came to a small village named Marsh Hallows, which they were surprised to learn wasn't far from Chreopoint, their original destination. There was an inn there, run by a sweet old couple who were happy to listen to the boys' tales of adventure and feed and house them for the night.

When the morning came, there was a small breakfast brought to the room.

"Biscuits. How I've missed biscuits. Oh, I'm so very ready to go home," Dahzi said, buttering a biscuit. "I never thought I'd say that."

"I could use some time in one place, myself," said Ertajj. "Morai sounds like a good oasis."

"So we'll split up today, then, huh?" Slate said sadly.

"Only for a bit," said Ertajj. "You go complete your extremely important delivery, then come see us."

"How would I find you?" Slate asked.

"Morai is the only kingdom left on the continent," Dahzi answered. "Our people have never wanted a change to democracy or republic like the rest of Proterse. So, it'll be easy to find; just ask about."

"How far is it from Aurora Falls?" Slate asked.

"Not far," Dahzi answered. "Maybe a day or two by foot, obviously less by horse."

"Watch yourself, though," said Ertajj. "The closer you get to Opal Pools, the worse."

"Why's that?" Slate asked.

"Because," Ertajj answered. "Those people are monsters. Isolationist, techno-fascists."

"Well I don't want anything to do with that," said Slate.

"Honestly, if you've got any time at all, come see us and we'll treat you to some real luxury," said Dahzi.

"If I can, I definitely will," Slate said. "And if I can't, I'll make sure to send you that fifty goldquartz I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything, Slate," said Dahzi.

"Well. Thanks for coming with me through the Ojikef," said Slate. "Sorry it was such an ordeal."

"An ordeal to remember for a lifetime," Ertajj said. "And we would never have done it without you."

The friends said goodbye to one another outside the inn, and parted ways. Slate stopped before a turn in the road to look back and see Ertajj and Dahzi getting into a carriage, then watched the carriage disappear behind a cloud of dust kicked up by the horses carrying it. Sadly, he doubted he would ever see them again.

"Looks like it's just you and me again, buddy," Slate sighed to Pilotte, who smiled. "Let's finish this thing up so we can go back home."

17

Following directions from the innkeepers, Slate and Pilotte reached Chreopoint three hours after leaving Marsh Hallows. They made their way to the port on the Halo River, where they found one of the many readily available transports heading north to Aurora Falls. Slate paid the fare, bought food for himself and Pilotte at one of the markets along the waterfront, boarded, and was well north of Chreopoint by mid-afternoon.

Slate lost count of how many cities the riverboat passed while he sat on the deck. Some were large, most were small, but all had their own character, and a thousand stories for Slate to read to pass the time.

Just before reaching Aurora Falls, four days after leaving Chreopoint, the riverboat reached the famous Vascian Canal. It took twenty thousand laborers working all year long to maintain the canal, which ran the last thirty-eight lengths of the Halo River to Aurora Falls. The Halo's natural course was to flow into the underground aquifers underneath Aurora Falls and then out into the ocean, but the canal had rerouted it, bringing it above ground and level with the Ojikef Delta. The city of Aurora Falls had grown up around the canal and was still growing, the hundreds of passing ships bringing new people and ideas to the burgeoning place daily.

After waiting for a shipping vessel to pass through the canal, Slate's riverboat was given clearance to enter, and it came into port at Aurora Falls not soon after. Slate and Pilotte disembarked, and Slate asked for directions from a brestle stand. He was pointed downtown.

The waterfalls from which the city got its name poured down from the heights of the surrounding Lentini Mountains, painting hundreds of little rainbows through the air. Spanning the deep gorges carved by the waterfalls were hundreds of bridges, which coursed Slate and Pilotte into the heart of the city where all roads converged like spokes of a wheel.

Slate bought some unidentifiable but flavorful meats on sticks from a cart, one for himself and three for Pilotte. After devouring the mystery meat, Slate learned from the vendor that the Green Cat, where Guh had told him to call, was just two blocks away.

Slate left Pilotte in a comfortable, shady resting spot beneath a brum tree, and opened the door to the Green Cat, spilling light into the dark space and eliciting annoyed groaning and grunting from the clientele. He apologized for stumbling over a number of chairs as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and when he could see more clearly, found his way to the bar.

"Hello, I'm looking for a Kit Evory?" he asked the bartender.

"Who're you?" the surly bartender asked without glancing up from his ledger.

"I'm Slate Ahn. I'm a friend of Guh Hsing, from Airyel..."

The bartender straightened up and cut Slate off. "No way! You really made it. Slate, it's really good to meet you. Kit Evory. Welcome to town." He lowered his voice and leaned in. "Just so you know, Guh Hsing goes by Num Ochre around these parts. Here, come on back."

The bartender raised a hinged section of the counter for Slate to pass through, and then the two went through a beaded curtain separating the bar and a back room crammed with a bed and other furniture.

"Is this where you live?" asked Slate.

"Yes, sometimes," Kit said. "Sleep here sometimes, anyways. But I live everywhere. You live everywhere you go, don't you?"

"You certainly sound like Guh's friend," Slate said. "Or, Num, now, I guess."

"Num Ochre, that's right."

"Why did he change his name?" asked Slate.

"No reason we should talk about here, in such loose company," Kit said, glancing out through the curtain into the front of the bar. "Anyways, we're glad you're here. Very glad. We thought you were lost for good. Expected you weeks ago."

"Yeah, sorry for the delay," Slate said. "Some things came up. I'm just here to deliver something to Num, where is he?"

"I get it, I get it," Kit said, as if playing along. "So where have you been? We all thought you'd be here sooner."

"Oh, you know," Slate said. "Pirates. Nions. Falling over waterfalls."

"Oof. It wasn't an easy trip, I get it. Sorry about that. But Num should be up on South Drought Place, at eight-seven-six."

"Is that far from here?"

"No, not at all. Just follow the main western crux and it'll be the fourteenth or fifteenth Street. Make a left there. Eight-seven-six South Drought Place."

"Thank you, Kit," Slate said. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I've got to be going."

"So soon? Come on, before you leave, couldn't you just tell me a little bit about what you've brought us? Maybe, I don't know, show me? Just a little? I can't remember anticipation like this."

"Anticipation? Of what?"

"I just told you, I don't know. That's why I wish you'd tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"I don't know," Kit repeated.

"Well, this is going nowhere fast. You'll have to forgive me, but my business is urgent," Slate said.

"Fine, be like that. Still, good to see ya, champ. And tell Num I said he needs to settle his tab."

"Okay, Kit. Thanks for your help."

Slate left the Green Cat to a refrain of groans at the flood of light when he reopened the front door. He found Pilotte accosted by a group of excited children, who were pulling and jumping on the wulf. Pilotte was withstanding the assault with good humor, but seemed very grateful when Slate chased off the tiny horde. The two then headed off to South Drought Place, to find their old friend with a new name.

The building at eight-seven-six was an apartment complex. It was not entirely run-down, but had begun yielding to time; the ledges sagged and bowed, the concrete was cracking. There was a rusty postal box listing the tenants' names next to the front entrance. Slate found Num on the list, apartment number thirty-one.

After trekking up two flights of stairs, the young man knocked on Num's door. Pilotte's excitement let Slate know that the wulf recognized a familiar smell, and soon the slatted blinds over the door's window split open. Slate saw a pair of wide eyes peering out at him, and then the blinds snapped shut and the front door opened with a whoosh.

"Slate! You made it!" the familiar old face cheered.

"Believe it or not, Guh, I did," Slate replied.

"Come in!" Num insisted. He pulled Slate by the arm inside the apartment and slammed the door shut. He had to open it again to let Pilotte in.

"Slate, you can't call me that name around here," Num said, checking back out the window to make sure no one was there. "Don't ever mention my old name, please."

"Okay, okay. I have your books. You have no idea what it took to get them here."

"It must have been quite the ordeal! I was expecting you a week ago."

"Yes, yes, I know. Pirates and jungles will hold you up. Anyways, you're lucky the books made it. I lost them in the Ojikef. It was only Pilotte here who managed to get them back to me."

"Wonderful work, Pilotte!" Num said, taking the heavy package from Slate. "I had feared they were lost. But you made it! They made it! This is possibly greatest thing that has ever happened! And now, you have to leave."

Slate couldn't believe it. "What? That's it?"

"For now, yes," Num whispered. He ran to the back window and peeked through the blinds.

"What are you looking for?" Slate asked.

"You'll understand it all, tomorrow, when you come with me to attend the meeting of the Protectorate," Num whispered.

"A Protectorate meeting?" Slate asked.

"Yes," Num said, "Tomorrow. But you have to leave, right now. For the time being."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

"Of course. Where is the meeting?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well there you have it," Slate sighed to Pilotte. "You come halfway around the world and he can't tell you." He threw up his arms and started to leave.

"Slate, wait! I will take you there, when the time comes. I will summon you. But where will I summon you? Where will you go tonight? You don't know the town."

"I know the Green Cat. I could stay there. Your friend Kit seems pretty nice. Though, he says you need to pay your bar tab."

"A good friend he is. Yes, you'll be safe with him. Now, go! I'll call on you tomorrow."

"Alright?" Slate guessed, as Num pushed him and Pilotte back out of eight-seven-six number thirty-one. The door closed, and then reopened just a crack.

"And, Slate?" Num asked.

"Yeah, Num?"

"It really is good to see you again!" the old man whispered with a cracked smile, before the door closed again.

"What do you think about that, Pilotte?" Slate asked as the two descended the stairs from the apartment building. "This world... I tell you."

Num was present at the Green Cat at precisely noon the next day. He collected Slate and Pilotte, and then the three made their way to the secret location of the Protectorate's meeting.

The three followed the northernmost streets of Aurora Falls to where the city climbed up into the Lentini Mountains. They hiked over two foothills and crossed three streams, where the chilly water came up to their ankles, then climbed over another hill before passing through a cave entrance that was completely obscured by pine trees.

The entryway to the cave was lit by candles. From it stretched a long, dark hallway, which ended in a wide chamber made bright by two ornate chandeliers. Another passage revealed itself, spanning off from the right of the wide chamber. The three followed this passage to its terminus in another, well-lit chamber.

"Now, you'll have to leave Pilotte here," said Num.

"Why? How much farther are we going?"

"Just into the next room."

"What, is Pilotte going to tell people what he sees if he goes in there?" Slate asked.

"Don't put it past a snarlingwulf. Now, please, come with me," Num beckoned. "I promise, Pilotte will be right here the whole time."

Slate whispered to Pilotte to listen for cries for help, and then followed Num into the next chamber. It was illuminated by mirrors, all positioned to reflect the light of a central mirror that was catching the rays of the sun passing through a fissure in the cave ceiling. The space was not only bright as day, but incredibly well decorated, with tapestries, fine wooden furniture, and sculptures all about the walls and floor.

"What is this place?" asked Slate.

"This is the Great Library of Aurora Falls, Slate," Guh said reverently. "You are standing in one of the very oldest places on Alm. New Alm, anyways."

"The oldest places on New Alm. Okay. So, it's a library? Where are all the books?"

"Come, follow me," Num enticed.

Slate followed into a final antechamber. Inside it, a few people were gathered in conversation. Slate thought his mind must have been tricking him in the darkness, because he could have sworn he saw someone familiar amongst them. Then the person seemed to notice him too, and as they moved closer, Slate couldn't believe what he was seeing: it was Arianna Falls.

"Guh... Num..." Slate stuttered.

"You can call me Guh here, it is safe," the old man said. "Now, go ahead! I'm sure you want to talk to your old friend!"

Slate was running to Arianna before Guh had finished talking.

"Arianna!"

"Slate!"

The two met and Slate stared as if he were seeing a figment of his imagination.

"Go on, poke me. I'm real!" Arianna said.

"But... I can't believe it!" Slate cried. "What are you doing here? How... Do you know Guh Hsing?"

"Well, it was only a matter of time before I was indoctrinated into the family business, anyways. I'm one of the Protectorate now."

"Just within the past few weeks? How did that happen?"

"After you left, they came looking for the Book. I guess my mother knew they were coming, that's why she sent it with you. They searched the house, top to bottom, turned it inside out."

"Oh, Arianna, that's terrible."

"It's okay now. But it's a good thing you had it. After the searches, my mom told my brother and sister and I all about how our lineage has protected their volume for hundreds of years. About how it was all coming to a head, how the Books had to be reassembled. I volunteered to drop out of school and fulfill the family duties. My mom couldn't leave work and the house to attend this meeting, so I sailed all the way across the ocean in her place. I only met Num yesterday, when I overheard him talking about you. I couldn't believe it. And now you're really here!"

"Well, I mean, I'm just now finishing the delivery your mother sent me on back when I left Aislin. Isn't that funny?"

"Too funny. Tell me everything! What happened when you found your father?"

"Well, I didn't. But I learned what happened to him. In Airyel. I learned that he died."

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Slate."

The young man nodded and gave his best smile. "Well, fathers can't live forever, can they?"

"Slate, I've thought about you every day since you left," Arianna said. "When I learned Num knew you, and that you would be coming here, it was like a dream. But now you're really here! We're really together again!"

"You don't know how good it feels to see you," Slate said. "After all I've been through since we parted, seeing you makes me feel like I'm home again."

"Well then, welcome home, Slate!" Arianna said. She grabbed and squeezed him. "I hope you'll stay longer this time."

Slate told Arianna all the details of his journey after leaving Aislin, about the pirates, and Hatty, and all that had transpired in the jungle with his new friends. Arianna told Slate that Brit had joined the anti-fascist group the Green Shield. Mrs. Falls had doubled down on baking, trying to maintain a normal way of life despite the searches. Slate and Arianna talked for almost an hour, so happy to see each other that they didn't notice the rest of the chamber had started to clear out. It wasn't until Num startled them out of their reverie that they remembered where they were.

"I don't want to interrupt, but I have to... interrupt," Num said. "We are about to meet! Please, follow me."

He started toward an ornately carved stone entryway across the chamber.

"Here we go. So what exactly do you do as a member of the Protectorate?" Slate asked Arianna, as they followed after Num.

"I'm not entirely sure yet, really," Arianna admitted. "I made the trip here from South Airyel along with a woman, Kia something-or-other, from Magri, and another man who takes this whole thing really seriously and wouldn't even tell me his name. Though we all had the one brief meeting here yesterday, I can't say that I know why we were summoned. Even my mother didn't know. But I'm pretty sure it has to do with the Books being brought back together."

"Yes, I'm most interested to see this all explained myself," Slate said, just before the two passed through the entryway into the secret meeting.

On the other side was the most ornate room in the underground complex. Around it, pillars carved from the stone vaulted up to a great dome, which was covered with fading murals of hooded figures holding books. The room was lit by dozens of small lanterns, which allowed Slate to discern a circular table in the middle of the space, hollow in its center. Encircling this table was a bench, upon which the mostly elderly crowd was seated, all leafing through papers and scrolls. When word got around that Slate had entered the room, applause went up in his honor. Slate blushed, and Arianna gave him a look that amounted to saying, "Well, aren't you something?" before a woman in purple robes stood and began to speak.

"And this must be Slate Ahn, celebrated deliverer of the final volumes of the Book of Knowledge!" she proclaimed, inciting more applause. "Slate, it is an honor to have you here," the woman in purple continued. "You have come so far, and done such a service to both the Protectorate and humanity. We will be forever grateful for your deeds. They will be recorded and celebrated for years to come!"

"Thank you," Slate said awkwardly, unsure of how to receive his praise. He took a quick seat with Arianna on a bench sitting along the cave wall.

"Yes, greatest thanks to this incredible young man, Slate Ahn," continued the robed woman, "Who has brought to us the last volumes all the way from their hiding places on Aelioanei. He has ensured the continuance of our lineage of protection!"

"In the name of AlriFal, thanks to Slate Ahn!" one of the old men cried out to the wall, as he was obviously blind.

After a third round of congratulations circled the table, attention turned away from the young man. Though to Slate it seemed a bit anticlimactic, a feeling of release and satisfaction washed over him when the room's attention shifted fully to the woman in the purple robes.

"And now," she said theatrically, "We begin: So it shall be written that in the year 392 AW, nearly four hundred years after humanity's reemergence, a complete set of the Books of Knowledge was reassembled at the Library of Aurora Falls, under the jurisdiction of the fourteenth generation of the Protectorate."

With these words, the woman pulled a dark green cloth off the table, revealing a complete, seven-book set of the Books of Knowledge underneath. The room gasped.

"Praise to the gods!" a woman clad in black called out. "My great-grandfather, Calumetz, if only he could have seen this!"

All of the eyes in the cave were fixed hungrily on the books. There was such a palpable feeling of lust for the inanimate objects on the table that Slate couldn't help but think it was funny. Here were fully-grown people, many over-grown, sitting about in robes in a dark cave, ogling indecipherable, ancient books.

"Indeed, what would any of our parents' generations say?" the purple-robed woman asked the congregation. "It was never to come to this. To war. But time erases all impossibilities and creates new necessity. As for the stark reality of things: We know that certain factions in the east, centered in Opal Pools, have already deciphered parts of the Book of Knowledge. The long wait is over. Our old ways have become insufficient."

"Aye, aye!" chorused the members of the Protectorate.

"And believe me," the woman in purple said, "It pains me to see a way of life that has served us since the Fall succumb to the desires of basest man. But such are the times in which we are living. Now, we must begin the task of redefining the Protectorate for our future."

At this, she uncovered another, smaller stack of texts from under a black cloth. "I have not shared this with many of you before today, but it is certainly the biggest news I bring: My friends, not only have we been able to reconstitute this complete set of the Books of Knowledge, we have also obtained a key to their translation."

The room fell silent.

Breaking the silence, one of the old men gasped, "But we are not to decipher them! That is the work of evil!"

"It is our only option," the woman in purple explained. "Opal Pools has begun to manufacture untold weapons of mass destruction using the information in the Book. Weapons they could use to subjugate the rest of the world."

"But the prophecies warn against reading the text!" another man cried. "A portal to the other world may open if we try, it may spell the end of Alm!"

"And none of us doubt the prophecy," the woman in purple agreed. "But there is another prophecy, one of a greater sadness than the Fall, should the ambition in Opal Pools go unchallenged."

Looking over to Arianna, Slate was relieved to find her face as full of disbelief as his own. Summoning all of his self-control to remain silent, the young man continued to listen to the talk about ancient prophecy wrapped in so many years and layers of formality and self-importance. Even if Opal Pools had cracked the code of the ancient books, Slate couldn't discern from the conversation how or why this could or would inevitably lead to destruction. He listened hard for evidence amidst the ramblings of the elders, but heard little other than fear.

"I feel that we should translate the books! Regardless of prophecy!" said a woman draped in orange silk. "It was not in the prophecy that the Book should be assembled again, and here we are, so obviously the prophecy has changed. It is now imperative that we study the Book, to learn what Opal Pools may know. We must meet them head-on in the upcoming war for the minds of men."

Arianna questioned the veracity of this claim to Slate with one raised eyebrow.

"No, it cannot be, it cannot be!" another woman said. "Our minds cannot comprehend the information; it is the knowledge of the Gods. We are not supposed to read, we are not supposed to know. It will drive us mad!"

"Then what is to be done?" asked the woman in orange, before all eyes turned back to the woman in purple.

"It was paramount that the Books should be reassembled here," she said. "It was a hope beyond greatest hope, one I'm sure many of us believed to be an impossibility. Now that the impossible has happened, our plan must be decided. We must carefully choose our next move."

"I say we burn them, burn them all right now, with the translation and the maps and everything else!" called a voice from the darkness.

"We cannot act so rashly," the woman in purple said. "After so many centuries, the fate of these Books should not be decided in haste. We instead shall discuss what is to be done, for as long as we need to. Until we are all agreed on what the next course of action should be."

The rest of the assembly gave lukewarm assent. Following a strange recitation in a language Slate had never heard before, the Books were again covered with green cloth, to the chanting of the phrase, "Re-ta-ta." At the end of the chant, the woman in purple blew out the three black candles next to the shroud covering the Books, and the room fell into animated conversation.

Slate found no reason to join in the chatter, nor did Arianna. Num was so taken with discussion that he didn't notice when the two slipped out of the labyrinthine cave structure, back out into the sunshine falling on the Lentini Mountains. Pilotte had already made his way out to the pine grove that hid the cave entrance, and Slate and Arianna found him there, chasing after a flutterby.

"Pilotte!" Arianna shrieked as the wulf covered her with kisses.

"He's the real reason my delivery made it here," Slate said.

"He's a good Pilotte, isn't he?" Arianna asked, scratching the happy animal across its chest.

"Could you even believe all that in there?"

"Hardly. What a bunch of old wizards!"

"What do you think about it all, what they were saying? About the Books, about Opal Pools?"

"It just seems so far removed from reality," Arianna said. "But my mom tells me it's all true. I guess it's all real."

"What's this I keep hearing about a weapon of incredible destruction?" Slate asked.

"I really have no idea," Arianna said. "But my brother Brit is convinced of it. He joined the Green Shield to do something about it."

"But what's the weapon for?" Slate asked. "Where's the war? It just doesn't make any sense. I can't see how the Book would be relevant today. For example, imagine if you and I wrote down all the things we knew from all our books today, from all the books in your library back home, everything, if everybody did. The result would just be an encyclopedia. That's all the Book of Knowledge is. And I've read a lot of encyclopedias. Even in the very newest ones, some of the information is outdated. How could a book hundreds of years old be any better?"

"I'm not sure, Slate," Arianna said. "I think the Protectorate has been so wrapped up in their importance for so long that any and all sense has escaped their minds on the matter. It's become like a doctrine; they don't question it. Me, I was just born into it. At least the whole ordeal brought me to you."

"Which I am extremely grateful for. But now I'm really interested in this place, Opal Pools," Slate said. "What could possibly be happening there that could be such cause for alarm, anyways? I mean, what have you heard about it? Could it really be such a bad place?"

"I don't know much about Opal Pools, really. For most of my life, it's been a subject that people are uncomfortable talking about. You bring it up and you get sneered at. As if not mentioning them will make them go away."

"What have they ever done?"

"Not much, really. They are isolationists, and have been for many years. I've only ever heard the fact that they are very technologically advanced used against them."

"What's wrong with that? What's wrong with technology? Why are the Protectorate and everyone else so fearful of them?" Slate wondered.

"I wish I knew. I'd like to make a trip to Opal Pools myself, to see the truth with my own eyes."

Slate lit up. "Arianna, what are your plans after the meeting here is concluded?" he asked.

"I'm not really sure," Arianna said. "I don't know what my obligations will be. I want to go back to my mother eventually, of course, but other than that, I'm not sure. Why?"

"I'd like to go back to Aelioanei again as well," Slate said. "But, you know, seeing as we're so close to Opal Pools anyways..."

Arianna's smile took over her face. "Slate, are you asking me on an adventure?"

"That depends. Would you be interested in going to Opal Pools?"

"Yes! Oh, Slate, yes! Absolutely!"

Slate was overjoyed at the prospect of setting out on a new quest with Arianna. "Great! And then we can go see my friends in Morai, before we go back home. I'm friends with a prince now, you know."

"A prince?"

"It's true. You're sure you want to go?" he asked.

"Of course I do," Arianna answered. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun! I'm not ready to say goodbye again, Slate Ahn, not for a long while."

"Well good," Slate said. "Because you don't have to."

18

Slate stayed two more nights with Arianna in Aurora Falls, at an inn where they had all expenses covered. Num stopped by the inn twice, to tell the pair how the Protectorate meetings were going and how frustrated he was by the proceedings. The way he told it, the Protectorate's discussion over the books had broken down into squabbling, or, in Num's exact words, nothing of substance at all. Still, it was quite a shock when, early on the third day, Num came frantically pounding on the inn door.

"Hello... Num?" Slate groaned as he answered.

"Slate," Num gasped, his eyes wide, "Let me in, quickly!"

"Who is it?" called Arianna from her comfortable position under the covers.

"Quickly!" Num insisted. "They'll find out soon if they haven't already!"

Slate lifted the door latch to let Num in. The old man pushed past him and slammed the door shut. He was shaking and sweaty, and carrying a large, green sack over his shoulder. His bony knees were buckling under its weight.

"Num, what's going on? What have you got there?" asked Slate.

"Hello, Num," said Arianna, drawing herself upright with a yawn and a stretch.

"Arianna, hello. Slate! Listen, we have to get out of here, quickly! Or, rather, the two of you have to get out of here, with these," Num said, heaving his green sack into Slate's unready arms.

"Whoa!" Slate exclaimed, staggering backwards under the weight. "What's in here, bricks?"

"The Books! The Protectorate can't be trusted with them," raved Num, as he darted across the room to lift the corner of a curtain for a peek at the courtyard below.

"The Books?" Arianna repeated, looking to Slate for an explanation.

"The Books?" Slate gasped, realizing what Num meant. He threw a cupped hand over his mouth. "What, all of them?" he asked more quietly. "How did you get them, did you steal them?

"No, I did not steal them," Num said. "I reclaimed them! There are holes in the fabric of the Protectorate... I fear we have been infiltrated, Slate! By Opal Pools itself. It is the end of a four-hundred-year secret. The group can no longer by trusted. Now, the Book of Knowledge and its destiny is yours. The next chapter begins with you!"

Slate was stunned. "What on Alm am I supposed to do with them?" he asked.

Just then, a clamor of voices could be heard shouting outside.

"They're coming!" whispered Num. "I don't know how they found me here, but they did! Run, Slate, Arianna, please, run! You must protect the Books now, whatever happens!"

"But where, how?" Slate wondered in exasperation.

"That I cannot tell you. Just far from here!" Num insisted, his eyes wide with worry.

"But what will happen to you?" Slate asked.

"It doesn't matter! Guh, Num, I'm not important. I never was. It is the knowledge that matters! Please, I will distract them, please," he wheezed, as if with his last breath. "Run, now!"

Slate and Arianna exchanged looks of disbelief for a brief second, before Num threw his frail body between them.

"Run!" the old man commanded, shoving Slate with as much force as he had left in his withered frame.

At the insistence of the old man's watery eyes, Slate tied his boots on hurriedly and slung the heavy green sack over his shoulder. Pilotte had already taken the lead, hopping out a rear window. After quick packing and a wordless goodbye, Slate, Arianna, and Pilotte fled the inn and Aurora Falls.

"What is your mother going to say about this?" Slate asked as they raced through the streets.

"I don't know that we should tell her!" Arianna answered.

"Where do we go?"

"Let's head south-east. That'll take us to Opal Pools."

The two headed toward the mountain range that rose up between the city and the ocean. Arianna carried both her and Slate's packs, which together were almost as heavy as the green sack of books on Slate's shoulders, as they powered their way up the foothills.

"You finding us a good escape route, Pilotte?" Slate asked.

The wulf looked back confidently and forged ahead.

Slate and Arianna's excitement and energy had begun to wane by the time they came to rest at the top of a waterfall. They discovered the hidden mouth of a cave just behind the waterfall, and slipped into the cave to catch their breath.

"Well that was unexpected. What are we supposed to do now?" Slate asked, as he sat down on a flat rock to catch his breath.

"I didn't see that coming," Arianna answered.

"I can't say that I did it either," said Slate.

They both stared at the bulky, green bag on the cave floor.

"What are we going do with them?" Arianna asked.

"I don't have a clue. I thought I was through with the whole ordeal," Slate grumbled.

"Should we try to take them back home, to Aelioanei?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we should just bury them, or burn them. It sounds like they cause nothing but trouble."

"No, my mother would be pretty ashamed of me if I did that."

"Then what are we to do?"

Arianna thought for a moment. "I think taking them home is a good idea. But I would still like to see Opal Pools," she said. "I don't see why this should change our plans. When will we be on Proterse again? No one will know we have them."

"What about your business with the Protectorate?" Slate asked.

"I'm sure they'll be far too busy with the missing Books to notice I've gone."

"Hmmm. The Books are heavy. They're only going to make the trip to Opal Pools more dangerous. We could probably just leave them here, in this cave. I'm sure they'd still be here when we came back."

"Really? You think we should do that?" Arianna asked.

"No," Slate sighed. "Not really. We'll bring them along. But you're carrying. Just kidding."

"Hey, I will, if you'll carry our sacks," Arianna said. "I don't think we're far enough out of town yet to be languishing too long. I say we keep going up the mountain."

"Right. Let's move," Slate concurred.

Faithful Pilotte found the best route, as always, using his mix of intuition and keen nosing. A few hours of exhausting hiking up the mountain later, the wulf located another cave, one much deeper than the first, with several chambers and some evidence of occupation. A small prayer book sat beside a copy of the Way of Things, a famous book of philosophy, in what looked like had once been a hermit's retreat. As it seemed to have not been disturbed for quite some time, the friends decided it was a safe place to pass the night.

Heavy rains arrived after sunset, growing the waterfalls falling down the Lentini Mountains and creating a curtain that sealed off the cave entrance. Safe and secure in the cave's confines, Slate and Arianna kept close to Pilotte to stay warm through the chilly night.

"So, have you ever tried reading one of them?" asked Arianna the next morning, as she tried her best to fit Slate's gear into her bag without having to discard too much of her own.

"No," Slate said. "They are all written in a dead language. Language of the Gods. It doesn't make any sense. But the pictures are sure interesting."

"They don't seem to have anything to do with one another," Arianna said, thumbing through one of the books she had taken out earlier to examine.

"But we have a translation key now," Slate said, holding up the small leathern booklet included with the Books.

"Well, that changes things, doesn't it?"

"Should we try and translate part of one of them?"

"Maybe," Arianna said. "Later. Not now, though. Not until we're far away from Aurora Falls."

"Good idea," agreed Slate.

Once the volume of the waterfall outside the cave had diminished a bit, chirping, dripping, and other fresh sounds of morning came floating through the cave entrance. While Arianna went through her things for a fifth time, reconsidering which of her items were truly essential, Slate started to flip through the maps Num had stolen along with the Books. He studied one of them for a while, and then started to look about the cave.

"What is it?" Arianna asked. "What are you looking for?"

"You know... I think this is a map of the cave we are in," Slate answered.

"A cave is a cave, isn't it? How can you tell one from another?"

"Look, here... The horseshoe falls we climbed up, and these are the four back chambers, over there, and here's the early Protersian symbol for hermit- it's the same cave!"

Arianna came over to join Slate in examining the map. "Huh. I think you're right," she said. "What else does it say?"

Following Slate's finger across the map, the two found the Protectorate's meeting chambers clearly marked. Slate began to say as much, but Arianna nodded that she already understood. The far-right corner of the map, representing the mountains to the north of the city, showed another, much larger chamber, a huge space that was apparently connected by underground passageway to the ocean. Slate read the writing on the map, which was in modern Protersian, aloud.

"The Great Mother Mountain, from which New Alm was born."

There were symbols other than the one for 'hermit' on the map: across from the Protectorate meeting space was printed the symbol for 'Book,' and across the empty space to the north, the phrase 'The Navel of the World.'

"What do you think that means? Navel of the world?" Arianna asked.

"Can't say I have any idea. We have only one way of finding out," Slate said. "Care to take a detour on the way to Opal Pools?"

"Look at that. Adventure just follows you around, doesn't it, Slate?" Arianna asked.

"If you want to call it adventure."

"You know, if there is a map with this cave on it, the Protectorate might know about it still. They could come searching any minute. Let's leave while we can."

"Good call."

The trio left the hermit's cave following a trail marked on another of their maps, up most of the rest of the mountainside and then into a flat, narrow valley. The valley cut through the high peaks of the Lentini Mountains and looked like it never got much sun, which made for a cold, damp trip. After trekking along the valley floor for a while, the travelers began to descend the other side of the mountain to the ocean below. They came to a point where the trail suddenly ended, dissolving into scree and boulders in the aftermath of an avalanche. Stopping at the broken edge of the path, Slate watched the dust and stones kicked from his shoes fall down the sheer cliff below.

"We made it all the way across Proterse," Slate said. "How about that?"

"Seems like a dead end," Arianna said.

"Seems like it. According to the map, we're supposed to continue on down that path," Slate said, pointing at the mess of rock before him.

"To where?" Arianna asked.

"To there," Slate answered, now pointing to a distant beach.

"Well, then, continue down the path we shall," Arianna said. She surprised Slate by twisting, squatting down on all fours, and beginning a slow crawl across where the trail had once been.

"What're you doing?" Slate asked.

"Crawling," she answered matter-of-factly.

"I guess this is actually going to happen," Slate sighed. He crouched down hesitantly on the end of the trail to start his own descent.

Pilotte was as surprised as Slate that they were going to attempt the perilous crawl. The snarlingwulf circled himself many times, whining and hesitating, before relenting and following after the others.

The day grew hot, with the rising sun at the team's backs as they worked their way down the mountain at an excruciatingly slow pace, over piles of stones, down through patches of weeds, and then at last to a cliff edge hanging some ten feet above sea level. The soft sand below invited them to jump down, which they did, to fall exhausted at the edge of the foaming ocean. They weren't there for more than a minute before Arianna noticed something was wrong.

"The tide is moving in pretty quickly, isn't it?" she asked.

Slate sat up to examine. "It certainly seems to be..."

"Look at the rock," Arianna said, pointing to the sea wall behind them.

Slate looked back at the wall and then to Arianna, not understanding what she was trying to show him.

"Look at the high-water mark," she said, pointing frantically toward the waterline, which must have been eight feet above where they stood on the beach. "It's Searching Season..."

Slate began to panic as the water inched toward them. "But we can't go back up, there's no way! What are we going to do?" he yelped.

"How should I know?" Arianna asked.

Slate decided the best option would be to run, as fast as they could. Arianna raced after him, with Pilotte close at her side, as the water continued to lap farther up the beach with every push and pull of the waves. The encroaching tide pressed Slate and Arianna closer and closer to the cliff face, while the goopy, wet sand made their running all the more difficult.

A rogue wave leapt out of the water and grabbed Arianna around the ankles, dragging her out to sea. As she went out with the receding curl, she hit against a stone that was jutting from the ocean floor. It caught her stomach, and she was able to wrap her arms around it and hold tightly until the wave passed. She dropped from the seastone and swam and slogged as swiftly as she could through the undercurrent back toward the seawall, where Slate was waiting with an outstretched hand. The water now rose at least two feet up the yellow stone of the sea cliff, so high that Slate and Arianna had to use all of their strength to move through its pull. Most of this was expended in simply staying upright, and so hardly any headway was made down the beach.

Slate swam his hardest when he could no longer walk, but his muscles couldn't match the unrelenting power of the undertow, and so he began to slow his straining, to try to conserve his energy. He heard Arianna coughing and sputtering, but was completely powerless to help her. After drifting a fair distance out into the ocean, where the water churned less as it got deeper, Slate could see Pilotte dragging Arianna from the surf onto a high beach. He coughed as he watched her get to her feet, and mistakenly inhaled a deep breath of ocean swell. His vision became a wash of bubbles as his lungs took in water. He kicked and strained, unable to expunge the water from his lungs as he watched the trail of bubbles rising up to the surface, and then fell unconscious.

When he awoke, he was lying next to Arianna on fine, white sand. Pilotte sat nearby, facing the now-calm ocean with a smile.

"I couldn't..." Slate began.

"Shhh, just rest," whispered Arianna putting her hand on his sweaty forehead. She held out a cup of glint.

"Thank you. This is hot. How did you get this hot?" Slate asked, as he took a steamy sip. "And where did you get a cup?"

"I told you, I pack with a purpose," Arianna said. "It looks like the tide will be in all day, so we can't go anywhere. We're stuck on this beach."

"How do you know that?" asked Slate.

"One of the maps tells me so. Look, at the calendar," Arianna said, pointing to a chart at the bottom of the map. "Because it's Searching Season, the tide differential is just enormous right now. The only time that we can get to that Navel of the World is going to be either early morning or late afternoon. See, we'll have to swim to this entrance, here. It's only accessible when the water is at the right level. If we're too early, we can't get in because it's too high up the sea cliff; too late, we can't get in because it's too far underwater. We have about a five-minute window in which to make it."

Slate was impressed with the information Arianna was able to discern from the tiny map. "You're a pretty good interpreter, Arianna," he said. He looked around the sparse beach. "So, you said that we can't do anything right now?"

"No, not for a few hours still."

"Okay, good," Slate said. "I'm exhausted. What are we going to do while we wait?"

"We can talk."

"About what?

"How about your father?"

"What about him?"

"Tell me what he was like."

"Oh. Well, he was tall. And funny. And he could be strict, but I think it's because he had hard-fixed ideas about the way the world should be. He mainly wanted the best for everyone. Why do you ask?"

"You must be thinking about him."

"Oh, I am. I have been. But there are a lot of other things on my mind right now, too. And, the way we were raised, in Alleste, we understand death is a part of life. We don't really get too hung up on it."

"I'm still sorry he's gone."

"Oh, of course. Me too. I wish I could have said goodbye. He always taught us it was important to remember we would all die. So I know he was always ready for it. And I was, too. But I still would have liked the chance to say goodbye."

"I had to say goodbye to my dad every day for months," Arianna said. "I don't think either situation is ideal."

"I don't think there could be an ideal situation when you're losing a loved one."

"No, I don't suppose there could be."

A seabird attracted the attention of Pilotte, who followed it down the sand.

"Pilotte is just the best, isn't he?" Arianna asked, changing the subject. "He saved me from the tide."

"He is incredible. I'm pretty lucky to have the two of you with me," said Slate.

"Likewise," said Arianna. "More tea?"

"Yes, please," said Slate.

Under the warmth of the sun, the two watched Pilotte chase birds and talked about anything and everything. While the rest of the world may have been growing more dangerous by the day, for the trio on that little beach that afternoon, Alm was still a paradise.

19

When the tide started to roll out again, Slate, Arianna, and Pilotte set off along the widening beach, to locate the entrance to the mysterious Navel of the World. In half an hour, they came to a tiny bay surrounded by seawall. Arianna noticed the timeworn carving of a face at the top of the seawall, consistent with their map's description of the Navel entrance.

"The entryway should be below that face," Arianna said.

"And we have to be in position underneath it when the tide falls, right?" Slate asked.

"That's right," Arianna said. "The way the water's moving, that's going to happen soon. We need to hurry."

The tide was receding as quickly as it had come in, as Slate and Arianna quickly bobbed and paddled themselves into position underneath the face carving and started to tread water, struggling all the while to keep their packs above the water, which proved harder than keeping themselves afloat. The more waterlogged their bags got, the less it seemed like Slate and Arianna would be able to hold on. Pilotte sensed this and so swam between them, so they could use his huge frame as a buoy.

It wasn't too long before the water level had descended low enough to reveal the expected entrance. The travelers swam into the entryway and the water poured out, leaving them on a smooth, stone floor. Jewel-inlaid bas-reliefs were carved around the frame of a stairway, which lead up from the entryway into waiting darkness. Though the reliefs had suffered the damage of hundreds of years of the battering ocean, enough of them remained to stun, executed in geometric patterns and organic forms as beautiful as the finest masterpieces in Jaidour.

The tide kept rushing out, until the little bay outside the cave entrance was a rocky beach.

"We're stuck until the tide changes again," Slate said.

"Then it's up the stairs, isn't it? Go on, you first," Arianna said.

Slate toed hesitantly up the slippery stones. The staircase was long, so long that it wound up into the darkness until the light from the entrance could no longer penetrate it.

When he couldn't see any farther, Slate stopped.

"I don't know how we're going to be able to go any farther in this darkness," he said.

"Wait," Arianna said. "Let me get a flare from my bag."

"You brought flares?" Slate asked.

"You bet I did," Arianna said. "I told you, I pack with a purpose."

"Good thing one of us does," said Slate.

There came a dull scratching noise, and then a yellow flame sprang to life from Arianna's hand, sending the shadows fleeing and revealing the stairwell.

"Look at that," Slate remarked.

"Good thing it still works," Arianna said. "A lot of my stuff got soaked."

"I'm sure my luck has got to be running out," Slate said. "Let's keep going."

The team continued its way up the stone steps, pressed close together. The circular passageway eventually ended in a long, narrow hallway that stretched out beyond the reach of the flare's light.

"Now what?" Slate asked.

"Let's check the map before we continue," Arianna said. She struggled for a moment getting the soggy, cloth map out of her waist bag, then pressed it against the rock wall. "According to this, we should follow the hallway in front of us."

"Well, obviously. There's no other option. But where does it lead?" asked Slate.

"To the Navel of the World, I expect."

The narrow hallway was slippery on account of a fuzzy moss growing over its stones, and it made for slow walking, especially as Slate, Arianna and Pilotte were huddled so close to one another.

They were so concentrated on moving as one mass that they reached the end of the hallway without realizing it. Slate almost fell out into the black void that yawned open before them, but Arianna sensed his body starting to pitch forward and managed to grab his shirttail and pull him back. He fell the other way, onto his side, with a surprised yelp that echoed loudly around what must have been a huge space below.

"I think we found the Navel," he grunted as he stood back up.

"But how would we get there?" Arianna wondered, staring down the nothingness. "I can't see a thing." She moved back to study her map once more.

"How deep do you think it is?" Slate asked as he joined Arianna in study.

"There's one way to find out," said Arianna. She dug a second flare out from her bag, dragged its fuse against the stone to activate it, and then heaved it off into the darkness below. The flare hit the ground quickly, bounced, and then rolled for a while, before coming to rest on what appeared to be broken tiles.

"It's tiled," said Slate. "Is the whole thing tiled?"

"Perhaps one of the other stairways leads down there," suggested Arianna.

"Where are the other staircases?" Slate asked.

"There," Arianna said, pointing on the map. "I think we passed them, on the stairs up from the entryway. Before I lit the flare."

"Oh. So then it's right back where we came from?"

"Looks that way."

Backtracking, the team found that two other stairways did in fact branch out from the one they had entered in on. They followed one of these stairways down a path that grew tight and twisted, and, after many reversals, the team finally spilled out into the cavernous expanse of the main chamber.

"Well, here we are," Slate said through chattering teeth. "And it's freezing. What happens now?"

"Why do you always ask like I'll know?" Arianna asked.

"You are a member of the Protectorate, after all," Slate joked.

"Ha. Probably not anymore," Arianna said.

Light suddenly flooded the ceiling of the cave.

"Arianna, look!"

The sun had reached a point in the sky outside where its rays could penetrate the series of square openings carved along the domed roof of the cave. The squares of light grew brighter as the sun poured through them, displacing the darkness in the watery grotto.

With illumination, it became apparent that the walls of the cave were cut flat, and adorned with huge mosaics, beautiful, marvelously intricate murals made of seashell and gemstone. There were three main mosaics, larger than the rest, on the wall just opposite the sun portals and above the entrance to the chamber. The first showed columns of fire descending from the skies, volcanoes, earthquakes, mass destruction. The second showed Alm ravaged on the surface, and people living underground. The third showed radiant beams of light streaming from underground back into the outside world, and the people returning to the surface.

"Navel of the World..." Slate whispered in awe.

"It's where the Book comes from, Slate," Arianna said. "I've seen pictures of these murals, in my library back home. It was right here! This is where they wrote them. This is where our ancestors waited out the aftermath of the Fall!"

"Could it really be?" Slate asked, dumbfounded.

After the team spent hours exploring the storerooms and bunkers of the cave, and admiring and trying to decipher the hundreds of mosaics in the subterranean museum, Pilotte started to grow restless.

"I don't think Pilotte likes caves. He never gets like this. And he's probably hungry. I'm hungry, too," Slate said. "What I wouldn't give for some roasted boar."

"Roasted boar... oh... or potala, with butter and salt... or a great big piece of cheese and a hard loaf of bread... oh my," Arianna gurgled.

"And for dessert, cinnilla pie with dream cream and bitterberries!"

Pilotte couldn't handle all the talk of food, and whined desperately for it to stop.

"Soon enough, old boy," Slate said to the wulf. "Soon as the tide comes in, we'll get you a feast."

"I think we've explored all there is to explore," Arianna said, "But I fear we still have an awful lot of time on our hands, before the tide returns."

"Probably still a few hours."

"You know, we do have the translation key to the books."

"Arianna, no. We can't..." Slate stopped to think. "Wait a second, sure we can."

He went into his bag and pulled out the watertight skin that contained the Books. He also procured from it a metal flask. "Forgot about this!" he said. He unscrewed the top of the flask and took a drink, wincing at the bitter sting of the brite inside.

"What's that? What do you have there?" Arianna asked. Slate offered her the flask. She took it and bettered his swig with a great gulp. "Ah!" she cried, nearly spitting the gulp back out. "That's awful! What is it?"

"Tenury Ale! From the gift shop at the inn in Aurora Falls. This drink courtesy of the Protectorate," Slate said, raising the flask up in a mock toast.

After sharing a bit more of the awful drink, Slate pulled one of the heavy Books into his lap and cracked it open. "There it is. Just like before, just like the one I saw," he said. "Nice pictures and nonsense."

"That's why we have a translation key," Arianna said.

"Translation key!" Slate cried. He got up and stumbled over to his pack again, and dumped everything in it onto the ground.

"Shhh! You're making a mess!" Arianna giggled.

"Yeah but it's a quiet mess, though," Slate laughed.

Without much food in their systems, the alcohol had them both in hysterics.

"Got it!" Slate proclaimed, picking the translation key out of the pile of books and papers.

"Okay! Chapter one, page one," Arianna began. "Let's see... Well, this isn't easy. With the...hiccup. Oops. Perhaps we shouldn't have drunken gotten?"

"Drunken gotten? Is that what the translation says?" Slate asked.

"Stop, stop, stop," Arianna plead as she laughed and struggled to breathe.

"Okay, okay. Hiccup. Let's see," Slate said.

The two focused as best they could and began to work through the first paragraph on the first page of the Book. The translation code was easy to understand; there were two versions of a story contained within it, one written in Protersian and the other in Proto-Protersian, the language of the Books. To complete the translation, Arianna searched for a word from the green Book in the translation, and Slate wrote it in a notebook. Soon, they had the first few sentences translated.

"Okay, we have words! Should I read them to you?" asked Slate.

"Yes, please," Arianna said.

"I don't think it makes perfect sense, but that's the translation. Okay, here goes: Book Two-Origins- In which is recorded the history of the human race prior to Fall. From earliest terrestrial wanderings to journeys amongst heaven. And that's it."

"And that's it?"

"It's doesn't say and that's it, I said and that's it."

"But that's it?"

"Yes."

"But that was such hard work," Arianna sighed. "Journeys amongst heaven?" she repeated.

"I have no idea what that means," Slate admitted. "And my head hurts."

"Mine too. Next time we do this, let's not get drunk."

"As drunk."

The two passed out shortly thereafter, leaving hungry Pilotte to further explore the little pockets and niches of the Navel of the World in search of something, anything, to eat.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Slate awoke feeling much more lucid.

"Ugh. Tenury Ale. Did you sleep well?" he asked Arianna, who was bent over another of the many maps from the watertight sack.

"I did, but I was just about to wake you up," she said.

"Oh?"

"Because of that."

Arianna pointed to the water rising slowly over the floor tiles; the tide was coming back in. Slate jumped to his feet and began cramming Books and papers back into his bag. Pilotte raced ahead, disappearing up the stairs. He wasn't gone long before he reappeared, barking in a panic, followed by the first trickles of tidewater, which soon grew into a steady stream, and then a spray. The stairwell was unusable; the team was trapped.

"Is there any other way out of here?" Slate hollered.

"Not according to the map, no!" Arianna screamed over the growing white noise of the water now surging through fissures all about the walls of the cave.

Pilotte was the first to take the high ground, a worn stone altar in the middle of the chamber, where he was soon joined by Slate and Arianna. The ocean water flowed in waves, cascading down from the high ledge the team had first entered onto, and gushing out of the stairwell as if it were a giant nozzle. As the water rose, overtaking the last few patches of dry ground that remained, Slate and Arianna looked on helplessly.

"Slate," Arianna cried, pointing up to the square sun portals near the cave ceiling. "Do you think those holes are big enough for us to fit through?"

"Probably," Slate shouted over the roaring waters. "But how can we get up there?"

"We'll wait," said Arianna, pointing to a piece of flotsam rising with the water.

"Yes!" Slate cried. "I told you, you always have the answers!" He grabbed Arianna and gave her a kiss.

Arianna looked stunned. She wiped her lips slowly and then took Slate's hand, as the rising water met the top of the altar. When it was at their waists, Slate, Arianna, and Pilotte began to float.

Slate lost hold of Arianna's hand as the water in the huge space began to form a whirlpool. After being pulled around the whirlpool a number of times and becoming completely disoriented, he felt his body being pulled on by a different force. The volumes of water exiting through the sun portals splayed Slate flat against the cave wall, and then slowly dragged him along it, which tore a hole in his coat and reopened the laceration on his back. He gasped, taking into his lungs a great volume of salty water, and then screamed full-throated as his body was squeezed through the sun portal and he shot out into the open air.

The force of the water launched him from the cave like a stone from a blastporter, straight out for ten feet before he began to plummet. In a flash Slate saw the sparkling ocean, and then his body twisted and he could see Arianna and Pilotte flailing through the air above him. As he tumbled to the waves below, Slate could feel his heartbeat pounding in his skull. And then the loud rush of air past his ears and the calls of seabirds in the bay were silenced when he broke the surface of the water headfirst.

Down into the depths he plunged, his body turned up to the refracted sunlight. He saw Arianna and Pilotte splash into the water above him, trails of bubbles tracing their path as they fell. When the water had slowed the team's downward trajectory enough, each began paddling back to the surface. Slate broke first, with a loud gasp for air. He spun in the water, searching for Arianna and Pilotte, the gash on his back turning the ocean water around him red. Arianna bobbed up next, coughing, and then Pilotte appeared, closer to the shore. Next were the team's bags, which popped up reluctantly from the water and looked like they would soon return to it.

"Get your bag!" Arianna called to Slate.

When he tried taking hold, the young man realized the extent of his injury: his right hand could barely grip at all. He pulled himself through the water with his other arm, dragging his pack behind him with his feet. Upon reaching the shore, he crawled up after Arianna to a sandy ledge high enough to avoid the still-rising tide, and collapsed.

"Well," Arianna said, as she squeezed seawater from a twist of her hair.

"Well," Slate repeated.

"Is this the kind of adventure I've been missing?" Arianna asked.

"I haven't done anything like that before in my life," Slate said. "Actually, strike that, I did go over that waterfall in the raft. Anyways, you call it adventure, I call it damn lucky. I really don't know how much luck I could possibly have left." He winced as he peeled off his tattered coat to get a better look at the gash that wrapped around his side. The deep cut was oozing blood and a yellowish liquid.

"Oh no, Slate, that looks awful," Arianna said when she saw. "Here, lie down on the sand."

Slate did so, and Arianna dug her medical kit out of her bag. The balm from it that she applied to Slate's wound stung worse than the salt water.

"Ah! What are you doing?" he shouted.

"Be still, Slate. You're going to get sand in your cut," Arianna scolded.

The young man did remain still, except for his mouth, from which many curses flew before Arianna managed to finish treating his wound and covered it with gauze.

"How does that feel?" she asked after she was done.

"I've been better," said Slate. "But I've been much worse, too. I'm just glad you are here, and that we're all safe. And, that was kind of incredible, I'm not going to lie."

"It was absolutely amazing," Arianna agreed. "When we were churning around, and how we flew through the air? It was like... the most exhilarating... nightmare!"

"I really didn't think we were going to make it. Good thinking on rising up with the water, though, I wouldn't have considered that."

"Well. We would both have found out sooner than later, I imagine."

Slate watched the wind play with Arianna's long brown hair, blowing it all about her, creating an effect like a halo. Her dark eyes shone from within the aura, warm and bright.

"You're very pretty, you know, Arianna," he said without thinking.

"Oh, Slate," she giggled. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Actually, I don't."

"No? Well, you're rather handsome yourself, you know."

"You think I'm handsome?"

"Well, you know..." Arianna murmured.

"I..." Slate began, but he couldn't think of anything to say. His heart was racing. There was a strange feeling growing inside him, one that he didn't have the energy to assimilate. "I'm sleepy," he finally blurted out.

"You're sleepy," Arianna said, throwing her arms up. "Fine, Slate, fine. Go to sleep."

The young man rolled over onto his side, careful not to disturb Arianna's treatment of his injury. He lay awake for some time, unsure of what to think or what to say to the girl next to him.

"Are you mad at me, Arianna?" he eventually asked.

"No, are you mad at me?" she asked.

"No."

"Good."

Wordlessly, Slate and Arianna inched closer to one another, until their backs were pressed as close as Slate's wound would allow. They lay like that for hours, saying nothing, synchronizing the rise and fall of their breaths with the crash of the waves.
20

Pilotte led the way over sand dune after sand dune until he finally found a way out of the Ojikef Delta. A dirt road ran near the exit, along which Slate and Arianna found a small general store.

"We should stop here for supplies," said Slate.

"Aren't you worried that the Protectorate might have put out a search for us?" Arianna asked. "Shouldn't we keep in hiding?"

"Even if they are looking for us, it's not as if they can go screaming to the police or the press. What with their whole 'secret organization' thing. I think we'll be alright."

"Perhaps. Still, I don't think we should be seen together, especially with Pilotte. Anyone would remember Pilotte. We don't want to leave a trail of witnesses."

"That's smart, you're right. You stay here with Pilotte, while I go across the street and get supplies."

"Why should I stay?"

"Why should you go?"

"You forget, Slate, that we women have an easier time disguising ourselves."

"You do?"

"Just a minute."

Arianna began rearranging her still-wet hair around her hairpins. Soon, it was up in a bun and the young woman was rummaging through her bag. After a quick application of lip pigment, eyeliner and a brush of rouge, Arianna looked at least five years older and completely different than she had just a moment before.

"What witchcraft is this?" Slate joked.

"I'm still Arianna, Slate. Stop drooling. I'll be back soon."

At the general store, Arianna managed to procure a waterproofed map of the area, a tent, a fair amount of food, a water filter, and a first aid kit. With the new supplies, and a meal in their stomachs, the explorers set off down the wildflower-dotted path to Opal Pools.

The vista changed dramatically as the team moved south. The terrain near the delta, lush with vegetation and small ponds, turned to sparser clumps of grass and the cracked mud of dead lakes after less than half a day's travel. Giant, red rock formations arose from the sandy ground. The day grew hotter and the air drier. All signs of life faded, eventually even the buzz of flies.

Pilotte's tongue lolled out of his mouth and his throat clicked as he panted in the overwhelming aridity. A muddy puddle marked on the map as a watering hole was all that Slate could source for the thirsty wulf, and no filter was going to extract hydration from the muck. The next source of water marked on the map was still some five lengths away.

"Should we turn back?" Slate asked.

"Well, we need water. Do you want to turn back?" Arianna asked.

"No," Slate said.

"Me either," said Arianna. "Let's keep going. Saityr's Quarry is next. It looks to be a city of some size. We should be able to find water there."

"I really hope so."

There shone a sparkle from the haze, something in the distance gleaming like a diamond. Slate had read about how the desert could make people see things that weren't really there, and so didn't say anything to Arianna until they had come close enough to where she confirmed what he was seeing. The gleam was coming from a silo, one rising over a plot of farmland somehow full of vegetation in the middle of the otherwise lifeless desert.

Coming closer still, the two saw a farmhouse, albeit a small one, built low to the ground, with a barn nearby for sheltering the horses and muus that lay asleep in its shade. A metal windmill spun slowly over the farm, pumping dirty spurts of water into a mucky pond whenever the erratic wind rose up. At least twelve faded signs on display around the fencing told would-be trespassers that they should reconsider their plans if they valued their lives.

"I think someone actually lives out here," Slate said.

"Yoohoo!" a voice cried from behind the fence. "Hey! You two! Where're you going?

"There she is," said Arianna.

"We're just passing by!" Slate called back. "Don't worry, we're not trespassing!"

"You kids are going to die if you keep going like that," the voice said.

Slate and Arianna exchanged looks of concern.

"What do you mean?" Arianna asked the stranger. "We're not entering your property..."

"No, I mean, if... Oh, forget all this shouting, come on inside for something cool to drink!"

Slate and Arianna might have stopped to discuss the idea first, but Pilotte made their decision for them when he started trotting back toward the farm. He ran through a gate and up the path toward the farmhouse, where a woman met him on the porch. Deep lines in her sunburnt face pulled around her smile, and sparkling, green eyes shown from within their thick folds.

"Well, howdy!" she said heartily as Slate and Arianna approached warily. "Sorry if I startled you, but I don't see too many people out here, you know? Least not but fyreheads, or criminals runnin' away. But you three aren't criminals, are ya?"

"No, ma'am," Slate said.

"Don't look like it, anyways," the woman said. "But listen, you kids need to sit down here and have some lemon ice and hear a thing or two before you head off into the desert like you're settin' to."

"I know I can't refuse an invitation to lemon ice," Arianna said.

"Me either. That sounds wonderful," Slate agreed.

The woman nodded. "Well then come on in, make yourselves at home."

The two followed her inside the house, stopping first in the kitchen, where a bowl of water was put down for Pilotte. The farmhouse was dark and cool, and filled with the faint aroma of prairie flower.

"Please," the woman urged, waving her visitors to an old, worn couch. "Sit down."

Slate and Arianna took a seat, as the old woman poured lemon cider over ice cubes that cracked and spun around their glasses.

"Good timing you all have, why, I had just set up the tray," she said, handing a glass to Slate.

"Iced and everything. Incredible," Slate said. He took a sip, and the cool, sweet drink coated his tongue and the back of his parched throat. "This is such a treat."

"Well, thank you," said the woman. "It's my mamma's recipe."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Slate said, "I've been rude. My name is Slate, and this is Arianna, and the wulf is Pilotte."

"Beautiful creature, that wulf. Nice to meet you, Slate. And you too, Arianna. I'm Ginny."

"Do you live here? In the desert?" asked Arianna.

"I don't know who else would work the farm if I didn't," Ginny cackled.

"You're here all by yourself?" Slate asked.

"All by myself," Ginny said proudly. "Though, I can defend myself, so don't try anything funny."

"We wouldn't think of it," Arianna said.

"Good," Ginny said. "Yep, all alone. Ever since Sam died."

"Your husband? I'm sorry for that," said Arianna.

"I appreciate it, darlin'. We never got married in the eyes of the law, but we were hitched, that's for certain. I miss him. It's alright though, they're on the greatest adventure of them all now, those who've left us. Good old Sam," Ginny reminisced, staring into her glass.

"Do you have any family or friends nearby?" asked Slate.

"Nearby? Where nearby?" Ginny asked.

"Isn't Saityr's Quarry just to the south of here?" Slate asked.

"Son," Ginny said, shaking her head slowly, "Saityr's Quarry doesn't exist anymore."

Arianna gave Slate a worried look.

"No, thank you, sir. Alone on this farm is where I want to be," Ginny said. "I don't much care for most people, anyways, thank you. I have no interest in towns, cities or any of the rest of the burning mess that humanity calls society these days. I'm completely out of the system. I don't want their food, their water, or their fancy technologies. I don't want none of it!"

"Why not?" asked Slate.

"Because, kids, there comes a point in your life when you realize you're a cog in a machine. You work and you buy and you work and you buy, but you aren't happy. Civilization these days just sucks up the whole world so it can sell it back to you. They're gonna kill the planet, worse than any Fall ever could. When they can't live in their scorched world, I'll know how. I've always done it. I can live off nothing, like a strake, like all of us desert creatures are the toughest, the hardest. We'll still be here."

Slate nodded. "I understand," he said.

This caught Ginny by surprise. "You understand? How so?"

"Well," Slate said, "Arianna and I are from the far west, originally, from the island of Aelioanei, actually. In my village, at least, we always lived very simply, off the land, like you do here. Things there are changing for the worse, and quickly. Not just there, everywhere, really. And all along my travels from home I've heard these stories, of the forbidden wonders and technologies of Opal Pools. How they've developed some horrible weapon that they're going to use to take control of the world or something. It's hard to know what to believe. So Arianna and I are travelling there ourselves, to see it with our own eyes, and decide what's really going on."

"A quest to make sense of this crazy world?" Ginny asked, her green eyes wide and bright.

"Exactly," Slate answered.

"I don't know, kids," Ginny said. "I hear you talk like that and it stirs me. But I'm no fighter. I don't like leaving the house. I'm a survivor. But just because I'm out of the race doesn't mean you two have to be. You still got your youth, your fighting spirit. You should follow your dreams! Go to Opal Pools, see things for yourself."

"That's the idea," Slate said.

"All the way from Aelioanei to Opal Pools through the Glass Desert," Ginny said, envisioning the trip in her mind. "Now, that's an adventure. Did y'all know it's a couple lengths to any watering hole? I don't see you carrying much supply."

"No," said Arianna, disappointed. "We didn't know that about the water. Our map said that Saityr's Quarry was our next step, that's what we were relying on. But now you say it's not even there anymore. Is it even possible to make it to Opal Pools through the desert?"

"It's possible, sure, but you're gonna need some help. Come on, now," the old woman said, grunting as she stood. She waddled out the back door with Slate and Arianna following after.

"You kids ride horses?" Ginny asked, heading to the stable.

"No," Slate and Arianna answered simultaneously.

"Well, you're gonna," Ginny laughed.

Inside the stable were three horses, two brown and one mottled. Ginny chose one of the small, brown horses, named Chestnut, for Arianna, and the spotted one, Patch, for Slate. After a hurried crash-course in equestrian fundamentals, Ginny told Arianna and Slate that they were free to take the horses for use over the rest of the Glass Desert and beyond.

"That's... Are you sure?" Arianna asked, astonished.

"Course I'm sure," Ginny said, petting Patch softly.

"That's so kind of you, Ginny. We really cannot thank you enough," Slate said.

"And you don't have to, kids," Ginny said. "Sam loved these horses and would be proud you're using 'em to search for truth. When you get to the city of TkLawt, after the buttes, you can sell 'em to a man there, named Murtle. He'll take good care of Sam's horses. I'm getting too old to take care of them all anyways. Now, daylight is running out! You must go! You must chase down your dream! Ride wild into the night! Question and demand an answer from this mad world. Live, children, live!" the dazzled-eyed woman cried. She began jumping up and down and howling at the sky. Pilotte began to howl with her, and so Slate and Arianna joined in, losing themselves.

After a snack and more lemon ice back in the farmhouse, the horses were saddled with packs and some small supplies, and then Slate and Arianna thanked Ginny again and bid her goodbye. Ginny whipped the horses into a gallop with a whistle, and they charged forward from the farm into the wide-open desert ahead.
21

It was unclear how long Slate and Arianna had been riding in the searing heat of the desert before a towering rock formation in the form of a bull's head came up from the sand to block the afternoon sun. The shape was represented on the travelers' map, one of the few things in the desert that were, as the southern edge of Saityr's Quarry, the town Ginny had made clear no longer existed.

A bizarre scene revealed itself to the riders as they came under the bull's horns. Dozens of points of light sparkled about the hills rising up to the formation, reflections from what revealed themselves to be scattered ruins. Around the collapsing buildings built into the mountainside were blast-holes gaping like sores, with rails and platforms running in and out and trails of scree trickling down like gore, the remains of a massive mining operation.

"My Gods...What did they do here?" asked Arianna. "It's like Alm is bleeding."

"It's ruined," Slate agreed. "What do you think they were mining?"

"I don't have the slightest idea," Arianna said, "All this destruction, what could possibly have justified it?"

Slate and Arianna dismounted when the path became too littered with stones for Patch and Chestnut to navigate easily, continuing on foot to lead the horses through the ruins.

As they passed closely by the tin skeleton of an operations building, corroded and full of hole, a loud bang of metal on metal sounded from somewhere in the near distance. Chestnut reared up in fright as two figures, then three, appeared from over a low hill.

"What's that?" Arianna yelped.

Slate studied Pilotte to see if the wulf appeared worried, which he did not.

"Hello?" called out Slate. His voice echoed loudly off the mountain.

One of the gaunt figures gave a wave.

"Do you think we should go talk to them?" Slate asked Arianna.

"I don't know," she said. "What could they be doing here?"

"Maybe still mining? Hunting?" Slate guessed. "Maybe they know of a well?"

"We have plenty of water from Ginny," Arianna said.

"We could always use more. Let's go talk to them," Slate said. "Keep your distance, though. Be ready to run."

The two left Pilotte waiting with the horses, though the wulf still followed halfway after them as they went to meet the strangers, ready to defend if he had to.

"Do you have anything to eat?" the oldest of the group, an exhausted-looking man, begged as soon as Slate was within earshot. The two others with him were a frail woman and an even sicker-looking child.

"We do," Slate answered.

"Do you have any to spare?" the man asked.

Slate looked to Arianna, who nodded to say that they did.

"A bit," Slate answered hesitantly.

"Bless you! Oh, bless you both! Please, please, Come with us," the ghost of a woman said weakly but happily.

Slate and Arianna followed the three to a patchwork tent riddled with holes and worn thin by the rays of the unforgiving desert sun.

"Please, can you share your food with me and my family now?" the man begged as soon as Slate and Arianna were inside.

"Of course, of course," said Slate. He reached into his sack and brought out crackers and sausage, which the family accepted with ferocity.

"Careful not to eat too fast, Dora, you'll hurt your stomach," the mother cautioned her child.

Slate and Arianna watched the family eat, until the father looked up with eyes more present, sharp, and full of life.

"Praise the Gods, thank you, thank you," he said.

"Of course," Slate said. "Here, you can have all you want. How far are we from food that you are starving so badly?"

"We aren't too far from food, but we can't get to town," said the woman.

"Why not?" asked Slate.

The man ashamedly lifted his pant leg to show a malformed limb, thin at the top, with bubbling folds of skin at the bottom.

"What happened?" asked Arianna.

"It's from the mines," the man said. "It's all from the mines. We're poisoned."

"What was mined here? What happened to you?" Arianna asked.

"Opal Pools happened," the man answered.

"Opal Pools?" Slate repeated.

"None other," said the man. "At first, they were alright, even good for us. We had always been a goldquartz quarry, and we were blessed with a good spring and a lake. Lots of folks from Proterse would buy our goldquartz and vacation here. But then Opal Pools found tynarium in the mountain, said they found lots of it. We didn't know what it was, tynarium, still don't, but the attention it attracted was even better for the city than the goldquartz. Lot of money came in, lot of new work for the men and women around here, for the people from down in TkLawt, for traveling workers coming down from Aurora Falls. Opal Pools built us schools, a firehouse. Dammed up the river for electricity and gave us glowing streetlamps."

"I was able to get an oven, a real, hand-wrought oven," the woman interjected. The idea still seemed to excite her.

"But then everyone got sick," the man continued. "Started to get so sick. Coughing up the strangest stuff after being in those mines. Then people started to die. Of course, certain bodies held out longer, so the foremen pointed to them and said, 'See, nothing's wrong here.' But it was obvious. Obvious to anyone who didn't want to ignore it and keep getting richer."

"And then all the babies born weren't moving," the woman said sadly. "The schools they built just sat there. There weren't any children to fill them."

"Except Dora," the father said proudly, grasping his frail daughter tightly. "And Faim, my son. He's in back."

"Did everyone else die?" Arianna asked.

"Not everyone," the man said. "When the tynarium was gone, which was almost as soon as it was found, they decided that the best thing to do was to flood the valley, to try to wash away the sickness. They tore up everything they could, barely even left the buildings, tore up the mine tracks and the streetlamps, even the fire station. They hauled it all away, broke the dam, and flooded the valley. Didn't give us but a half a week's warning beforehand. We couldn't leave, Faim was too sick. We sat right up there on the mountainside and watched the town get washed over. But all the water did was wash more waste out of the mines and onto the plains, destroying the lake. You see what's left. All we've got now is our spring."

"Is there anyone else left here, other than you?" asked Slate.

"Maybe," said the man. "It's hard to move, though, so I don't know. We hear things, especially at night, but I don't get around much. Can we have more to eat, please?"

Slate gave the family the rest of the food he had brought to the tent. After it had been devoured, the man stood up.

"We are so grateful for your help, friends," he said. "I can feel some of my strength returning. Please, I want you to meet my son."

He beckoned for Slate and Arianna to follow him through a tattered fabric partition to the back of the tent. Slate saw the faint outline of a body there, covered by blankets in the dark recess.

"Faim?" the man asked the boy in a whisper, "Faim, I want you to meet Slate and Arianna. They have brought us food to eat!"

An almost undetectable ruffle signaled life within the blankets. Slowly, a bony hand reached out and pulled down the fabric to reveal two huge, blue eyes staring out from a sunken face.

"This is my son, Faim," the man said as he knelt next to his boy. "How are you feeling, Faim?"

The boy's body tensed, but he couldn't speak. As Slate's eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, he could see the child more clearly: pallid as the moon, his skin stretched taught over his bones. Whatever muscle tissue he once had was gone. Dark veins ran in visible striations all over his translucent body.

"He's feeling better. Aren't you, Faim?" asked the father.

The boy's eyes bulged in terror like the deadened eyes of the itchy fish Slate had helped Hid Hidli catch.

"He's so strong, my boy is," the man said, trying to hold back tears. "He's so good, he never complained. He's like an angel, like a gift from the Gods. See how beautiful he is? How his skin turns clear? He's like an angel."

Slate and Arianna watched as the man washed his son's ghostly face with a damp cloth, speaking inaudible words of comfort. When at last the father had covered the boy and dried his own eyes, he showed Slate and Arianna back out of the dark space.

"If you'd like to stay the night, we can find you something to sleep on," he offered. "Though, you shouldn't stay long. Death is all around."

"Perhaps we should leave now, while there's still some light left," Slate said.

"When we reach TkLawt, we can tell the authorities you are out here," Arianna said. "They will come to rescue you."

"There are no authorities in TkLawt," the woman said. "No one cares. No, that's not fair. You care. Thank you for your kindness."

Sad that they couldn't do more, Slate and Arianna fled back to Pilotte, Patch, and Chestnut. They led the horses back out of the ruins, the mounted and raced from the shadow of the Bull's horns as fast as they could.

"Awful," Arianna said, nearly despondent. "Those poor people. That was just so awful."

"I feel so bad for the children," Slate agreed. "All of them. What's tynarium even used for?"

"Nothing that I know of," Arianna answered. "Not anymore. It hasn't been used since before the Fall. Since the age of the Gods. It was an ancient power source, but we didn't know how to activate it."

"Not until now, it would seem," said Slate. "But at what cost?"

The landscape began to change once more, now from desert to the area labeled on the travelers' map as the Benoit Buttes. The Benoit Buttes were a disorienting place, all ups and downs around a rocky maze that left its visitors scratching their heads every time they reached the bottom of a gulley, then again when they crested a hill they thought would be an exit. Rounding any one of the hundreds of corners through the confusion led to various surprises, such as prismatic bacteria pools, and exotic creatures like viraliers and giant grelt. There were hundreds if not thousands of grelts, rolling in the dirt, scraping their matted fur against boulders, and grazing on the tall grasses around the hundreds of water holes pooled around the buttes. Patch and Chestnut had to be careful not to step in any of the thousands of doryholes that pocked in the ground, and Pilotte made a game out of chasing the little creatures as the team made slow progress.

Just before nightfall, the buttes became plains and travel became smoother. Water came flowing to the traveling party from a river that sprang up not far from a road they found, and Pilotte was able to scrounge a fat gammit out of the low grass for dinner.

The team arrived at the outskirts of TkLawt under starlight. There, trees and forests began to reappear, and the air began to carry smells again, something Slate hadn't noticed missing in the desert. He and Arianna decided to camp just outside the city, as it was already late. With the promise of a fresh start and warm food the next morning, the two fell asleep in each other's arms.

22

Slate awoke early with the crest of a brilliant sunrise and decided to take Pilotte into town, to see if he could find some folds or glint as a surprise for Arianna before she woke up.

The sprawling logging operations just outside town told Slate that TkLawt was booming. The streets he came to were wide, built for the massive carts that hauled towering stacks of lumber from the woods to the mills, of which there were dozens, all bustling with activity.

The storefronts lining the sawdust-strewn streets of the city's downtown appeared slapdash, built quickly of whatever material had been available at the time. The dusty citizens crowding these few, small buildings were hard-faced, and cast hostile looks at Slate and Pilotte. It wasn't until he saw his reflection in a filthy window that he realized how ragged and burnt he looked.

Anxious to escape the suspicious townsfolk, the young man stopped at the first food cart he reached. The humorless merchant sold him glint in two small, dirty cups, and a dry, broken fold, then got angry when Slate questioned the quality of his merchandise. Another man who had been in the queue stopped Slate to apologize for the merchant's attitude.

"Sorry, outsider. Don't take it personal," the bearded man said.

"Oh, I don't, ever," Slate said. He began to walk away.

"Where ya in from?" the man asked after him.

"Aurora Falls," Slate answered.

"All the way up there? What are you doing here in TkLawt, of all places? Thought you Aurorians didn't like our working with Opal Pools."

Slate stopped and turned around. "We're looking for work," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Plenty of that here. Wait a second, I have to pay the man," the stranger said, dropping some coins on the merchant's counter before he joined Slate and Pilotte near a hitching post.

"The pay is terrible," he continued, "But the work is steady. Though first, I have to ask: What exactly do you call that thing you got there?"

"That's Pilotte, he follows me everywhere," said Slate. "He's a snarlingwulf."

"A fine-looking animal. Never seen one near that big before. Anyways, if you want work, you should come over to my place. It's right here in town. We'll get you set up. You a hard worker? You know trees?"

"Sure. Who doesn't know trees?"

"Good deal. I'll see if we can't find something for that beast to pull around, too. Clyde Batch is my name, what's yours?"

"Dahzi Juke. Good to meet you."

"We'll see how you feel about me after a couple weeks sawing wood, Dahzi!" laughed Clyde. "I'm at the corner of Line and Alat. Look for my name on the sign when you come 'round."

"Sounds good," Slate said.

"Say, who's that other cup of glint for?"

"For my partner, back at the camp."

"Well you should bring him on by, too. Remember, thanks to Opal Pools, there's plenty of work, plenty of work," Clyde repeated as he shuffled off.

Back at camp with two cold, dirty cups of glint, Slate and Arianna ate their breakfast and listened to the cries of 'Timber!' echoing through the trees.

"They're cutting the whole forest down. For Opal Pools," Slate said.

"How far away are we now?" Arianna asked.

"Still a few days. After we sell the horses, it's going to be a long, long walk," answered Slate.

Arianna thought for a moment and then asked, "Slate, how do you think all this wood gets there?"

"Oh, I guess they usually float..." Slate explained without thinking, before realizing what he was saying. "...It down a river!"

"So there's probably a river that flows from somewhere near here all the way to Opal Pools, right?" Arianna asked.

"Or real nearby. Look at how clever you are," Slate said.

The two passed Patch and Chestnut off to Ginny's friend Murtle, who they located by asking Clyde Batch. The horses seemed happy as Murtle led them off, even stopping to rear up good-bye as they went.

Just as Slate and Arianna suspected, the O River flowed just outside the town of TkLawt, and could be reached at the end of any of the logging roads. After sliding down a muddy log flume to the riverbanks, the group hopped onto one of the hundreds of booms of felled trees floating downstream. They were clear of TkLawt before they knew it.

The soot, sap, and gnarled bark of the boom didn't make for the most comfortable transport, but it was free and fleet. The team drifted past the countryside, watching trading posts come and go along with forests and animals along the riverbanks. The river was jam-packed with log booms, yet the travelers only ever occasionally saw a lumberman separating the logs with their long, hooked, wooden poles. Even so, during the day, the friends hid. When night came, Arianna used one of her scarves as a net to catch fish under the stars. The three days it took to reach Opal Pools were passed in relative relaxation.

Word that the metropolis was approaching passed along a chain of lazy calls from the lumbermen over the stowaways' heads. Peering out from their hiding place, Slate could see the skyline of Opal Pools, its lean skyscrapers as strange as the rock formations in the Glass Desert.

It was clear that the time had come to get off the log boom, though how exactly that was to be accomplished remained unclear.

"I don't think we can make it all the way to the bank if we jump from here. We'll have to jump into the river and then swim over," Slate said.

"Right... I think I'll go second," said Arianna.

"Your humor is as dry as anything's going to get around here for a while," Slate said.

"Oh, that hurt. Terrible joke," Arianna said, shaking her head.

The two stood poised, watching and waiting for the best moment to jump, when at once their senses were overtaken by a horrendous noise that roared up all around them.

Slate couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a giant steel cart come barreling down the side of the river. The cart was moving at an impossible speed, quickly revealing itself to be not one but a series of carts, all linked and tearing along as one. The monstrosity whipped and wound along the riverbank like a strake, before it turned toward the river and bore down on Slate and Arianna.

It tore past their boom with such velocity that they were thrown back onto the logs as it went by, appearing as a terrifying blur of metal and lightning. The roar it emitted was ear shattering, louder than the greatest winds and thunder Slate had ever heard. Pilotte had never looked so bewildered, if he had ever looked bewildered before.

The nightmare seemed to last forever, and then was gone as quickly as it had come. Slate's entire field of vision changed in an instant from a metallic blur to bucolic countryside again, as the monster rumbled off into the distance spewing smoke and steam and squealing, leaving Slate's ears ringing.

"What was that?" screamed Arianna.

"What?" Slate screamed back.

"What was that?" Arianna hollered.

"I don't know!" Slate hollered back. "Do you still want to get off the river?"

Just then, he spotted an embankment wide enough to risk attempting a jump. He didn't wait for an answer from Arianna; he leapt to his feet and ran, gaining what speed he could before diving off the boom. He overestimated his abilities, and fell immediately into the water. Arianna failed her jump as well, and so the two had to slog their way through the marsh, up the side of the embankment, and finally to level, dry ground. Pilotte, of course, had no troubles with the jump at all.

It was at the top of the embankment that Slate found the secret to the great metal monster's flight: an interminably long pair of rails, which stretched out in either direction until they looked to converge, like huge arrows pointing north and south. The metal monster had left these runs of steel hot to the touch, as Slate discovered when he tried to feel one.

"Careful! It's hot!" he cautioned, jumping up and shaking his hand. "Whoa... put your foot on it, though, you can still feel it vibrating!"

"I don't want to touch those, Slate," Arianna said. "Have you ever seen something like that before? What was it?"

"These are kind of like mine tracks, aren't they? It was just, like, a giant mine cart, that could propel itself somehow. Incredible! And do you see that skyline? Those buildings are enormous! Just imagine what the rest of the city must be like!"

"Oh, I can't even!" Arianna gasped.

"We're not too far off now, are we?" Slate asked, standing up tall. "Let's go see this Opal Pools."

"Are you scared?" Arianna asked.

"No," Slate said. "A little. Are you?"

"A little," Arianna confessed.

"It's okay," said Slate. "That makes it even more exciting! Here we go."
23

It wasn't far from the banks of the O River to a municipal park at the farthest northern reach of the metropolis of Opal Pools. Slate, Arianna, and Pilotte crouched in the bushes along the edges of the park, watching as people jogged or walked past.

"It just looks like any other park," Slate observed. "The people here don't look any different, either."

"What were you expecting?" Arianna asked.

"I don't know," Slate said. "Tentacles or something."

"Well it's good they're only human, because that means we won't stick out," Arianna said.

"Right," Slate said. "We'll have to leave our things here, though. I don't want to be carrying the Books with me if we run into trouble."

"Leave them unattended?"

"Unattended? Pilotte here is keener than the Protectorate. He'll keep them safe. Won't you, Pilotte?"

The wulf smiled.

Slate stowed his and Arianna's gear in a ferny burrow, then gave Pilotte a good scratch goodbye. The wulf curled up in the burrow and closed his eyes for a nap.

The sky had fallen dark by the time Slate and Arianna reached the park exit, at a place called Fern Water. It had been a five-length journey, and they were exhausted. Slate was about to complain, when every lamppost in the park began to glow, instantaneously. The pure, steady light glittered on the path and transformed the park into a glowing dream world.

"What is it?" Slate marveled.

"Instant sunshine!" answered Arianna. "Just like the City of Cra, in the Legend!"

A bit farther down the path was a concentration of the lamps, housed inside a great glass building. Through the impossibly huge windowpanes, Slate and Arianna saw groups of people congregating along what looked similar to the tracks they had discovered along the edge of the river.

"What do you think those people are doing?" Slate asked. "What's that building?"

"It has rails running through it," Arianna answered. "Like the rails for that horrible machine we saw. What are they waiting for?"

"Let's watch and find out."

After ten minutes or so, a screech off in the distance heralded the arrival of a variation on the metal cart train Slate and Arianna had encountered earlier. This one moved much more quietly as it glided to a stop along the platforms inside the glass building. The great strake then opened its doors, and dozens of people stepped off. Others boarded, the doors shut again, and the machine lurched into motion, gaining momentum until it was lost to the dark forest.

"So people ride those horrible things?" Slate asked.

"Could you imagine? Going that fast, over land? Faster than on the horses?" Arianna asked.

"I think I'd be sick."

"I bet it would take us into town a lot faster than our feet, though. Obviously, lots of people ride them."

"If you mean..."

"Come on, you're not scared, are you?"

"Scared? No, not if you aren't," Slate said. "Let's do it. Let's board the dragon."

The two entered the bright, white station and located a rail map and timetable illuminated by a blue ring of lamplight.

"Where do you think we should we go first?" Arianna asked, scanning the map.

"I don't know... what do you think of... there?" Slate asked, pointing to an orange-tinted area of the map.

"The Historical District," Arianna read. "It says they have a museum. That would be a great place to learn about the city. I can't even imagine what a museum here must be like."

Slate tried to plot the route to the Historical District. "We need a... green...no, an orange...four. No, three. No, four, that's right, but a green one. We need a green four."

"No, Slate. It's a red...five. That's it. A red five," Arianna said. "There will be one coming in a few minutes."

"That's what I meant," Slate said. "It says it costs eight stone to ride. I don't have any stone. Whatever that is."

"Look, there's a pictogram of a stone there," Arianna said, pointing to an advertisement printed along the bottom of the map. "It looks nothing like our goldquartz, that's for sure."

"Hmmm. Maybe if we tell them we lost our wallets they'll let us ride?"

"It's worth a shot. I can look pretty forlorn. I know you can too."

"Thanks," Slate moaned, demonstrating how right Arianna was.

When the red five came, the strangers to Opal Pools waited for the paying customers to board before stepping up to the fare taker, wearing their sorriest faces.

"Sir, my friend and I lost our wallets in the woods..." Slate began.

"Sure, whatever, get in, come on, let's go," the man said in a bored monotone.

The doors closed and the car began to roll along the tracks. Slate and Arianna were thrown to the floor, as they didn't have a firm grasp of anything. They quickly picked themselves up and managed to locate two seats, which they slunk down into in embarrassment. As the train rattled along, the other passengers lost interest. Slate and Arianna stared out of the windows as the land outside flew past in a blur.

Before they knew it, the train had left the countryside and entered a tunnel. Inside the tunnel was another boarding station. Few exited at the stop, though many more got on. At the next stop, even more passengers boarded. The crowding eventually got so bad that Slate and Arianna were pressed into one another and against the train's windows. To their great relief, Slate at last spotted a sign for the Historical District on a station wall. He and Arianna pushed and fought their way out of the train and into the thick of the city.

The noise previously deadened by the tightly packed confines of the train now blasted their ears, and dazzling lights confused their vision. Storefronts, street vendors, bizarre machines of every kind, street preachers, performers, throngs of people, and everything else imaginable were everywhere. Overwhelmed, the newcomers cut their way through the bustling hordes to a quieter corner of the street, near a restroom and a tucked-away newspaper stand.

"This place is insane," Arianna said.

"Absolutely insane," Slate agreed. "And kind of amazing."

A headline on the newsstand caught Slate's attention, one boasting 'The Final Fortress Is At Last Overtaken.' He was reaching for the paper when the butt of a cane suddenly thwacked it out of his hands.

"You have to pay for that, you know," said the frowning woman at the other end of the cane.

"But I don't want to buy it, I just want to read the one story," Slate said.

"You don't buy it, you don't get to read it," the woman barked.

"Do you take goldquartz?" asked Slate.

"What century do you think this is?" the woman asked.

"Sorry," Arianna said. "You can keep your paper."

Slate and Arianna left the newsstand, keeping close to the buildings along the street so as not to get trampled by the thousands of people. Where exactly in the Historical District the two were, was hard to discern. Slate helped Arianna up onto a wastebasket so that she could get a better view of things, and from there she espied the museum they were looking for, just across the way.

The two bounded like frightened jix across the six-lane street, dodging trains, two-wheeled, pedal-driven contraptions, pull carts, pushcarts, and unceasing waves of others. After barely making it through, they charged up the granite steps of the museum.

There were few people at the entrance to the museum, an oasis of calm in the hectic bustle. Etched into the building's edifice were phrases such as 'From Raw Material, We Fashion the Future,' and 'In Moments of Inspiration, We Become Like the Gods.' Slate imagined the words must have come from the men and women whose busts lined the porticos around the entrance, as he and Arianna stepped into the museum's lobby.

Just inside, the body of a ship was on display. A placard informed that the ship was very old and very famous, though it looked much like any other rotten ship. Slate and Arianna quietly slipped past it and the 'recommended donations' box, and into the dimly lit museum interior.

There weren't many people there, and so Slate and Arianna were able to take their time inspecting the various exhibits on display. One entire room was devoted to a person by the name of Dorieaye Khe-tK. It appeared that Khe-tK was recognized as a prophet of sorts by the people of Opal Pools, having been the man to translate the Book of Knowledge and spark the city's technological explosion with the rediscovery of tynarium power. There were collections of his writings behind thick glass, and a diorama recreating what the museum curators imagined the hovel in which Khe-tK performed his translation might have looked like.

The rest of the museum was more straightforward. There was a room dedicated to technological achievements, such as the first steam-engine motor the city had produced, and early electrical generators, alongside an exhibit on hydroelectric power and some other concepts whose placards assumed the museumgoer knew more than either Slate or Arianna did about their subjects. There was also an entire wing of the museum dedicated to a collection of ancient artifacts, with murals depicting life in the ages before, clothing samples, hunting and farming tools, and artworks. Slate found it funny that the depiction of life almost two hundred years before the present day in Opal Pools looked very much like his early life in Alleste. The last exhibit pointed toward the future of the city, with descriptions of how the trains would be improved, conceptual drawings of beautiful new buildings and shiny new machines to come, and myriad promises of a better life. Finally, a marvelous light-and-sound show dazzled Slate and Arianna more than anything in the museum before it, a display of wall-sized, glowing pictures appearing to come to life and speak. The tiny crowd for the show was shown many different corners of the city quickly, so quickly as for it to almost be sickening to Slate and Arianna. The pair was somewhat relieved when the show was over and they were led to museum's exit. Or, rather, the museum's gift shop, which was full of little recreations of the technologies on display inside the museum, all priced very steeply.

Slate and Arianna left the shop when the attendant started to follow them suspiciously. There was a small cafe situated behind the museum, overlooking a public green lined with flowers and willow trees. There, Slate bought Arianna a cup of very expensive glint at a waiter's insistence, and paid for it in goldquartz, which the waiter reluctantly accepted. The two drank slowly, not wanting to relinquish their table as they people watched. The citizens of this strange new place seemed just like any other people they had met, but faster, and more focused. The whole city was in a great hurry, even in ordering and eating food, even when they put out their picnic blankets on the green and had a game of catch.

Slate and Arianna emptied their cups and were asked if they wanted anything else. The waiter's tone suggested they shouldn't, and as the two didn't have much money left anyway, they shuffled off.

They rode the waves of foot traffic for some time, looking in shop windows and getting shoved this way and that, before happening upon a small booth that advertised 'Photographs' on its side in colorful, rainbow print. Stopping to investigate, they were startled by an overly enthusiastic man who popped out of the booth and began his sales routine.

"A picture of the lovebirds for a keepsake?" he asked with a forced smile.

"A what? A picture?" asked Arianna.

"A picture, of the two of you, to show your grandkids one day?" asked the man again.

The two confused visitors just stared.

"Listen, kids, you want a picture or not?" the man demanded.

"A picture?" asked Slate. "Like a painting or drawing?"

"You stupid or something? I said a picture, a photograph," grumbled the man, glancing around for other potential customers.

"What is a photograph?" asked Arianna, embarrassed.

"What's a photograph? My stars, you two've been living under a rock, haven't you?"

"No, not under a rock," said Slate.

"Aw, crap. Listen, you sit in the booth and I snap your picture and then you get to take it home. It's like a painting, see, but...magic! It's painted like that," the man said as he snapped his fingers. "Chemicals reacting to light exposure."

Slate and Arianna still didn't have a clue what he meant.

"Okay, I see I'm not working with the brightest bulbs in the garden. You got any money?" the man asked.

"A bit of goldquartz, yes," said Slate hesitantly.

"Goldquartz? What year is this? You have three pieces?" asked the salesman, still using a condescending tone.

"Yes, I suppose," said Slate.

"Well, you want something to remember your youth by?" the photographer asked. "I'm guessing you won't remember too well on your own."

"Three pieces? Okay, sure," said Slate, figuring he ought to have some sort of memento from when he and Arianna were in such a strange place.

"Alright, then. It's like pushing a stonker with you two. Into the booth, go on!" ordered the man, as he pulled back a felt curtain to reveal a small bench inside the booth.

Slate and Arianna entered and sat on the bench, and then the man closed the curtain. Across from where the two were sitting, a hole appeared in the wall, through which they could see the salesman's squinty eyes. They heard him say 'Get ready!' though they had no idea what they were getting ready for, and then a bright flash filled the booth.

Slate jumped up with a shout. "Hey, what are you trying to do?" he demanded as he stormed out of the booth.

"Calm down, calm down," the man said. "Give me a minute."

"Are you okay, Arianna?" Slate asked.

"I'm fine, thanks," she answered. "I don't know why that cost three goldquartz, though."

"No, it cost three goldquartz for this, dimwit," said the photographer, reappearing with a thick sheet of glossy paper stock in his hand.

Slate and Arianna watched in wonder as a likeness of them seated in the booth slowly formed on the paper, their outlines appearing to bleed through out of nowhere, becoming more defined and rich until the paper bore a perfect recreation of their faces, one just as detailed as the most lifelike painting either of them had ever seen.

They were pleased beyond belief with the keepsake, and began to say as much to the photographer, but he had already resumed his sales routine with another couple. The two giddy travelers merged back into the crowds again, careful to shield their new picture as they marveled at it while they walked. They found a spot on a bench, one of the city's few free places to sit, and pored over every detail of the photo. As they sat, more and more people shuttled by, until the foot traffic became so congested that it almost came to a complete stop.

"What time do you think it is?" Slate asked.

"It's got to be late," Arianna said. "You thinking about Pilotte?"

"Yeah. Think he's okay?"

"Sure of it. I wonder where everyone's going, though. Excuse me, where is everyone going?" she asked a woman who was passing by with her children.

"The speech is tonight," the woman answered.

"The speech?" Slate asked.

"About the new weapon, in the great square," the woman answered, before the crowd shuttled her off.

"New weapon. Should we go hear the speech?" Arianna asked Slate.

"Of course we should," Slate said. He admired the photo one last time, before he put it gingerly into his pocket and merged with Arianna into the flow of the crowd.

They drifted with the current for a number of blocks before coming to a huge, open space in the middle of the city. The towering buildings of Opal Pools, with their construction cranes and shining lights, soared up all around the public square, all aglow against the cloudy night sky.

Slate and Arianna were lucky to get pushed up against a railing overlooking the very center of the square. From there, they had a clear view of a stone platform decorated with purple cloth and flowers below. A five-piece band dressed in colorful garb played jaunty music at the platform's steps, as an acrobatic troupe spun and dazzled the crowd with their tricks. Children laughed and ran about, adults spoke in excited tones.

A piercing trumpet call sounded. The crowd let out a great cheer, as a small group cut through the square below to take the stone platform. Amid cheering and applause, a woman approached the podium and began to speak. Her words came at once from all around, loud and clear. Slate and Arianna were extremely confused at first, before realizing the voice was being recreated from a system of small boxes hanging around the audience. The crowd cheered after the woman had introduced herself, and then fell silent as she went on.

"Thank you, Opal Pools. Good evening to you all! It is always heartening to see so many of our citizens together, as it is in our moments of solidarity and confederation that we rise above our individual existence and achieve something greater."

A round of applause went about the square.

"Of course, it is this togetherness, this unity, which we as a people hold paramount. In the face of those in this world who don't want us to enjoy it. Some hate us for it. They resent our common vision and the means we use to achieve it, calling our science the work of evil. The old days of a separate peace have come to a close. The empty spaces in Alm are conquered. Those in the west say our inventions will bring us to ruin. They say we are polluting and spoiling the natural world. But while their gross miscalculations and fear see our technology turning toxic the very mother nature that nurtures us, we know better. We can and will improve, we will certainly discover new ways to live in closer unity with nature, but this is a gradual process. For us to brake our progress now would be foolish and harmful."

The woman paused to clear her throat while the crowd murmured.

"They would tell us that we can no longer follow our destinies. They would hold humanity back from its naturally ordained advance, and deny the power the creator has invested in us to think, reason, and invent. They would deny the revelations given to Dorieaye Khe-tK. But it will not be so. Let me say now that the people of Opal Pools are not, nor will we ever be, warmongers. However, our council receives reports every day about the recruitments in Jaidour, about the factories in Dane being fitted for military production. Are we to ignore these omens? Are we to stand idly back and watch the forces of ignorance march over us, to be remembered as vanished pacifists?"

A collective cry of "No!" went up through the crowd.

"They may have greater numbers, but we haven't any reason to fear. The headlines have proclaimed it already, you all know the truth: My fellow Opalites, our scientists have breached a tall wall in our understanding. I announce to you today our appropriation of matter itself: the reclamation of particle energy."

The crowd went wild.

"To be clear," the mayor continued, "We have cracked open the very building blocks of the universe. We have successfully split an atom of tynarium. With this force unleashed, we will be able to produce enough power to free ourselves completely from dependency on foreign resources. And along with that, we have now the power to make a weapon so powerful that the Gods themselves would stand in awe of its might in their time. If the west wants to test our capability, we will make a show for them indeed."

The crowd could hardly contain itself at this point.

Slate turned to Arianna and said, "I'm worried how excited people are for a weapon."

"They're treating it like a holiday or something," Arianna said.

"Of course they are. You kids aren't from around here, are you?" asked a voice from somewhere nearby.

Slate turned around to see a man grinning at him.

"Were you talking to us?" Slate asked the stranger.

"I was," the man answered. "Y'all new to town?"

"How can you tell?" Arianna asked.

"You aren't cheering," the man answered.

"We've actually come a long way to get here," Slate said. "We heard rumors about this new weapon all the way back on Aelioanei."

"That is a long ways from here indeed. You all really want to know the truth?" the stranger asked.

"It's why we're here," Arianna answered.

"You want to come with me and hear it?" the stranger asked.

"Ummm..." Slate hummed warily.

"Listen, I'm not one of... these," he said, waving a dispassionate hand at the frenzied crowd.

"Well, what are you, then?" Slate asked.

The man put a finger to his cracked lips and beckoned subtly, backing out of the swarm of people. Slate was reluctant to follow, but Arianna tugged him into action. They had to move quickly to keep sight of the squat stranger as he disappeared and reappeared amongst the crowd. When he reached the thinner crowds at the edge of the square, he stopped to catch his breath.

"Alright now," he said. "I follow me, if you really want to know the truth."

24

The city streets away from the square were virtually empty. Newspaper and debris blew around in eerie silence as Slate and Arianna followed the stranger down the gaping canyons of concrete all awash with magic light.

They reached a neighborhood where the buildings showed more signs of age. Here the concrete was cracked, lampposts were out of order, and the flowerbeds were empty or full of litter.

"Ah, crap," the stranger said, feeling at his breast pocket. "We'll have to take the fire escape." He turned into an alley. "Here, it's just back here."

Slate gave Arianna a look that said, 'Well, we've already come this far,' and followed afterwards.

The stranger knocked the ladder down from the fire escape with a discarded broom handle. It let out a rusty groan as it slid to the ground.

"I'm on four," the stranger said as he started to climb. "In case I lose you."

"You first," Arianna whispered to Slate as the two watched the strange man scuttle up the old ladder.

Upon reaching the fourth floor, the stranger jumped off the ladder onto a metal grate outside his window, which trembled and shook. He rolled through a partially open window, and Slate swallowed and followed after.

He found himself in a warmly painted room strewn with books, take-out containers, and stacks of used bowls and cups. Tattered maps and newspaper clippings covered the walls. A single string of tiny, rainbow-colored lights dangling from the ceiling lit the cluttered space.

"I'm sorry for the mess," apologized the stranger. "I don't see a lot of guests."

As Arianna climbed through the window, she tripped over a stack of dirty cups, sending it spilling and shattering across the floor.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," she said as she scrambled to pick up the broken pieces.

"No worries, no worries," said the stranger. "You can leave it. My fault. Just leave it. Are you two thirsty?"

"Yes," said Slate. "I could use something to drink."

"And you? Miss? Thirsty?"

"Maybe... Listen, I'm really sorry about your dishes," said Arianna.

"Really, that's okay. They were dirty anyway," the man said as he headed into another room.

"Was that a joke?" Arianna asked Slate.

"I think so," Slate answered.

Arianna shuddered as she looked around at the disorganization.

"What were we thinking, following him here?" she asked. "Up a fire ladder. Forgot his key. Is it even his place? I don't want to drink anything he gives me."

"It seems kind of strange, that's for sure. Meeting him randomly in the crowd and coming here. But we're in Opal Pools to find out what is going on," said Slate. He motioned to all the maps and books and added, "And something tells me this guy knows more than most."

The host reappeared with a tray of citrus drinks and set them on the table in front of the worn couch.

"Where are my manners?" he said. "I never introduced myself. My name is Maydal Crebbs."

"Maydal, my name is Slate, and this is Arianna."

"Nice to meet you. Properly," Maydal said after finishing his drink in one long gulp. "Go ahead, have a drink."

Slate and Arianna stared at the glasses.

"You're cautious. That's smart. Here," Maydal said, taking a sip out of each cup. "You see? They're safe."

Arianna laughed nervously. "Alright. I feel better now." She took one of the glasses, and handed another to Slate.

"So, why did you bring us here?" Slate asked.

"You can't talk truth in the streets of Opal Pools," Maydal said. "Especially not that crowd out there tonight. Those people really don't want to hear it."

"Why not? What is the truth?" Slate asked.

"Well, kids, let me tell you the story," Maydal said, sinking back into the comfort of his old chair. "Originally, see, way back in the beginning, the eastern coast of Proterse was a much different place. Opal Pools was Alm's first major settlement, after humanity crawled out of the caves up in Aurora Falls. Our founders lived through the Fall. All the dreams and plans that humanity made while they waited out the catastrophe came here with those people. And so they were idealistic. They eschewed conquest and exploitation. They tried to have as little impact on the environment as possible, and so didn't build any dams or massive farm operations. They were determined to treat their reemergence onto the surface of Alm as a second chance to get things right. But Other cities founded after that first wave didn't have the same rigid ideology. And so Opal Pools became a bit of an oddball.

The real divide came when they broke all communication with the other cities of Proterse, after the Ojikef atrocities, that saw the native people living in what is now Jaidour massacred. Opal Pools refused to sign the One World Accords, and so for hundreds of years, they lived a life apart, almost in their own Alm, scared to repeat the mistakes of the Gods. Of course, the rest of the world moved on. And as the generations here changed and forgot their heritage, the abundance that the west enjoyed as a result of their embrace of technology became a target of jealousy. Stories of the luxuries in Jaidour and the schools in Dale began to cross into public discussion. Suddenly, the old ways weren't good enough anymore. And when out leaders finally looked to participate, the leaders of the rest of the world resented them for spurning trade negotiations for so long, and so spitefully ignored their requests. Poverty is a lot worse when you've seen how things can be better, kids. And so the sentiment in Opal Pools turned very sour, very fast. But the city had an ace up its sleeve. You kids ever heard of the Book of Knowledge?"

"Sure," said Slate.

"Of course you have. Everyone has," Maydal said. "Mythical book, right, supposedly written by the Gods?"

"Sure," Arianna agreed.

"What would you kids say if I told you that the Book of Knowledge actually existed?" Maydal asked.

Slate and Arianna feigned absolute shock.

"That's right, kids. It's real. In fact, it had always been known in Opal Pools that the book was real. It had never been forgotten. Only, the people saw the Book as a testament to a failed society. Sort of a How-Not-To. They didn't need it. And anyways, the Book was undecipherable. Or so they thought. But then came a twist. A brilliant young man, named Dorieaye Khe-tK. Khe-tK was a scavenger. He was out on a waste hunt in the Grail Caves, to the south of here, when he stumbled upon an old translation key. He recognized some of the writing as the same strange language in the Book of Knowledge, a copy of which was available in the archives of the municipal library. Khe-tK stole the Book. He was jailed for the rest of his life when he was caught, but not before he translated the Book.

Try as they might, the authorities could not contain the explosion of information that Khe-tK had sparked. Others began to create laboratories at home and produce miracles with the knowledge he rediscovered. And when these miracles started producing money, Opal Pools changed, almost overnight. Within one generation, the people here went from outhouses to plumbing, from couriers to telecommunication. My own father was a potato farmer. And here we sit in electric light. Can you believe that?"

"It's incredible," Slate said.

"It's horrific," said Maydal. "So much destruction has followed, in their new, never-ending quest for resources. Now, entire cities and towns and countryside have been eaten up and turned to waste by the great tentacles of Opal Pools."

"That's what must have happened in Saityr's Quarry," said Slate.

"Right, right," said Maydal. "Swallowed up and even flooded. And now, what we saw out there in the square? Well, they're so proud they think it's time to show the west a thing or two. Particle energy. They've gone too far. It's madness."

"Why construct a weapon when there's no war?" Slate asked.

"Oh, the war is coming. You kids hear of the bombing in Jaidour?" Maydal asked.

"No," Arianna said.

"Me either. And I was in Jaidour not more than a month ago," said Slate.

"It was only two weeks ago. A political envoy from Opal Pools and a number of aides were killed in a bombing at the Atlas Center. Conflicting information came out about who orchestrated the bombing, but in the end Opal Pools was sure it was the Jaidourean High Council. And Jaidour was sure it was staged. Their relationship has been antagonistic for too long. Water on heat will boil. And so hundreds of years of simmering quarrel are set to explode."

"Just like that? There's one bombing, and they go to war?" Slate asked.

"You don't understand how deep the resentment goes on both sides. We're talking generation after generation of deeply borne hatred. Of the other. Not just in Jaidour, either. It'll be Opal Pools going to war with the rest of the continent. Which might as well be the rest of the world. It doesn't matter that they don't have the army. That was always the obstacle, the one thing keeping war at bay. Not anymore. They have their new weapon, one so incredibly powerful that it has destroyed entire counties in its construction. And they don't even know what they made! They can't draw the line from the Legend's stories about fire from heaven to their own terrible invention. They're about to test it soon, their abomination. It's sure to be a disaster. And we're left to just watch, you and me. We just watch and wait and try to sleep at night."

"When are they going to test it?" Arianna asked.

"Very soon. They've even picked out the venue: the Crescent Plain, to the south of here. People are making a holiday of going to see the test. It's madness, kids, madness."

Slate turned to Arianna. "How far away is the Crescent Plain?" he asked.

"You're not thinking of going there, are you, kids?" Maydal asked.

"No. You aren't, are you, Slate?" asked Arianna.

"We have to, don't we? I have to," Slate answered.

"What could that possibly help?" asked Arianna.

"What else are going to do, just turn around and go home?" Slate responded. "Wait for the war to come to us?"

"Do you think that being there when they do their test will stop a war from happening?" asked Arianna.

"It won't," Maydal added.

Slate's head dropped with a quick sigh. "I don't know," he said. "No. But I can't just run away though. Where would we go? I've come so far..."

"I know you have, Slate," said Arianna.

"It's a fool who keeps on with what he's doing, even though he's not sure it's the best thing to do, just because he's been doing it for so long," offered Maydal.

Slate thought and then shook his head. "No. I know. But I have to. I have to see it. You don't have to go if you don't want to, Arianna. But I have to."

"Slate..." Arianna said.

"What's the fastest way to reach the Crescent Plain?" Slate asked Maydal.

"The war will come here soon enough, if that's what you want to see, Slate. Just wait," he answered.

"I don't want to wait," Slate said.

"Well, if you're in a hurry to die, there's a train that runs all the way to Grail's Wharf. The Crescent Plain is just outside town. I don't want to tell you kids how to live your life or anything, but I really think that you ought to consider your decision for a minute, before you go running off doing something you regret."

"Thank you, Maydal," Slate said as he stood up. "Arianna, how can I find you..."

Arianna looked up at him almost angrily. "Slate, don't be foolish. Do you really think I'd let you just leave, by yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Arianna. I just have to see this through," Slate said.

"Whatever it is you feel you have to do, we'll do it together," said Arianna.

Slate turned to Maydal. "I'm sorry if it seems rude to leave so abruptly, but we have a friend waiting for us outside town. Your information had been very helpful."

"Alright then, kids. Enjoy your war," sighed Maydal. "Say hello to the Gods for me, won't you?"

Slate and Arianna ducked back out the window and ran down the fire escape, then through the streets of Opal Pools to the nearest train station. They rode back out to the park at the edge of town, and then raced to where Pilotte was waiting for them. They gathered their things and then followed the train tracks outside the park until they came to a station, where they took the first available ride south to Grail's Wharf.
25

Slate awoke with a gasp. For a minute he couldn't remember where he was, not until he looked over at Arianna asleep in the train seat next to him. Or so he thought she was asleep; she must have sensed Slate was staring at her, because she opened her eyes.

"Watching me sleep, Slate?"

"No. I mean, I'm sorry," Slate said. "I almost forgot where we were."

"Mmm, I see. Where are we?" Arianna asked as she sat up and stretched.

"Outside of Doth, I think."

"Doth? I've never heard of it."

"No, me either."

The train car was dark and nearly silent, but for the steady rumble below it. Most of the other passengers had settled into sleep.

"How many more stops do we have?" Arianna asked.

"I don't know," Slate answered.

Just then the train entered a tunnel, which made the car quieter still.

"I'm scared, Slate," Arianna said as she rested her head on his arm.

"What are you scared for?" Slate asked.

"I'm scared of war. Of everything changing."

"I am too. Oh, Arianna, you were right, we shouldn't have gotten on this train. I've just been on this journey for so long now, it's hard to just stop. It's been my whole life."

"You told me that part of the reason you left Airyel was to take your mind off your father. Do you think that's why you're so driven to keep going? Are you avoiding your feelings?"

"Maybe that's a part of it. But really, I've made peace with his death. It's just all these mysteries upon mysteries, I feel like a new world is revealed every new place I go. And now, we've actually got the Books themselves, so I feel like I'm somehow tied into it all. Like I owe it to Hatty, to Theolus, to everyone, to see it through. But what am I seeing through, anyways? I'm just a delivery boy, aren't I? I just fell into the whole thing. It's not about me. I've been foolish."

Arianna nodded and listened.

"Still, though. If war should spring from the Book, perhaps the ones we've got could somehow also prevent it," said Slate. "Somehow."

"Anything is possible, Slate."

"Maybe I'm delusional."

"You've been going so hard for so long. You're exhausted. You need to stop. To rest."

"Maybe. Anyways, thanks for listening to me think. And thanks for coming with me, but I don't think we need to see the weapon test anymore. Let's just head home. Head back to Aelioanei. See your family. Maybe try to find my brother. How's that sound?"

"That sounds good, Slate," said Arianna. "In fact, it sounds great."

The train passed over a bump in the track, jarring some of the sleeping passengers awake. There were groans and mild curses, and a few lights were turned on in the confusion. Soon, the lights were turned back off and the car fell quiet once again.

"I miss my mom. And Brit, and Mart," Arianna said. "I've never been apart from them for this long."

"I miss home. Never thought I would say it, but I miss my little hut in Alleste. We were always independent growing up, but it was a reliant independence. We always knew where each other were at. Now, I don't even know where my brother, Greene, is. He's strong, I don't worry about him, but I do wonder where he is. If he ended up like my dad, if he's..."

"I'll help you look for him."

"Thanks, Arianna."

"For now, try to get some sleep, okay?"

The two curled into each other's arms and were rocked back to sleep by the rhythm of the train.

Sometime later, at the earliest glimmer of daybreak, the train horn blared and a porter announced arrival at Grail's Wharf. Slate and Arianna gathered their belongings and shuffled sleepily off the train, with faithful Pilotte close behind.

They decided to take the day to rest and plan a route home, and to spend one night in Grail's Wharf before leaving. The town was much busier than it appeared ready to handle, on account of the crowd from Opal Pools who had come to see the weapon test. The few hotels and inns were booked solid, and so Slate and Arianna were forced to camp for the night. The campgrounds in town were also fully booked, leaving the two to follow the others who couldn't find lodging to a campground outside of town.

What they hadn't expected was how close that campground proved to be to the Crescent Plain Maydal had spoken of. There was little on the plain below the campground to suggest that it was to be the site of a demonstration of incredible power, nothing more than a few tents and observation towers scattered across the scrubby grassland that filled the space between the foothills of the Crescent Mountains and the ocean beyond.

"That's it, huh? I was expecting more," Slate said to Arianna as they looked out from their campsite.

"Me too," Arianna agreed.

"It feels strange, though, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"Just, being here. The energy. The anticipation."

"Stop it, Slate. You're scaring me."

"Sorry, sorry," Slate said. "It's just a funny feeling, that's all. Let's get something to eat, how's that? Take our minds off of things?"

In town, the two found a world map and plotted a route that would take them back to Jaidour along the same path Slate would have taken if he hadn't followed Theolus into the Ojikef Jungle. The length of the land route meant that it would still be three more weeks until they set sail for home.

"It's a long time," said Arianna. "But we'll get there eventually."

"Eventually is fine. I can't wait to just sit in your kitchen and watch the sun rise," said Slate. "Eat your mom's folds."

"I hope it's the same," said Arianna.

"Why wouldn't it be?" asked Slate.

"You weren't there for the raids," said Arianna. "The whole library was devastated. I doubt my mother could have even finished cleaning it up by now. And people were getting so nasty, nastier by the day. I just hope Aislin is still something worth returning to."

"It will be," said Slate. "There's no library we can't put back together, no amount of nastiness we can't weather if we're together. I can't imagine the world has changed so much in the past two months that there's nothing worth returning to."

"We'll see," said Arianna. "And if it is ruined, we can make it new again."

The next day began with a blood-red sky. There was some small activity on the plain below the campground, but nothing of significance until sometime around mid-morning, when a deep groan sounded from within the northeastern forest pass.

Whole flocks of birds began to flee the forest as its trees began to disappear, one by one. The Crescent Mountains resounded with a terrible noise coming from the growing chasm appearing like a void in reality into which the forest was falling.

Slate and Arianna stopped packing to observe the bizarre phenomenon.

"Is that real?" Arianna asked.

"Is it happening?" asked Slate.

A huge, metal, beast of a machine emerged from the swath of destruction it had carved through the forest. It was black and steaming, and shook as it rode along on self-contained treads. Sitting atop its base was an enormous object resembling a great iron sirrk, so huge that it dwarfed the men who crawled about removing the cords which fastened it down.

After a siren sounded across the valley and some frantic activity, the cart on which the iron sirrk rested began to open. It rose up to the death-gray sky and then settled back down again in one fluid motion, reforming as a trebuchet. Heavy wires the widths of tree trunks drew back the arm of the trebuchet, and then without wait the tension was cut and the cart launched the great sirrk up into the air.

It swam through the sky for a silent few seconds, its impossible size defying gravity, and then landed.

Slate, Arianna, and all those others watching from the edge of the campsite were instantly blown off their feet as an impossibly brilliant flash of light consumed the whole plain. The flash gave way to a half-second of bluish-green glow before a tremendous explosion sounded, one that shook the mountains and everything on them violently. Three more blasts came in rapid succession, each resounding like the crack of immediate lightning.

The trees edging the Crescent Plain collapsed in a wave that radiated out from the gaping crater left where the bomb had struck. A massive ball of fire rose from the crater, belching enormous white smoke rings as though from the bowels of the planet itself. A tower of purple fire erupted skyward as the clouds of smoke and fire around it formed and reformed into horrible new phantasms, and the shapes and forms of eons and eternities passed in and out of being in fleeting moments while the explosion drank up the life and sense from the world itself.

Just when it appeared as though the purple column of fire had settled, the shape of a giant mushroom came billowing out of it, climbing even higher still. This was somehow even more alive than the pillar, seething and boiling in a white fury of foam. As the mushroom cloud dispersed, the monstrous explosion assumed a new form, like a great flower petal, creamy-white outside, rose-colored inside. The purple tower and cloud now stood firm, as if they were to be a permanent fixture in the sky.

The air was putrid and it made Slate sick.

"Arianna..."

"Slate," Arianna asked in a small voice from where she hadn't yet moved. "Are we dead?"

"I don't know," Slate answered, shaking his head.

A chilling wind swept the moans and cries of the others in the campground overlooking the plain.

"I don't think we're dead, yet," Slate said.

"How? How could they do it?" Arianna asked as she struggled to get up.

Slate had nothing to offer. "I don't know. I don't even think they knew."

"A weapon? That's not a weapon," said Arianna. "How could it possibly be used as a weapon? The destruction it would cause... The death..."

Neither could hardly see from the flash, but they found each other, and held each other close as they stared out over the ruined waste below, which smoked and smoldered like a charred corpse.

"It's so awful," Arianna said. "Please, can we leave now?" A stream of tears ran from her eyes, though she wasn't crying. "I just want to go home."

"I'm so sorry we came," said Slate.

"How could you have known?" Arianna asked. "How could anyone have ever known?"

26

"I guess that's it," Slate said with a shrug, after having been lost in thought as he and Arianna walked alongside the road to Morai. "That's the end conclusion of technological process. Power so incredible that it can destroy the world."

"It's not the only way things could have gone, though," Arianna countered, though she didn't sound as if she believed her own words.

"Maybe. But now that it has? What can the rest of the world do?"

"You don't really think they'd use that in war, do you?"

"I think that they'll use its existence to dominate, while they can, while the rest of the world rushes to make bombs of their own. And then Opal Pools will make something even more atrocious, and the cycle will obliviate us all."

A choke caught in Arianna's throat. "Oh, Slate, that sounds so awful. It can't be the only way, it can't."

"I'm sure I'm being pessimistic, but I can't help but think that's just the course of things." Slate sighed. "The future seems so out of our hands, so inevitable. I hate that we have to live in a world where that sort of power to destroy exists. We should just burn them."

"Burn what?"

"Burn these stupid books we've been lugging around since we left Aurora Falls. Burn them so there's one less opportunity for maniacs to profit off knowledge they haven't done the work to understand and so don't respect."

"I don't know if that's the answer, Slate," Arianna said.

"We'll see. It's going to take everything in me to keep them from the campfire tonight, I'll tell you that much."

News of the horrible new weapon followed Slate and Arianna as they made their way up the Protersian continent. It was met with almost universal disbelief, the stories of the column it formed, of the trees it leveled, of the plain it destroyed. And even though they had been there to see it themselves, Slate and Arianna started to wonder if it could only have been a nightmare. And always with the talk of the weapon came new reports of military drafts and brewing discontent, as the world rushed to meet their new reality with fear and anger.

The tall walls of the little kingdom of Morai came into view early on the fifth day of travel. Upon reaching the gate, Slate gave his name to a guard, and the party was soon admitted and shown to the castle. Prince Dahzi greeted them in the throne room.

"Friends, it is so good to see you," he exclaimed from across the modestly decorated space, throwing his arms open. "And so much sooner than I thought I would! Slate, who is this beautiful woman you are with?"

"This is Arianna Falls, Dahzi. Er. Prince? Prince Dahzi? I told you about her."

"Yes, Arianna, from Aelioanei. And to meet you here, in Morai, what fortunate circumstance. You can just call me Dahzi, though, we aren't that sort of kingdom."

"It's good to meet you, Dahzi," Arianna said, trying her best to smile.

"What are these frowning faces?" Dahzi asked. "Why are we so sad?"

"I'm sorry to reunite in such poor spirits," said Slate. "But have you heard about the weapon Opal Pools tested on the Crescent Plain, just five days ago?"

"I've heard some rumor, but I never take rumor seriously. A full report is due in this morning," the prince answered. "Our own envoy has yet to return... I take it you have knowledge of the event?"

"We saw the test ourselves," Slate said. "It was horrible, Dahzi. Like nothing imaginable. This thing they've built... It was like a bomb, but so much more terrible. It ate up an entire valley, and poisoned the sky. There's no hope in a world where an enemy has such a weapon."

"This is very troubling indeed," said Dahzi, the mirth falling from his face. "My parents have just sent a team of our few soldiers to Chreopoint, to join a resistance force heading to Opal Pools. We were under the impression that this would be mainly for show, however. We had no idea that their alleged particle weapon was real, much less operational."

"It's finished, for sure, and no army of any size stands a chance against it," said Arianna. "Not that we believe Opal Pools is going to use it aggressively, but..."

"Who's that?" called a voice from across the room. "Is that Slate Ahn?"

Ertajj came rushing over to where the others stood hanging their heads.

"Hello, Ertajj," Slate said, offering a weak hug. "Good to see you."

"Really? You wouldn't know it from that look on your face. What happened?"

"I feel like I've just seen the end of the world," Slate answered. "Arianna and I have come from the Crescent Mountains, where we saw Opal Pools test their new weapon. It's... it's a real-life apocalypse, Ertajj."

"Really? I've been out at the hunting lodge, I had no idea anything had changed," looking to Dahzi for his opinion on the situation.

"I fear it has," the prince said gravely.

"Sorry to have to tell you," said Slate.

"Hey, someone had to." Ertajj shifted nervously. "Sorry to meet you like this, Arianna. Slate told me lots of good things about you."

"I'm happy to meet you, Ertajj," Arianna said. "And I, too, wish it were under happier circumstances."

"I have to tell my father and mother at once," said Dahzi. "Though I don't know what they could possibly do other than recall our troops. We are not a warring nation. But all leaders, everyone, must know the truth about what has happened. Please, wait here, and I'll be back shortly."

"Well that really throws a wrench in things, doesn't it?" Ertajj asked, watching Dahzi leave. "Celebrating being back together seems wrong, somehow."

"No. I don't have the energy for it, anyways. We're incredibly tired after our trip. It was five days, from Grails Wharf, walking every waking minute," said Slate. "I think maybe Arianna and I should get some sleep."

"Sure, if you can," Ertajj said. "Until Dahzi can figure out where you'll stay, why don't the two of you take my room and rest?"

"That would be very kind of you," said Slate. "I'm sorry for my mood, Ertajj. It is good to be together again so soon."

"Of course it is," said Ertajj. "Now come on, let's get you rested up so I can hear all about what's happened."

Ertajj had a small room off a back street near the town square. Slate and Arianna drew the curtains and drank a whole pot of drowsyroot steep, but they couldn't sleep, despite being exhausted. To distract themselves, they sorted through the items in their bags.

"This pack has made it all the way around the world with me," Slate said, running his fingers over the small tears and scuffs the bag from Mrs. Falls had acquired. "The one your mom gave me."

"She'll be so happy to see you again," said Arianna.

"I can't wait until we're back on Aelioanei," said Slate. "I know we can't run away from reality, but home still seems so far from this madness."

"I hope so. I hope it still feels like that."

Slate turned his attention to the green sack Guh had hoisted on him in Aurora Falls.

"What are you going to do with them?" Arianna asked as she refolded her socks.

Slate sighed. "I wish I knew. Mostly I just want to rip them apart. But I know that's childish."

"Opal Pools will have them if we do or don't. I know it sounds trite, but it's just so... unfair. For things to be so unbalanced. The rest of the world won't be able to do a thing. Maybe we'll catch up eventually, but not for years. If ever."

"It's like they've got the only quickshot."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, when I was with the pirates, in the Passage Islands," Slate explained, "Only one of them had a quickshot, like, a hand-held blastporter, of sorts. Hatty, the man I told you about, who helped me steal the Jean Bea."

"I know what a quickshot is."

"Well, because it was the only one, he held all the power with it."

"I get it."

Slate's eyes flashed. He jumped up with excitement.

"Arianna, do you remember how we translated that bit of the Books outside Aurora Falls?"

"Of course."

"Do you think we could translate the whole thing?"

"That would be a lot of work, but, yes. Why?"

Slate's thoughts raced as he rolled ideas between his fingers.

"Everyone gets a quickshot!"

"What?"

"We need a printing press. Do you think there's one here? In town?"

"Maybe," Arianna said. "Why? Slate, what are you thinking?"

"We have to get the information from the Books into the hands of as many people as possible. As fast as possible. It's the only way to level the playing field. To keep Opal Pools or anyone else from trampling over the world."

"To everyone?" Arianna gasped.

Slate nodded. "To every last person on Alm."
27

The King and Queen of Morai asked to meet with Slate after Dahzi shared with them his plan for the Books of Knowledge. In the center of a large hall crowded with the kingdom's top minds, Slate stood alone and delivered his plan, encouraged by Arianna from the sidelines.

"And I feel that the only way to make things equal is to start a printing operation here, using all the resources your kingdom can summon, so that everyone can have knowledge from the books, not only Opal Pools," Slate finished.

The king and queen exchanged looks as their aids murmured.

"You feel that the best answer to this weapon you've described is more weaponry?" the queen asked.

"No, I don't think weaponry is the answer at all," Slate answered. "It's more than weaponry, they have a million things that no one else in the world does right now. And there's more on the way."

"And you think they would use this knowledge against us?" asked the king.

"I don't know," answered Slate. "But troops are already moving, including your own. Obviously, the threat of the bomb is as great as its use would be. So long as the idea that Opal Pools is so horribly overpowered exists, the world will be in disarray."

"Young man, do you really think just anyone can be trusted with the incredible information you claim is in the books?" one of the advisors standing near to the king asked.

"No," Slate answered. "That's the point. Unless everyone has the information, there can be nothing but distrust."

"Obviously, my liege," the advisor said to the king, "We could be finding ourselves in an advantageous position now. Not all of what the boy says should be discounted. We have the so-called Books of Knowledge. We have what only one other government possesses. Our little kingdom may have been fading away in the past few years, but this is our chance. Rather than open the knowledge to the world and possibly reel from the consequences of its dissemination, we should meet Opal Pools ourselves! Become a force equally as strong as them, for good! Lead the world, as we once led a mightier kingdom in days of old."

"That is vainglorious," the king said, dismissing the suggestion. "The Kingdom of Morai does not have the population to meet Opal Pools in combat, despite what we may glean from these books. And I don't believe we have ever been a military power, at any point in our history. It is not who we are, and it is not who I want us to become."

"Slate Ahn, what is the future you envision coming from the dissemination of this knowledge?" asked the queen.

Slate looked to Arianna, who smiled but had nothing to offer.

"I don't know," he answered. "I can't see that far into the future. I don't know that any of us can. But as far as I can see, well, your small number of troops are on the march. Opal Pools has a weapon that eats Alm itself. I don't know that we have much time for deliberation."

"This is absurd," another aid scoffed. "Putting the information in the Books of Knowledge into the hands of every maniac and criminal in the world can only possibly lead to chaos."

"The same could be said for the most basic aspects of our education," countered the king. "But it is not the way of mankind to stop up our curiosity. We are born to flourish, to explore every path laid out before us. And while some of those paths will surely lead to harm, I ask you to imagine that some of the other paths humanity will take through the books will bring greater glories than tragedies. My queen?"

"I agree, my king. I am stirred that this young man from Aelioanei has recognized the importance of the knowledge in these books for all, and that he has taken such pains to keep them safe and bring them to us. Surely, if one such as he can travel the whole world to keep them safe, it is a good sign that the rest of humanity could do the right thing with their own stewardships."

Slate felt small standing in front of the king and queen and their team of advisors, listening to the heads of state debate. He wanted to join Arianna along the wall, he wanted to be outside with Pilotte or adventuring with Ertajj.

"So, how shall we proceed?" the king asked.

"Me?" Slate asked. "Are you asking me?"

"Well, they are your books, aren't they? And it will be your printing operation. Tell us, how should we start? How can we help you realize your brilliant plan?"

Slate couldn't believe the king wanted him to oversee. "I... well, first, we're going to need printing presses."

"We have a few," said the king. "But we will get you many more. How many do you think you'll need?"

"As many as possible," Slate answered. "Because we have to get the books to others who can reprint them, too. In every city, there should be printers working to teach the next cities over how to print more of the books. It can spread more quickly that way."

"Absolutely brilliant," the queen said. "Your plan sounds wonderful, Slate Ahn."

The king nodded and smiled. "Agreed. We'll set you up right away. So that the Gods once forgotten may be heard again, so that our world lost in the Fall may be born anew. Go now, all of you, and let it be known: here in Morai starts a new Golden Age, made possible by Slate Ahn of Aelioanei."

The crowd of advisors fell into discussion as the king and queen rose to exit. Dahzi met Slate as he crossed to where Arianna sat waiting.

"You did it!" the prince said, grabbing Slate by the arm. "You really did it!"

"I didn't do anything, yet," said Slate. "That's up to everyone else."

"Slate, don't downplay it," said Dahzi. "You just stood up in front of a king and queen!"

"And you looked good doing it," Arianna added, joining the two in the middle of the hall.

"I was sweating like a lart," Slate said. "Some of them looked so angry at me."

"They're scared," said Dahzi. "Of the unknown. Which you represent. But they're good people. They'll help."

"It's amazing, Slate," said Arianna.

"I hope so," said Slate. "I hope I'm right about things."

"I think time will tell you are," said Dahzi. "If anything, all you've done is speed up what would have been a much longer and potentially more miserable process."

"Who can ever know?" asked Arianna. "That is the nature of the future. A future that will now be more equal."

"If equal is really the ideal," said Slate.

"Don't doubt yourself now," said Dahzi. "You've got a lot of work to do."

"Do we ever. The translation alone is going to be a task greater than Praxi's Gauntlet," said Slate.

"I'll help," said Dahzi. "And Ertajj will help. We're all in this together now, Slate."

Arianna took Slate's hand. "From now until the end."

An unused stable was cleaned out to serve as headquarters for the printing operation. The Kingdom only had three presses available initially, but as Slate and Arianna worked to translate the books, Ertajj proved to be invaluable in the construction of twenty more. Meanwhile, Slate and Arianna worked through the night, drinking cups of steeproot as they rediscovered wonder after wonder. The volumes that Slate had traveled the world for were then compiled into a masterwork and copied to templates, while Morai's artisans painstakingly recreated the pictures in the books on plates for the presses. Within a week, the new, complete copies of the master Book of Knowledge were being passed around the kingdom, and before the end of the second week, the first crate had left for delivery to the Protectorate in Aurora Falls.

Prince Dahzi visited the presses late one night, finding Slate, Arianna, and Ertajj covered with sweat and ink but happy in their toil.

"It's incredible," the prince said. "What you're doing here. I've never seen my parents so thrilled."

"That's good to hear, Daz," said Slate. "It really is amazing how quickly everyone has been working, and how good the work has been."

"I never thought I'd see you working so hard, that's for certain," the prince said to Ertajj.

"No, I never thought I would. But there is a new world to be made now. I'd just be a hypocrite if I stood on the sidelines and didn't help. It really feels like things are changing. For the first time in my life, I feel like my future is in my hands. My exceedingly ink-soaked hands."

"The agency this will give people over their lives," Arianna said, "It's unprecedented."

"I know it's foolish to be so optimistic," said Ertajj. "I know that a lot of pain can come from this power being distributed so widely and so abruptly. People are still people."

"But it doesn't have to be like that," said Slate. "Those few who wanted to abuse power before maybe can't so much anymore."

"Just the medical knowledge alone," said Arianna. "The cures for Cindra, for Banor Toxin, treatments for the simple cold. It's nothing short of a miracle."

Slate pulled a template down from a press and wiped the letters dry with a dirty cloth.

"You want to help?" he asked Dahzi. "You want to get a little ink?"

Dahzi rolled up his delicately laced sleeves and smiled. "You bet I do."

The kingdom focused the entirety of its energies on the printing operation once the first bits of the knowledge from the books started to make their way through society. Crate after crate of the Book started to flood out of Morai's gates, and at each town in which they arrived, another printing operation would go up. The information spread across the continent like a virus, at an incredible speed. In less than a month, people from all across Proterse started to flock to Morai, to see the original Books for themselves, the spring from where the revolution had burst forth.

As the technologies and techniques in the Book were better studied, understood, and put into action, life in Morai started to change. A super-lightweight, wickedly accurate longbow was developed, the first such military advance in years. Citrus lighting was next, increasing the number of hours in the day that people could read and work and thus how quickly they could learn and produce more wonders. Trips out of the kingdom's walls for timber to feed the ravenous printing operation were soon accompanied by fantastic, steam-powered carts that could cut down the forests and reseed the land autonomously. New fertilizers saw the gardens in Morai bursting like never before. New medicines for all manners of ailments came available daily. The world was open anew, and had burst forth like a wild jinx freed from a cage. Truly, it seemed as if each hour brought a new wonder.

To the dozens and then hundreds turning up in Morai daily to see the original Books of Knowledge for themselves, Slate wore the face of a hero. In moments of soaring praise and endless questioning, he found himself longing for days gone by, when he moved unknown across the lands like the wind, when anonymity was his greatest ally. Now, he couldn't find a moment alone. And on top of that, he couldn't help but feel he hadn't done anything deserving of the attention. He hadn't written the Book. He hadn't made any of the breakthroughs with its information. Slate felt uncomfortable when toasts were made in his name, and when the same strangers who once eyed him suspiciously would now gush and fawn over him. As such, the familiar feeling of homesickness called again, and Slate longed for his small, quiet island, far away from the happenings on Proterse.

Once the printing operation was automated, Slate and Arianna no longer had to work every day. Instead, they got to play with Pilotte, and relax, something Slate had not really been able to do since leaving home. And in small moments of their newly found free time, they started to talk about going home.

The two intended to announce their departure to Ertajj and Dahzi over a bottle of jool wine and the sunset, as they lazed about the ramifications on the north side of the castle.

"Do you think he's still in there?" Ertajj asked, reaching for a second bottle of wine.

"If he is, he's not alive," said Dahzi.

"Theolus Reever," Slate mused, shaking his head. "You wouldn't believe the guy was real even if you met him, Arianna."

"Do you think he jumped out of the raft?" she asked, taking the pour Ertajj was offering.

"Who knows?" asked Slate. "Maybe he joined up with the Nions."

"Right," Ertajj cackled. "They hated him so much."

Just then, Slate noticed something moving along the edge of the jungle.

"What's that?" he asked quietly, mostly to himself.

The strange phenomenon became more visible, appearing like huge, floating bulbs of color along the tops of the trees.

"Yeah, what on Alm is that?" Ertajj seconded, standing up tipsily.

The bulbs floated out from the edge of the forest, over the plain that sloped down to the edge of the castle.

"Is it...?" Dahzi mumbled, confused.

"Are they...?" Arianna wondered.

A cry sounded from the strange phenomenon, a human voice.

"Can you hear that?" Slate asked.

"I..." Dahzi said, straining to hear, "... Is that my name? Are they calling out names?"

The team on the fortification strained to listen until the voices were clear enough to understand: they were, in fact, calling out every one of their names.

"How..." Ertajj wondered, his mouth agape.

The orbs now started to alight onto the plain, one after the other, until all five had touched down. And then, humans started to leave them, to spread out over the grass and head toward the castle.

"Who are they? What... what is it?" Dahzi gasped, unable to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

"Come on," Ertajj said, tripping forward. "Let's go see!"

A small team of guards was already on the plain before the friends, relieved that the newcomers were allies. Slate overheard some of them talking about Nions, and then their biggest surprise was revealed.

"Who's that there now?" a voice asked from somewhere within the confused crowd.

Slate turned to see Juke beaming.

"Juke!" Slate answered.

"Slate! Ertajj! Dahzi!" Juke exclaimed, rushing to meet his friends.

"You know him?" Arianna asked Slate.

"Sure I do!" Slate enthused. "We go way back, don't we, Juke?"

Juke grabbed Slate and gave him a hug. "And who's this here now?" he asked of Arianna.

"This is Arianna Falls," Slate answered.

"Ah yes, Ms. Falls, I've heard a lot about you. Though, you're twice as beautiful as Slate described," Juke said.

"Oh, well," Arianna giggled, blushing.

"What are you doing here?" Slate asked. "And more importantly, how were you flying through the air?"

"I've come to see you," said Juke.

"How did you know I was here?" Slate asked.

"Don't you know?" Juke asked. "You're famous! Word is spreading, Mr. Ahn. And so is your Book!"

"Famous?" Slate repeated.

"The man who carried the book! Everyone's heard about him! Friend, we've got our own press operation already in the village," Juke said. "They're springing up everywhere! You've started a revolution!"

Slate couldn't believe it. "You're reproducing the Book, too?" he gasped. "In the Ojikef? Already?"

"Yes, sir," Juke said. "Things are changing fast back at the village. And I'm ready for it. It's incredible. And I get to be an emissary!"

"You're an emissary? Mr. Fancy now, eh? How's that going?" Ertajj asked.

"Seeing as I have no experience, it's going exactly as well as it could," Juke answered. "It's rough, sometimes it's messy. A lot of my people are scared of advance. But they see what we can do. With our resources, with hent fiber, and petrified balsan, how we made these balloons. And I've been able to help them quite a bit, coming from the outside. We're even ready to start diplomacy with other states. It's going to be so good. The future is going to be so good!"

"Juke, that's incredible!" Slate cried. "It's working, isn't it? Oh, I can't believe it!"

Juke beamed at his friend's elation. "What you're all doing here is changing the world," he said. "But you must tell me, how did you come to acquire the Book in the first place?"

"I'll tell you all about it Juke," said Slate. "We've got nothing but time."

After an evening spent celebrating, an increasingly common occurrence in the kingdom, the friends sat in the courtyard watching the stars and reminiscing.

"Word has it that the troops gathering in Dale have started to disperse," said Ertajj. "And I hear that Opal Pools is just completely floored. They have no idea what to do!"

"Everyone's plans have changed," said Juke. "It's a new world we're living in."

"Yes, anything's possible now," Dahzi said, his eyes bright. "Who knows what corner of the world will seize the knowledge and make the greatest leap forward with it? Weapons are the least of things. Who knows what real wonders are in store?"

"It really is amazing," said Arianna. "I never thought I'd live to see things change. Really change!"

"I was the same way, Arianna," said Ertajj. "I was convinced the world was doomed."

"I'm sure there will be plenty more instances of the knowledge being used for ill," Slate said. "It's foolish to assume that just because it's out there for everyone that even half of them will use it for good. I'm sure there are things far worse than what we've seen waiting to be rediscovered."

"But at least everyone is on the same page now," Arianna said. "For maybe the first time in history."

"Surely, Alm's trials are not over yet," said Dahzi. "But we should not dwell on the problems in the world, not right now. There is so much to cheer. A new day has dawned!"
28

Slate and Arianna took two more days to spend time with their friends, the best days, full of food and laughter. And at the end of the second, around a campfire, they were ready to say goodbye.

"Every day, every single day, it's something new," Dahzi said as he refilled a horn that had been circling around the friends. "The latest I hear is that a cooling machine, a box that can freeze food as if in deepest winter, is coming to fruition here in Morai."

"You all should see what's coming next from Yiente after balloon carriages," Juke boasted. "We're keeping our eyes on the skies. We'll have people soaring like birds in the contraptions we're working up."

"I heard we'll be soon able to see and hear each other over vast distances, with what they're working on in Dale," said Ertajj. He took a huge drink from the horn and passed it to Slate.

"Well, that's good to hear," Slate said. "Because Arianna and I are thinking about going home."

Pilotte reappeared just then, after having chased a burrin off into the night, now licking his chops with satisfaction.

"And, Pilotte here, too, of course," Slate added.

"What are you talking about, going home?" Ertajj asked. "Home where? I thought you said your village was deserted."

"Nearly," Slate said. "But who knows what things will be like now. Maybe the books have reached the island. I never planned to stay here forever; it was really only a delivery trip, after all."

"So you'd rather go sit in your abandoned village than stay with us? Where things are happening?" Ertajj asked.

Juke took the horn that Ertajj was spilling from his friend's hands. "I think you've had enough to drink," he said.

"You were the one talking about the new forms of communication, Ertajj," said Slate. "It's not like I'll never see or talk to you again."

Ertajj huffed and stuffed his hands into his poncho.

"The plan was always to go home," Slate said.

"My mother will be waiting for me," said Arianna. "And my brother, and sister."

"Sure, sure," Ertajj said. He shifted position and changed his tone. "I'm probably being silly. We'll see each other again, right? We found each other this time."

"Of course we will," said Dahzi. "Even if it takes all the resources of my kingdom."

Pilotte scrounged up a half-tree for fetch, which he brought over and set down at Slate's feet. It was obviously beyond Slate's strength to lift the trunk like Pilotte had, so he broke off a branch and threw it into the darkness. Pilotte raced after.

"How are you going to get home?" Dahzi asked.

Slate turned to Arianna, who shrugged as if to say, 'I thought you knew.'

"Umm..." Slate hummed, waiting for Pilotte and some answer to come to him.

"You can always ride with me back to Yiente," Juke offered. "And from there, I'm sure we can guide you back to the outskirts of Jaidour."

"In the balloon?" Arianna asked excitedly.

"Sure," Juke answered. "That's hent fiber construction, it's as safe as can be."

Slate turned his head up to the moonlit sky, imagining what it would be like to float in Juke's balloon.

"That'd be incredible, Juke," he said. Pilotte returned, not with the smaller stick that Slate had thrown, but now with an entire tree in his massive jaws. He dropped it down at Slate's feet with a huge thud. Slate had to jump out of the way of its roll.

"You want to ride in a balloon, Pilotte?" he asked, finding a new seat next to Arianna.

"What about you, Ertajj?" asked Juke. "Do you want to come with us? I think there's room for us all in the basket."

"Me?" Ertajj asked, obviously happy to be considered. "Nah. I'm going to stay here. Keep the printer going. It's been a while since I had any purpose. I like printing. I like seeing the books pile up, and get crated, and head out. Not going to lie, I like all the attention we get, too. I'll handle the questions, Slate, don't worry. I'll be the celebrity."

"Well thank you for your great sacrifice," Slate said sarcastically.

"Dahzi? Or, should I say, Prince Dahzi? What are your highness' plans?" Juke asked.

Dahzi took a sip from the horn and passed it to Arianna. "Oh, my parents have plans for me. It's a different world we're in now. No longer will governments remain isolationist. There's too much to gain from sharing in our new knowledge. And so I'm to be Morai's emissary."

"How do you feel about that?" Juke asked. "I never knew you to be the most outgoing person."

"Well, I'm going to have to change. Everything else is; I'd be a fool for standing by and watching."

"Who could have predicted," Ertajj said. "When I first bumped into you in that alleyway, when I first met you two all those years ago. That we'd be sitting here talking about this. That the world would be so different than it was."

"I think things will soon look very different, but always really be the same. We'll meet here, or somewhere, again, in the future, and we'll be the same people," said Arianna.

"Well let's do that, then," said Ertajj. "Let's meet back here in a few years, and slap each other on the backs about how great everything is?"

"Is that optimism, coming from Ertajj Khomz?" Juke asked, laughing. "Truly, the world will never be the same."

"Shut it," Ertajj said, punching Juke on the arm.

"So, there we are," Slate said, satisfied. "I just want to say, I couldn't have done anything without all of your help."

"Course you couldn't have," Ertajj said. "That's what we're here for."

The next morning, after good-byes, Slate and Pilotte joined Dahzi in his flying balloon. It was an ingenious design, relying on a hot air burner to generate lift via thermal dynamics. Petrified balsan wood was the heat source, which was easily controlled and directed. A basket, sewn of hent bark, hung beneath the balloon, and was bare but comfortable, lined with blankets and pillows to lounge on. Pilotte hated being contained in the basket and absolutely loathed when it lifted off the ground. He would have leapt out if not for Slate and Arianna coaxing him to stay calm, and he made the waves and cheers goodbye exceedingly difficult to appreciate, as he howled and barked and cried so much.

Morai had disappeared from view by the time Pilotte finally exhausted himself with crying and had resigned to burying his head under a blanket and ignoring the situation. Slate, Arianna, and Juke led the flock of balloons over the rivers and jungles of the Ojikef, safe from harm in their flying machine.

"Is it hard to pilot?" Slate asked as he observed Juke.

The sky was streaked with purple and red, the sun an orange ball sinking into the horizon. Arianna was asleep on to of Pilotte in the corner.

"No, not really," Juke answered. "Rise and fall are easily controlled, with these cords here. You just have to find what level the wind current is blowing which way, and that's it."

"I wonder if it's at all like sailing," said Slate. "I learned how to sail near the beginning of this whole thing, from my friend, Hid Hidli. Have you ever heard of an Itchy Fish?"

"No, I haven't," said Juke. "You want to try to pilot the balloon?"

"Really?" Slate asked excitedly.

He was already moving toward the controls before Juke answered, "Of course."

Slate found piloting the balloon was both different and somehow similar to piloting the Calamity. It was more exhilarating when an updraft would pick up a nice powerful breeze, and more boring when there seemed to be none. But it was thrilling all the same, to have ones hands on ones destiny in any such practical way.

Slate obviously enjoyed the activity so much, and was so adept at it, that Juke had no problem offering one of the balloons for him to take the rest of the way home. After a short stop in Yiente for supplies and more petrified balsan bark, Slate made his last goodbye, to Juke, and then he, Arianna, and poor, terrified Pilotte lifted off for Jaidour.

Jaidour had been turned upside-down by the coming of the Book of Knowledge. Slate and Arianna found a city in chaos, with factions from all sides of the arguments for and against the Books and how they should be handled screaming in the streets. Groups of protestors stood shouting at each other, and nowhere was it really clear what people were after. The trade and travel freeze had been lifted though, thankfully, and so passage back to Aelioanei wouldn't be impossible.

"But they want three hundred goldquartz," Slate said disappointedly as he returned to where Arianna and Pilotte sat waiting on Jaidour's docks.

"We don't have three hundred goldquartz," said Arianna.

"And that's why I'm disappointed."

Slate looked around the confused seaport, where goods and crews that had been quarantined off the coast were coming back to and struggling with the huge changes that had occurred while they were in limbo.

"Too bad Hatty's not here to help us steal a ship."

Arianna watched as a sea tern rode the air current on the beach so effortlessly that it appeared suspended in motion in mid-air.

"What about flying?" she asked.

"All the way? In the balloon?"

"See the trail of ships heading off into the ocean? There are hundreds of them, all stuffed with goods and anxious passengers waiting to get home. I imagine we could fly over their heads, so that we'd never be far from help, and they'd guide us right home."

Slate swallowed hard. "I'm kind of scared of the ocean, Arianna," he said. "The idea of the balloon failing..."

"We'd settle down right on a ship, or near where they could help us," Arianna explained. She laughed, and added, "And I don't think we'd have to pay the three hundred goldquartz at that point."

"No, I don't think so. But what about Pilotte?"

"What about him? You can take it, can't you, big boy?" Arianna asked, giving the wulf such a good scratch-down that he couldn't disagree.

"That's not fair, you can't scratch him while you ask," Slate joked. "I guess we could go for it. How long do you think it would take?"

"No longer than it would take for a ship. It seems to me that the air currents higher in the atmosphere are stronger than those close to the ocean. Though I don't know if that will hold true when we aren't over land."

"Well, I think we ought to go ahead and try. Worst case scenario, it's a free ride home. Best case, well, that must be some kind of story to tell, to have been the first to cross the ocean in a balsan balloon?"

"Like you need any more stories to tell," Arianna said, rolling her eyes. "Let's get a week's worth of supplies, I think we'll be home by then."

"And some fishing gear, just in case we aren't," added Slate.

The next morning, Slate piloted the balsan balloon around the lighthouse of Jaidour, to meet the stream of ships headed to Aelioanei. The craft passed over where the Jean Bea had smashed into the rocks, but any evidence had been washed away by the Searching Season tide.

There were shouts and cries and many mirror-flash messages from the ships on the Florian Ocean as the little balloon carrying the translators of the Books of Knowledge flew by. Some ships even sent up fireworks in appreciation of the wonder which glittered and clapped and upset poor Pilotte even more than he already was.

The balloon proved to move much faster than even the hugest ship below. Though she was not adept, Arianna had some experience with stellar navigation, from a one-year course in elementary school, and she reasoned that the ship was making almost twice their time, and would reach Aelioanei within another four days.

A day later, Arianna was making tea over the balsan stove, as Pilotte slept with his head buried in a blanket and Slate manned the ropes. He was lost in thought and so didn't see at first that some of the ships had diverted their course, but when he came to, he was startled.

"Oh, hey," he said to Arianna, "Some of the ships have started to head south... should we head south?"

Arianna stood up to see. "No, we should keep west... where do you think they're going?"

Slate realized when she asked where they must have been headed. "The Passage Islands," he said, frowning. "Pirates."

"All those ships? There are six of them."

"It's a black market. Everyone visits the black market, not just pirates, unfortunately."

"They're being so flagrant about it," said Arianna.

"Yeah, it's terrible." Slate looked over at buried Pilotte. "They almost killed him."

"The world just opens back up and they're already headed to the black market," Arianna huffed. "It's despicable." She thought for a moment, then giggled.

"What is it?" Slate asked.

"What if we... no, that's awful."

"What?"

"What if we were to give them a little balsan shower? Their black market?"

"What, from up here?" Slate asked. He imagined the idea and then met Arianna's sly grin. "Should we?"

"Maybe just destroy it a little. I don't want anyone to die."

"Of course not." Slate's eyes grew wide.

"What is it?"

"Arianna, I know where they keep their treasure..."

"Treasure? Pirate Treasure?"

"Gold and jewels, honest to goodness."

"... Is it hard to reach?"

"Not with balsan as a distraction."

Arianna's eyes went wide as her imagination reeled. "No," she said, her eyelids falling. "We're not those people. We can't do that."

"Who aren't we?" Slate asked. "The heroes from the Legend? Arianna, you asked me once, where do you think those stories come from?"

Arianna blushed and laughed. "I can't even... What would we do with it? With the treasure?"

"Give it away," said Slate. "Most of it, anyways."

Arianna stared out over the ocean. "We're going to need a very good plan, Slate, if we're going to do this."

"It'll be so easy, though," said Slate. "I'll get us down and out in no time. Mother and Father peaks, they rise over the backside of the island. We just need to come around them, touch down behind the jungle, near the fighting arena, and then exit the same way, so we're out of view. It'll be like we were never there! They'll have no idea!"

"Well, the ships are going to see us."

"We'll break off after sunset," said Slate. "We'll go without lanterns."

"This is madness, Slate," Arianna said, offering her last resistance.

"No, it's not madness. It's fun!"

The sun fell and a tiny sliver of the moon revealed itself. With the only light coming from the reflection off the waves, Slate brought the balloon around the eastern side of Mother Peak, into the black-market harbor. Once the harbor was in view, Arianna removed three pieces of balsan wood from the furnace.

"You have to go fast," she said to Slate, as he helped her put the tiny pieces of glowing petrified wood into clay jars. "The clay won't hold the heat for long."

"First one go!" Slate said as he hurled the jar down at the ships below. It exploded in mid-air when the heat grew too great, a phosphorescent green burst, and then splashed down into the water, churning up boiling bubbles as it sank.

"We only have three jars. Aim better," Arianna said as they loaded a second.

"Aim better," Slate repeated sarcastically as he threw the second jar. It exploded, and then the white-hot woodchip hit the side of a ship, which immediately exploded into a conflagration.

"Bam!" Slate whooped.

Arianna threw the third jar herself, which hit a schooner near the beach. The schooner must have been storing a good deal of fuel, as it exploded on contact so completely as to disintegrate. The pirates and traders started flowing out to the beach to see what the commotion was about, a familiar scene.

The balloon went completely unnoticed as Slate brought it down in the center of a binn grove. Pilotte remembered the place; he lowered his ears and seemed angry.

"It's okay, boy," Slate cooed. "We'll only be here for a second."

He and Arianna climbed over the basket as the cries from the beach echoed against the island's northern peaks. "I think it's working!"

Arianna was white with fear. "Tell me when it's worked."

She and Slate tore through the jungle towards the treasure cave. Slate couldn't remember the exact way, but found it before Arianna caught on.

"Through here," he said when he located the cave, holding up a curtain of ivy so that Arianna could pass.

She could hardly believe how vast the treasure store was.

"Why? Why store this much? What's the point?" she asked as she looked over the piles of silver, the statues, the coffers overflowing with goldquartz.

"Greed, probably," Slate answered. "Let's lighten their load."

The two gathered up as much as they could, both using silks like sacks, and then made it back to the balloon faster than before. Arianna worked the stove and the balloon rose up into the sky, above the trees, where it was clear to see the fire had overtaken the whole bay.

"You think they're alright?" Arianna wondered over the edge of the basket.

"There's lots of water around," Slate answered. "They'll be fine."

Up the balloon rose, between Mother and Father Peaks, away from the island, to rejoin the line of ships making their way west.
29

One more day was passed floating over the Florian Ocean in Juke's balloon. When verdant Aelioanei revealed itself that afternoon, Slate and Arianna let out a sigh of relief, though Pilotte remained dubious.

"Oh, thank the Gods," Slate said. "We made it."

"Did you think we wouldn't?" Arianna asked.

"I certainly had doubts."

"Where are we?" Arianna asked, surveying the island below. "I can't quite tell."

"I imagine we'll touch down just outside Magri," said Slate. "We can make the trip up to South Airyel tomorrow."

"I can't believe we're almost home, Slate. I know I wasn't gone for all that long, really, but it seems like we saw the whole world! And maybe even another planet, in Opal Pools. Though, I imagine the rest of the world will start looking a lot more like Opal Pools sooner than later."

"I bet it'll be later for Aelioanei. At least, for Alleste."

"I want to see Alleste, Slate. Can you take me there?"

"Of course, Arianna. After we go see your Mom and your brother and sister, you want to go back with me? Check on the house?"

"I'll go anywhere with you, Slate."

"Well hold on tight," Slate said, piloting the craft around the wind shears whipping around the rocky coast of the island. "We're about to touch down!"

The craft alighted on a wide field of soft grass. The instant he was sure the basket was back on solid ground, Pilotte leapt out of it, and proceeded to roll around as if he never thought he'd see dirt again.

"That's right, Pilotte!" Slate cried. "We're home!"

"We made it!" Arianna cheered.

Just then, something whipped past Slate's ear.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, swatting a possible bug near his head.

"Hear what?" Arianna asked.

Slate heard another something whizz by, and then they both heard a thwack, an arrow, which had lodged itself into the balloon's basket.

"Run for cover!" Slate yelled. "We're under attack!"

He and Arianna dove back into the balloon's basket as a whole barrage of arrows came volleying from the nearby woods. The attack didn't distract Pilotte in the least from wriggling with happy abandon through the grass.

"Please, stop! We don't mean you any harm!" Slate shouted to whoever was shooting. He grabbed Arianna. "They're going to puncture the balloon!"

"Are they trying to kill us?" Arianna cried. "I don't want to die! Not now, not after everything!"

The barrage of arrows stopped.

"Maybe they heard you?" Slate asked.

"Maybe they're just out of arrows," Arianna countered.

Slate rose up to peer over the edge of the balloon basket, to see if he couldn't find Pilotte. As he did, he saw four people approaching.

"We're unarmed!" he shouted, throwing his hands up.

"Stay there!" one of the people ordered.

Slate climbed out of the basket to meet the strangers. "My name is Slate Ahn," he said cautiously. "I..."

"I said, stay there! Are you devils Opalites?" the stranger demanded.

"Opalites?" Slate asked. "You mean, from Opal Pools? No, no, we are definitely not Opalites. Absolutely not."

Arianna climbed out of the basket and took Slate's side.

"Have you not heard?" she asked.

"Heard what?" asked one of the nervous strangers.

"What has happened on Proterse? With the Books of Knowledge?" Arianna asked.

The four strangers looked confused and angry.

"What're you talking about?" asked an older man with wild, gray hair, who seemed to be the leader of the strangers.

"There's much to explain," said Slate. "But all you need to know, right now, is that you have no reason to fear Opal Pools anymore."

"Is that so? And what matter of evil is that?" the wild-haired man, still clutching his rudimentary bow tightly, asked of the balloon.

"It's called a hot-air balloon," said Arianna.

"It's flying mayhem!" another of the wild-eyed strangers insisted. "It's dark magic!"

"No, it's not, it's a simple assemblage of natural parts," Slate said, "Composed in the most ingenious of ways."

"Natural? Flying through the sky? No, this can only be the works of the devils in Opal Pools!" one of the two women said. She fell to her knees, crying, "Oh, mighty ones, forgive us for attacking you! Be gentle with us!"

"Please, please, listen," Slate begged, "I can show you how this was made. And you can even build balloons for yourselves, we can show you how. I promise, there is nothing to be afraid of."

"How could you possibly teach such wizardry?" the wild-haired man asked.

"Here, we will show you," Arianna said, crossing back to the basket to retrieve a copy of the Book, which she took to the leader of the group.

"What is this now?" he asked with tears in his eyes.

"It's a book," said Slate.

"I know damn well it's a book," the man said.

"Well read it, and you'll see what we're talking about," Slate said.

"But I can't read," the man said.

"Then have one of your friends here read it to you," Slate said.

"None of us can read," one of the women said.

"Can anyone? In town? Are we not near Magri?" Arianna asked.

"We are," the woman answered. "My sister can read..."

"Well then go get her!" Slate said. "Or take it to her. This is a copy of the entire Books of Knowledge."

The group stared at Slate as if to say that meant nothing to them.

Pilotte finally had enough frolicking at this point and came over to greet the strangers.

"You watch that animal!" the wild-haired man cautioned.

"Sir, I assure you, Pilotte will do you no harm. Just so long as you don't keep shooting arrows at us, or anything else like that," said Slate. "If you'll show me to them, I'd love to tell your people about what we uncovered in Proterse. It is good news, I promise. There is nothing to fear."

The old man scrunched up his face and grunted. "Well, I suppose you're unarmed... But the wulf has to stay here!"

"That's fine, isn't it, Pilotte?" Slate asked.

The snarlingwulf smiled.

"Come with us," the gray-haired man said. "And don't try anything funny!"

"So, no jokes?" Slate whispered to Arianna as the two were led away.

When the two met the crowd gathered around a fire in the small encampment in the nearby woods, one of Magri's elders rose from his chair to meet the newcomers.

"Who are these strangers?" he asked the wild-haired man. "Why have you brought them here?"

"They come from the sky!" one of the women answered.

"The whole story is too much of a tale to tell here, sir," Slate said.

Arianna handed the copy of The Book she was carrying to the elder. "But what we can tell you is that this book comes from one of many printing operations springing up across the continent of Proterse."

The man turned the book over in his hands but didn't open it. "Are the four of you from Opal Pools?" he asked.

"No, sir, as we told the others," Slate said.

"Why have you come here?" the man asked.

"We are on our way home," Arianna said. "To Aislin."

"You are from Aislin?" the man asked.

"I am," Arianna answered. "Slate is from Alleste."

"I see," the man said, now opening the book and paging through it gently. "And how long will you be here?"

"We hadn't planned on staying more than the night," answered Slate. "But we can stick around if you want, to help get a printing operation started here, so that you can start to print copies of The Book for yourselves."

"Why should you do that?" the man asked, obviously confounded by the words and pictures in the book. "And what nature of book is this?"

"It is the Book of Knowledge," said Slate.

The elder was the only one around the campfire who seemed to know what this meant.

"You don't say!" he gasped.

"It's true," said Slate.

"Well, your story must be truly something incredible!" the man said, his enthusiasm growing. "Please, can you tell it to me?"

"Of course we can," answered Slate. "Can you help us, to spread the word? Can you help us start a printing operation here, so that the knowledge in the books can be spread as far and wide as possible?"

"There could be no task greater," the man said. He turned to the waiting crowd. "Friends, our guests bring us an incredible gift."

"What is it?" one of the crowd asked.

"Let me tell you all," the man said, sitting back down into his chair, "About the world before."

It took two weeks to teach those few in Magri who could be convinced the Book wasn't some sort of evil how to make copies. The copies their homespun press started to produce lacked most of the pictures that the master copy from Morai had, though the essential diagrams were crudely reproduced. The important information was all there, and by the end of the third week, there was a small pile of books ready to pass on to Airyel and beyond.

Slate and Arianna were able to source more petrified balsan, and so decided to float on to Aislin. Four days of smooth sailing later, apart from poor Pilotte's inability to make peace with flying, and the team were back in Arianna's hometown. The Falls house had become a tourist attraction already, calling people from all over the city to come see AlriFal's library. Brit Falls had turned the interest in the house into a lucrative business, and so Arianna and her friends were welcomed back into an atmosphere of ease and joy. Mayor Kale was a fading memory, and people were returning from the south to help reinvigorate and polish the city back to the jewel of Aelioanei it had once been. Mart took the reins of Aislin's printing operation, and it seemed everything was not only back to where it had been, but better than ever.

"I'm just so proud of you both," Mrs. Falls said to Slate and Arianna as she brought them a plate of warm folds. "The searches have all stopped. You've saved our house. Our town. Possibly the world."

"It wasn't us," said Slate. "We just passed out the tools. It's everyone else that's changed the world. Though, I do wonder if it'll cause more harm than good."

"What makes you think it might?" asked Mart. "The world is free now."

"I have to believe that freedom is what's best for all people," said Slate. "Though, as much trouble comes with freedom as with captivity."

"Let's just hope it's not too much," said Arianna.

Mrs. Falls shook her head. "To think, in my lifetime... Your father would be proud, children. And your parents are cheering you from across the universe, Slate."

Arianna smiled. "I'm sure of that," she said. "It'd be your story your mother would tell, now."

"I wonder how our old house is doing," Slate said, before sinking his teeth into a warm fold. "Back in Alleste."

"Why don't we go see?" Arianna asked. "The snow on the pass should be melted soon enough. Mart can more than handle the printing operation herself. We could take a trip."

"What do you think, Pilotte?" Slate asked his wulf, who was licking a lart rib clean on the floor. "You want to head out for another adventure?"

The wulf smiled.

"Looks like he's in," said Slate. "And what about you, Mrs. Falls? Care to take a trip?"

"What, camping?" Mrs. Falls asked. "It's been years..."

"All the more reason," said Slate. "Come on, come with us. It'll be good for you."

"How about you kids run ahead and I'll catch up," said Mrs. Falls.

"Don't waste your time trying to talk my mother into camping," said Arianna. "Trust me."

"Fair enough," said Slate. "No matter what the future may hold, there's nothing to be afraid of. We'll be back soon enough."

"You had better be," said Mrs. Falls. "As soon as you can."

Over the next week, Slate, Arianna, and Pilotte retraced Slate's steps back through the Yellow Forest, over the Blue Bridge, and through the Blue Forest back to his tiny village. If any news of the happenings around the world had made it to Alleste, it was far from obvious, as it looked the trail hadn't been disturbed since Slate took it the first time. It was incredibly relieving to see, as the whole time he had been away, he had worried he might never be able to return home to the same place he had left. All fears had faded by the time the trio who had gone across the world and back made it back to Alleste, to find it as quiet and desolate as before.

"So what are we going to do with all that treasure, anyways, Slate?" Arianna asked as the two made their way through a pinea grove.

"Oh, save it for the future. Raising a family can be expensive," he answered.

"You're going to be raising a family, are you?"

Slate was taken aback. "Oh, well, I mean, maybe, if, we, or anyone, if, they..."

"I'd start a family with you, Slate. If you wanted to."

Slate felt the blood rush to his ears. "I'd like that, Arianna. You know, if you would. If you want to."

"We can talk about it."

"Of course we'd talk about it."

Pilotte sniggered at Slate.

"You keep your snout out of it, Pilotte," Slate said.

"Are we much further?" Arianna asked, noting the fading light.

"Not, not much further now."

When the team at last came to the little village Slate had left so long ago, hours after sunset, it appeared as if someone was already there. A thin trail of smoke rose from the little chimney, and garden tools recently used were piled up next to the front door.

"Who is it?" asked Arianna.

"Not sure," said Slate. "A squatter? Let me check. You two stay here."

"We'll keep an eye on him, Pilotte," Slate heard Arianna whisper, as he walked up the path to his house.

He knocked softly on the front door, and then stepped back to wait. There came nothing from the hut, and so Slate looked back over his shoulder at Arianna with a shrug. Slate knocked again, a bit harder, and then he saw a candle flicker to life somewhere in the depths of the house, through the thick, yellow window beside the front door. The candle bounced and weaved through the darkness inside, and past the window to hide behind the door, which then creaked open just the slightest bit.

"Hello? Can I help you?" asked the sleepy voice from behind the door.

Slate gasped.

"Greene?"

"...Slate?" Greene pulled the door all the way open. "Slate, is it really you?" he asked, trying to recognize his brother's face in the contorted shadows of candlelight.

"It's me! It is really you?" Slate asked, though of course he knew it was. He stepped up onto the porch and grabbed his brother, squeezing him tightly. "Greene!" he cried, as his brother laughed and pushed back.

"Slate! Shhh!" Greene giggled. "I can't believe you're here!"

"Me? I can't believe you're here!"

"How long have you been here?"

"About two weeks," Greene said. "Came back with a girl I met up in Nowhere."

"You were in Nowhere?" Slate asked. "Me too!"

"You're kidding! I came back once before, to try and find Dad or you, but the house is empty. And now here you are! Incredible! What have you been up to?"

"Just about everything," Slate said. "It's a long story. What about you?"

"Just odd jobs, really, to make some money to bring back. But then no one was here, so I went to make some more. Slate! I can't believe you're standing here!"

"Did you hear about Dad?"

Greene searched Slate's eyes and knew something was wrong. "No, what happened to him?"

"He died. Trying to protect a stranger."

Greene fell back from the doorjamb into the darkness of the house.

"I know. Greene, he wanted me to tell you he loved you. I have a letter he wrote, you can see it."

Greene reappeared, his eyes wet with tears. "Damn. I wasn't ready for that."

"I know. Life can happen so fast."

"I guess so." Greene sighed and wiped his eyes. "He wouldn't want us to be sad, though, you know Dad."

"Yeah."

The two conducted a silent study of the moon.

"You want to come in, brother?" Greene asked, breaking the silence. "We'll have to keep quiet, because of Kaya, who I can't wait for you to meet, but I've got some pretty good cider, if you're interested."

"I'd love to." Slate stepped back and motioned to Arianna and Pilotte. "I brought some company of my own."

"Who's that? Wait, what the hell is that thing?"

"That's Arianna. And that's Pilotte."

"You're friends with a snarlingwulf now?"

"Hey, it wasn't my choice! But he's the best friend you could hope for. Think Kaya would mind if we joined you in there?"

"Hey, you know as well as I do how small it is. But we'll make it work. Might have to chase out the squee, though." Greene smiled. "I really can't believe you're here."

"I'm here, brother," said Slate. "And I brought you some presents."

"Oh? What kind?" asked Greene.

"Books," said Slate.

"Books, huh? Hey, what happened to Mom's Legend? I couldn't find it in the house anywhere..."

"I've got it," said Slate. "Don't worry."

A voice called to Greene from somewhere in the house. "That's Kaya," he said. "I should go let her know what's going on so she doesn't worry."

"Go to it," said Slate.

He and his brother hugged again.

"Go get your friends, Slate," Greene said. "And we'll talk in the morning, alright?"

"Can't wait," Slate said. He turned from the door and began to walk back down the pathway to the road.

"Who's that?" Arianna asked as Slate approached.

"That's my brother," Slate answered.

"Greene? You're kidding!"

"Nope. He's got a girl here, we can stay and then we'll all meet in the morning."

"Well it's all just perfect, isn't it?"

"Seems that way."

"Are you happy, Slate?"

"I couldn't be happier, Arianna. I'm home."

TO BE CONTINUED

In Legend of Alm, Part 2, we jump half a century into the future. The Incandescents follows a crew of colonists to the Undiscovered Lands, a new continent discovered using technologies unleashed by Slate Ahn's Book of Knowledge. What the colonists find behind the mists has incredible implications for both the known history and the possible future of Alm. Monsters, jetpacks, evanescence rays, and more abound in a rollicking fantasy adventure.

