

### THE CREATOR'S EYE

### MOVER OF FATE: PART I

Copyright 2014 Roni Feldman

Published by R.N. Feldman at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Map of Arimbol

Map of Ennor

Chapter I: Discovery Day

Chapter II: Crossroads

Chapter III: The Drop Out

Chapter IV: Guiding Light

Chapter V: The General

Chapter VI: Will and Destiny

Chapter VII: The River

Chapter VIII: Light and Shadow

Chapter IX: Roak

About the Author

Other Books by R.N. Feldman

Connect with R.N. Feldman

To all those Creators who help

make the world a better place.
Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Morgan Just, Maggie Light, and Caroline Miller for their keen advice, and to all my friends and family who patiently nodded their heads every time I uttered, "I swear, the book is almost done!" My apologies for any whiplash that I may have induced.

CHAPTER I

DISCOVERY DAY

Michael took a deep breath as he watched another seizure wrack his mother's body. It was a small one, but he dutifully laid her on the floor just in case it became violent. He stood nearby as she twisted and shivered. He had to remind himself not to interfere— to let the attack run its course. The seizures always caught him by surprise, but the procedure to deal with them had become almost banal— lay her on the floor, make sure she didn't hit her head, then wait until it was over.

After a few moments, she lay still and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Michael helped her sit up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to a chair at the dining table. Her wiry brown hair tickled his ear. It was the same color and curliness as his, but no amount of combing seemed to keep it in place anymore. He could barely recognize his own face in her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. He looked more like his father anyway, with his golden skin, green eyes, and broad shoulders. His mother, meanwhile, had grown thin and frail, but when he lifted her up, her limp body felt as heavy as a sack of wet dough.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked as he arranged her in her chair.

Her dull, dark eyes stared ahead blankly.

"Mom, do you want to eat?" he asked, although he didn't actually expect a reply. It had been years since she had articulated a full sentence, but he didn't like treating her like a vegetable. Once in a while she was lucid enough to grunt a response, but this time, she did not even move.

"I'm going to make dinner now," Michael told her, tentatively leaving her, hoping she would not fall or have another seizure the moment he turned away.

He went to the kitchen sink where he had only just finished washing the vegetables when he had been interrupted by her collapse. He sliced the sweet, white ghost carrots— a summertime favorite of his town— into big chunks and put them in a pot with the other vegetables. He covered them with stock and turned up the heat on the stove. The pilot clicked a few times, but there was no whoosh of flames springing to life. Michael grumbled at the malfunctioning burner as he set the pot aside and lifted the enameled stove lid. The firebox was out. The small carton of rocks that usually glowed red with potential heat were instead an ashen grey.

Michael had boiled some water for tea that morning, so he knew that they should be working. Usually when they died, they went out slowly, becoming weaker over the course of a few days, but these had just inexplicably lost their oomph. He wondered if he had accidentally spilled something on them. Regardless, he would have to light them, but he didn't hunt for matches. Instead, he took it as a chance to practice his Moving.

He set the kitchen timer for five minutes, rolled up his sleeves and pointed his finger at the small cluster of stones. He stared at them, or actually focused his eyes on an imaginary point beyond them. He would _make_ them catch fire. According to the books his uncle Sefu gave him, he should not hope, need, want, or pray for the fire to manifest. He had to imagine it was already there. Anything less merely affirmed his lack of will. It was a small nuance, but made all the difference.

Michael focused his thoughts like a beam of sunlight, pushing all foggy doubt out of his mind that what he was doing was impossible. His mind wandered occasionally, but he kept bringing it back to its goal, to the reality that he required— that there was already fire in the firebox. His concentration reached a frenzied tension and his vision blurred. Unable to hold his thoughts anymore, Michael relaxed his stare. His vision re-focused and to his satisfied surprise, a small spray of sparks issued from his fingertip. It surrounded and warmed the firestones. Without stopping his Moving, he checked the kitchen timer. Two minutes had elapsed. It was not a personal record, but Michael acknowledged that there was at least merit in consistency.

The dull stones crackled, catching fire on their own. Michael ceased his Moving, lowered the stove top, and replaced the soup on the revived flame. While waiting for it to boil, he chopped garlic and parsley. Even though his mother was about as responsive as the firebox was a moment ago, he did his best to make her meals taste good. He hoped that a well-cared for meal was somehow healing or imperceptibly uplifting to her spirit.

Michael added some herbs and salt, and when the vegetables had softened, he turned off the flame and crushed the whole concoction with a sturdy slotted spoon. It was kind of a shame to mash it up, but lengthy chewing was beyond his mother's ability.

"Here you go," he said, serving her a bowl. "Eat it while it's hot."

At first it seemed she hadn't heard, but a ghost of awareness flitted across her face. She dipped a spoon into the beige puree and after a slow moment, dragged it to her lips. Michael watched her mechanically eat for a while. He listened to the clumsy clink of the metal spoon against her teeth and the sloppy glug of her throat. Once he was sure that she was underway, he got up to wash the dishes and perhaps find a moment to pour himself a bowl. But before he took a step, he heard the rustling of packs at the front door. His father was home.

Michael hurriedly opened the door for him. His father was still rifling through his pocket for his keys. "Ah, thanks!" his dad, Simon, smiled through crow's feet and a thick salt and pepper beard.

Michael took his father's bags.

His dad stepped into their living room, shutting the door behind him. "So?" he asked as he peeled off his coat and slung it over the sofa. "Is your mom okay?"

Michael described her recent seizure and added with measured assurance, "I think she's fine now."

"Was that the only one?" his dad asked, but did not sound particularly concerned.

"No, she had a series of them a couple hours after you left. She's been mostly absent since then. I had to stay around the house the past couple of days keeping an eye on her."

His dad nodded aloofly and patted his belly, which along with a slope to his shoulders, had grown more pronounced since his wife took ill. He strode over to the stove and ladled himself a bowl of soup. "Is this all there is?" he asked disappointedly.

"Um," Michael began, a little frustrated by his father's dissatisfaction, "I think there's some phoenix in the ice box from last night," he suggested.

Phoenixes were a fiery-colored, long-plumed fowl commonly raised in the region, but lacked any of the powers of resurrection borne by their mythological namesake.

Michael's father wrinkled his nose at the prospect of cold bird and glumly muttered, "I'll stick with the soup."

Michael tried not to make a face and instead asked how his trip was.

"Interesting," Simon began as he took a seat at the far side of the table away from his wife. "This was an exciting one."

Michael's father worked as an assessor for the government's environmental insurance agency. Arimbol, the island chain on which they lived, was full of unexplained natural phenomena colloquially called Folds. They were places where nature and physics would bend. Most Folds were so subtle that unless you were paying close attention you could pass through them without notice, but others were beautiful, miraculous places. Michael had heard of some where water flowed uphill, optics went awry, or wind burst from the ground with the force of a hurricane. There were also Folds that were quite dangerous, that could make you sick, crazy, or even kill you. Most Folds were relatively small though, only affecting an area the size of his living room, while the largest engulfed the entire Arimbolean archipelago.

Michael had never had the chance to travel, so loved to hear stories whenever his dad returned from one of his many trips. He had seen more of Arimbol than anyone else in their village, so knew a great deal about its flora and fauna, most of which existed nowhere else on Earth. Some were widespread across the islands and were even farmed. Besides the phoenix and summer ghost carrots, their town of New Canaan was particularly famous for the blue wine squeezed from coastal cobalt grapes grown on the surrounding hillsides. East of Canaan, towards Alexandria, was miles of black wheat. While the hills around Canaan were called the Blue Mountains, that area was sometimes referred to as the Burnt Plains.

Some plants and animals were less widespread. They were so specifically adapted that they might inhabit a single pool of water. His father had told him about the white thorn fish that clung to the slippery rocks of a single stream north of Urgench, or the roaks, the giant birds that nested on the tallest peaks of the Morningstar Buttes. Michael's father told him that they were so large that they could easily carry off hesats— the shaggy, one-horned buffalos that grazed on the southern grasslands.

Michael was anxious for his father's story. He sat down with him, keeping an eye on his mother to make sure she was still eating. "So what did you see?" he urged.

"Well, a few days ago, a farmer in Skarra claimed that a long chasm had opened in the ground and green fire just shot out of it, destroying a huge swath of his crops. But when I arrived, the fields were burned, but there was no sign of a Fold. For all I knew the farmer had lit the fields on fire himself while burning leaves. But upon closer inspection, there was a series of cracks running down the center of his land. It looked like the ground had unzipped like a pair of trousers." He gave a sharp snort then slurped back a spoonful of the thick stew. "Hmm, needs salt," he said, reaching for the shaker across the table before going on. "I told the farmer, 'Look, I can fill a report out, but there's nothing indicating that a Fold did this. For all I know, you just got drunk and did something foolish.'"

"The guy looked offended and exclaimed, 'It's happened more than once! Just stick around tonight and you'll see!'" Michael's father sighed. "I didn't particularly want to stay there any longer than I had to, but he seemed sure of his tale. Plus, in my job, I've seen stranger things than fire shooting out of the ground, so I agreed to spend the evening there. He and his wife were hospitable and offered me dinner, but I couldn't take it, of course. Regulations, you know. I fortunately had the sandwich you packed for me."

Michael nodded, glad his cooking had been of some use.

"I waited there until midnight, but nothing happened, so I got up to leave. The farmer begged me to stay just a little bit longer, but I was tired from the trip and wanted to go back to the inn. Just as we stepped out onto his front porch, I noticed a green glow coming from the field. We stood there watching as the ground began to hiss and jets of green fire streamed from the earth. It followed the jagged slit I had seen earlier, but it cracked wider. The crops around it caught fire, and the line jutted quickly across the field. It ran straight for their house."

"What did you do?" Michael asked, leaning in.

"We were dumbfounded at first. I mean, we just sat there with our jaws hanging open like a thirsty hesat. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but the fire moved quickly. I got my wits about me and yelled at the farmer and his wife to get inside and go out the back."

Folds rarely appeared in places people had inhabited for a long time. Usually his father was called in to examine some place that people had wandered into while traveling. It was his job to categorize and map them, and to file claims for people if they were injured or lost property, but this was unusual that he had to rescue people himself.

"I ran out into the field and the damn farmer followed me. There was an irrigation ditch running nearby. I quickly Moved the ground with blasts of energy until I carved a trench running to the fissure. The water flowed through it and made the flames die down a little, but the ground was still cracking and burning and running for the house. So, the farmer and I built up a huge mound of dirt to bury the rift."

"For a moment, it seemed like we stopped it, but then it just shot straight through the mound. A few seconds later, the farmer's entire house was gone— just burned to ashes. The Fold finally stopped just short of the tree line at the end of their property."

"Was his family okay?"

"No one got hurt, but it's a hell of a mess for the agency. We don't know if the land will be safe to live on, or even their neighbor's land for that matter. I'm going to have to go back with a crew and run a bunch of tests on it. For now, the farmer and his neighbors are staying with friends, but we're going to have to find somewhere permanent for them. It's going to cost the crown a lot of money."

"What a mess!" Michael added.

"But we'll solve it," His dad said confidently as he got up to drop his bowl into the sink. "I'll probably have to go back there next week. Are you okay with watching your mom again so soon?"

"Sure," said Michael, his willingness buoyed by his father's heroism. "But I was wondering if you could do me a favor tonight? My friends have been back from college for the past few days and I haven't had a chance to see them, plus tonight are the Discovery Day fireworks."

Michael's father sighed and rubbed his temples. Michael could feel the refusal coming on.

"It's been a long couple of days, son. I could really use a night to relax..."

"But I haven't seen them in almost a year!" Michael implored. It had been a while since he had used such an insistent tone with his father, but his friends were back for summer from the Moving Academy in Alexandria and he was dying to catch up with them.

His dad grimaced, "Alright, just come back in time to help me get your mom upstairs."

Michael was elated. He thanked his father and set about finishing his chores so he could hurry to see them.

•••

It was evening, but the sun was still high in the summer sky when Michael left the house. He lived near the edge of town, so the trailhead was not far away. The wood-paneled ranch houses of his neighborhood were spread some distance apart, separated by large, wild gardens. Despite the remaining daylight, birds chirping, and the buzz of summer insects, the few street lights in his neighborhood were already on, as if in anticipation of the night's festivities. Kids waved sparklers and tossed poppers in the street while young couples walked hand in hand towards the center of town. At the intersection, a few neighbors loaded a donkey cart full of jubilant toddlers to take to the festival.

Instead of following the procession, Michael turned left at the intersection towards the outskirts of town. He could see his three friends waiting for him at the end of the street. James, a tall, slim boy with dirty blond hair tucked under a red bandanna leaned against a lamp post, smoking one of his fastidiously rolled cigarettes while the other two boys appeared to be in a heated debate. The stockier one with curly brown hair was Jake. From the distance, Michael could see him gesticulate widely as he tried to make his point. Meanwhile, Sam, who was short, round, and black-haired, smiled patronizingly at him and shook his head. Michael recognized the bright yellow chevron with the letter "A" emblazoned on the front of his shirt as the emblem of the Academy of Alexandria.

James saw Michael approach and ground out the cigarette with his foot. "Hey, Michael!" he announced. They embraced each other with hearty pats on the back.

The other two stopped bickering and welcomed their friend. "Good to see you, old chum!" said Sam. "Looks like you've been taking good care of the town while we were away."

Michael laughed, "You probably thought it would fall into the sea without you."

"I bet it hasn't been much fun without us," speculated Jake.

"That's for sure!" Michael agreed. "I haven't done much since you guys left. It's been downright boring."

Jake asked if he hung out with any of the kids from the class below them.

"Sometimes," Michael replied, "but honestly I spend most of my time taking care of my mom."

"She's not any better?" asked Sam, caringly. He was always the most sensitive of his friends.

Michael shook his head.

"Well, I'm studying medicine," said Sam. "Maybe I'll find something."

"Don't count on it," chortled Jake. "Sam is last in his class!"

"I'm not last!" Sam scowled and barked at Jake.

"You're not winning any races though," Jake prodded again.

"Stick it up your round brown!" said Sam, making a crude gesture with his thumb and forefingers.

"Aw, I miss you guys bickering," said Michael with a sarcastic smile. "You sound like an old married couple. But seriously, Sam, I appreciate that you want to help."

"You're welcome," he said, clapping Michael on the back. "Honestly, I think watching you take care of your mom is what made me want to study healing."

Michael was about to ask him how his program was going when James cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt," he said, "but we really should get going if we're going to return in time to see the fireworks."

Michael and the others concurred and followed James onto the trail. It passed through farms and vineyards, whose trellises were lined in neat rows adjacent to the path. Blue grapes appeared pearlescent against the leaves curling in the summer heat. Jake stopped to pluck a few ripe ones and popped them in his mouth.

"I've missed these!" he slobbered.

Michael grabbed a few as well. The juice was sweet and tart. "If you still lived here, you could be having these all the time," said Michael, spitting out a few small seeds.

"Yeah, right!" snorted Jake, with blue juice staining his lips. "Like I would ever quit the Academy!"

"Is it great?" Michael asked enviously.

"It's amazing!" he beamed, oblivious to Michael's tone. "I never liked school much before, but learning how to do these things— how to Move— it's fantastic!"

"What have you learned?" asked Michael, no longer salivating just over the grapes.

James waved anxiously at them from further up the trail. "Hurry up!" he called.

They were lagging behind their ever punctual friend. They grabbed a few more grapes for the road and picked up the pace.

"Well," said Jake, "we're really just learning the basics. Like for Moving class, we've been working on increasing and decreasing energy."

"Like Moving energy to power a home?" asked Michael who had been practicing on the lights in his house at night once his mom fell asleep.

"Psh!" scoffed Jake, "Are you kidding? This is beginning Moving! We started by heating and cooling a glass of water, but for our final exam we had to Move the air to lift a sheet of paper off our desk. I was first to do it— top of my class!"

"That's awesome!" cheered Michael, impressed by his friend who was not such a star student in high school. However, Michael found it odd that lifting a piece of paper was perceived as an outstanding accomplishment. The book his uncle gave him had him gusting his bedroom into a pigsty by the second chapter. He was only able to rouse the tempest for a moment, but a big blast was not so different than Moving something much smaller. Even his text said that. Michael didn't want to insult his friend though, so he beckoned him to continue. "What else are you learning?"

"Well, I'm taking applied metaphysics and philosophy of Moving. Those are our required classes. And then for my elective I'm taking beginning engineering."

"What's that?" asked Michael as they trotted along the trail, trying to keep up with James' long legs.

"That's where you use Moving to build things— you know, machines, architecture. I mean, we're not making anything like that, yet. Just small clockwork objects, making water flow uphill, small self-powered lights. It's really cool— I'm even thinking of majoring in it."

"Nice!" said Michael. "My dad uses some of that in his job. There's a lot you can do with it."

"Sam is studying healing, of course, and James is taking an environmental studies class."

"That makes sense," said Michael. "He's always been a nature boy. I bet he knows more about these hills than anyone else."

"Probably," agreed Jake, "but they're teaching him about all the plants and animals unique to Arimbol. There's all kinds of uses for them, you know."

The four young men had now passed beyond the farms through a golden, rolling meadow shaded by great, gnarled oaks. At the end of the field, the trail met a small stream and turned upward, following the flowing water into the hills. Soon they were huffing and puffing as they ascended the winding trail. They could hear the burble of the stream throughout their climb.

"Whew!" gasped Sam as he struggled up the hill. "This trail used to be so easy!"

"It still is easy!" James called back from further ahead. "You've just gotten soft from all that greasy dorm food. I bet Michael's doing okay, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Michael agreed, but was not so sure. He hadn't had much time to hike in the last year either.

"I'm just looking forward to some fried cheese sticks at the festival," Sam drooled. "It'll be a reward for this long walk."

"If you keep rewarding yourself with cheese sticks we'll have to roll you to class from now on," laughed Jake, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Actually I prefer if you and James carry me on a palanquin. You should also address me as King Sam the Magnificent."

"I'm going to call you the Stench King," joked Jake, batting his hand in front of his nose. "I don't like walking down wind of your sweaty rump." He then charged past Sam and the other two, jumping over rocks and tree roots as he ran. James and Michael took off after him.

"Aw, come on!" griped Sam, falling into a lumbering jog.

The trail wound back and forth through the trees before leveling out at the ridge. Here the creek bubbled out of the ground forming a shallow pool only a few inches deep, but it flowed steadily enough to feed the long stream down the hill. The spring also had a Fold around it that made the water glow blue when the sun went down. Most people believed that it was that blue water that gave the local grapes their special hue.

No one quite knew how they worked, but as Folds went, this was a pretty small and harmless one. The best guess was they were a fold in time and space, or between other dimensions that allowed strange physical anomalies to occur. Regardless, this one was always a beautiful sight when paired with the Discovery Day fireworks far below.

Beyond the pool was Roak Rock, a large outcropping of stone that overlooked a forested canyon below. Jake and James climbed up the crag while Michael knelt by the burbling stream. He drank a few handfuls of water before running some through his wavy hair. It was blissfully cold and refreshing after the sweaty hike. He admired its subtle blue glow as it dripped off his hands.

Sam finally came chugging up the hill. "Sweet lord, I think I'm going to throw up!" he gasped. "Why do you guys always have to run?"

"Have some water." Michael suggested.

Sam plopped down and stuck his face right into the stream.

"Criminy!" called Jake, stretching his legs on top of the rock, "You're gulping like a horse!"

Sam pulled his dripping face out of the water. "I wish I was one! Maybe then I wouldn't be so winded."

Once they had their fill, Michael and his sopping friend ascended the outcropping. Roak Rock was pitted with convenient footholds eroded by the rain, but was still steep and tall enough to get Michael and Sam's hearts beating again by the time they reached the top.

"Magnificent view!" pronounced James.

"Completely worth it," Sam panted in agreement.

While the rock rose no more than thirty feet above the ridge line, its face towered above the ravine. From their perch, the boys had a panoramic view of the countryside. Ahead of them they could gaze across a great sea of rolling hills.

"That's where the Academy is," said Jake pointing northeast.

"Yup," said Michael. "And to the west of there is Palmyra Forest. That's where my uncle Sefu lives."

Sam turned around and exclaimed, "Check out the sunset!"

Behind them, over the hill they had just climbed, was their town, and beyond that shimmered the Atlantic Ocean, with the sky and clouds above it burning a glorious orange. The house lights of their town were just flickering on as the sun sank into the sea. They could hear the distant pop and whistle of small fire crackers, children playing, and dogs barking.

Discovery Day was Arimbol's biggest national holiday. It celebrated the settling of the mid-Atlantic archipelago some twenty-eight years before. Michael learned in school that it was founded shortly after World War II when a group of scientists were commissioned to research a navigational anomaly noted by supply ships heading to Europe. The anomaly turned out to be the Shield Fold that surrounded, hid, and protected the island chain. From the outside, the Fold flattened the archipelago into a thin strip making it appear as only a fraction of an inch wide and visible only from certain angles. Meanwhile, the interior remained completely three-dimensional. Anyone wishing to travel to Arimbol needed to approach with specific bearings guiding them straight into either end of the thin Fold, or else be forced to sail around it.

With support from the U.N., the researchers established the first colonies, but due to the islands' isolated nature, the colonists soon broke off and established a monarchy, headed by King Leyon, one of the lead scientists. Under his guidance, they constructed the first cities and Moving schools, and began recruiting people to move to Arimbol in greater numbers.

Michael's own family was from the U.S. as were most of his neighbors, but he knew people from all over the world. Sam's parents came from Japan and Germany and James was part Argentinian. While Arimbol's first inhabitants were largely scientists, government officials, and urban planners, the second wave of immigrants were nick-named "wounded doves" as they tended to come from hard situations. Sam's father escaped poverty and oppression in East Berlin. He found himself hungry and alone in West Germany before being invited to Arimbol. Meanwhile, Jake's dad lived on the streets of Chicago and James' mother lost both of her parents and sister in a car accident forcing her to grow up under an abusive aunt. Michael also knew a handful of refugees from poor or war-torn countries. They all immigrated to the islands with dreams of a better life, a chance to forget, or an opportunity to start over.

The Shield Fold allowed only minimal contact with the outside world, and imports of foreign goods and technology were largely banned by the crown on the grounds that they corrupted the unique nature of the islands. However, the Folds and Moving provided a gratifying alternative for most everyone invited to live there. Life in Arimbol was not without its challenges, of course, but it was considered a relatively utopian place to live.

Michael was proud of Arimbol's history and he appreciated Discovery Day as a chance to celebrate new beginnings. He unfortunately knew little about why his mom and dad opted to move to Arimbol. His father was always vague on what trauma, if any, brought them there. Regardless, Michael loved their adopted homeland and felt lucky that they opted to immigrate.

With a contented sigh, he turned away from the view of New Canaan, knocked the trail dust off his jeans, and sat down on the edge of the ravine. There was a cool breeze blowing up through it. He felt at ease and was glad to have his friends back. It was a pleasure to joke around and think of something besides his obligations. He had not had the opportunity to act like a kid for some time.

The other three sat down next to him. "So you guys have left out something very important from your stories," Michael posited.

"What's that?" asked Jake.

Michael gave them a cockeyed look and cleared his throat, expecting them to know what he was talking about, but they just stared bewilderedly at him.

He threw up his hands, "The girls, of course! What are the girls at the Academy like?"

The three of them laughed. "Aw, that's where you're really missing out!" grinned Jake. "They're gorgeous!"

"Too bad you can't get any of them," James mocked Jake.

"Hey," Jake argued, "I went out on a date just last week!"

"That wasn't a date," laughed James. "She was helping you study!"

Sam whispered to Michael, "Jake has been pining after this beautiful blond girl, for the whole term."

Jake gave Sam an icy look. "First of all, I was helping her study. And second, it was too a date! She even gave me a kiss afterward."

"There is no way she snogged you!" James gibed. "She's like the hottest girl in school!"

"Yeah, I heard about that kiss," snickered Sam. "You made a pass at her in the library and she rejected you."

"Go chew a pinksnake!" snapped Jake, red in the face.

Michael smiled and turned back to the view. A flock of birds took off from the ridge to their north. He could hear dogs barking in that direction, louder than those from the distant town. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" asked James.

"The dogs," he said. "I think they scared those birds."

"So what?" snipped Jake, still irked. "It's probably someone out for a walk."

"I just thought that's weird," Michael shrugged. "I didn't think anyone came here except us, especially during the holiday."

"Not everyone likes a party," Jake replied.

"Well, it does sound like they're getting closer," Sam observed.

They listened as the barking became louder, moving through the trees and chaparral toward their perch on the rock. It sounded like there were at least two dogs and they were pretty agitated.

"I'm going to go check it out," said Michael. He climbed down the rock with James and Jake after him.

"I'll stay up here," said Sam, warily wringing his hands, "Those dogs sound pretty ticked off."

Michael, James, and Jake reached the bottom of the rock and stared out across the haunting glow of the spring into the thick bushes. It was becoming quite dark and Michael's eyes could not pierce the tangle of grass and brambles. The dogs were quite loud now.

"Someone's coming," announced Sam unexpectedly from right behind Michael, making him jump. He had panicked standing alone and joined the other three.

They could hear the frenzied steps of someone crashing through the bushes. Snapping twigs and tromping shrubs, a figure emerged. He stood across the water, panting heavily, arms held out from his sides. His clothes were ragged and torn and a hood covered his head. His face was dark beneath it, but the cerulean light of the Fold glinted off his eyes. They looked terrified.

"Please!" the man begged through tattered breath, "Please help—," but before he could finish his thought, a barrel-chested dog with a gnarled face and shaggy black mane burst from the undergrowth. It vaulted against the man's back, knocking him face first into the stream. With another swift flurry of black fur, it clamped down on the back of his neck and shook him violently.

The boys stumbled back in shock. The dog twisted the man's neck as a second hound came snarling out of the bushes.

Michael wasn't sure what made him the first one to react. Maybe it was seeing the man fall that reminded him of rushing to keep his mother from hitting her head whenever she suffered a seizure. Whatever it was, he knew from the dog's fury that he had mere seconds to save the stranger.

Michael looked to his side and saw a pair of branches lying on the ground. He grabbed one in each hand and ran into the stream. He jabbed the thinner, pointier stick like a spear at the first dog's head. It let go of the man's neck and snapped onto the end of the branch, holding it with its teeth and trying to tug it away. Michael whirled the other, heavier branch and smashed it down on the dog's skull with all his might. As the dog stepped back yelping in pain, the second one lunged for Michael. He sidestepped the attack, but slipped on a rock and fell into the water. With ferocious agility, the beast turned and was snarling over him, its white fangs and red gums bared against its broad black snout. Michael tried to scramble to his feet before those teeth could sink into his throat, but the rocks were slick with algae and he couldn't lift himself up quick enough. As the growling beast dove upon him, Michael saw a flash of green foliage and heard a fleshy whump as Sam slammed a branch across its nose.

The hound doubled back in surprise. James charged next, hurling a rock at its head, which missed by a fair distance. That gave the dog a moment to collect itself. It lunged at Sam, catching him by the ankle with enough force to wrench him off his feet. Sam screamed as he collapsed against the rocks.

Michael managed to get to his feet and realized that he was somehow still holding one of the branches. He swung it like a golf club, connecting with the dog's lower jaw. The beast yelped as Michael brought the branch down for a second blow to its cranium.

The hound was thoroughly jarred and ran back to the far edge of the stream where it was joined by the first beast. They furrowed their snouts and stared irately at the young men. James threw another stone at them, which also missed. The first dog took a tentative step forward and growled as if to attack again. But then Jake hurled a stone, which glanced off its side, and then James threw yet another that connected firmly with the second dog's face.

Michael beat his club against the rocks and stream, splashing luminous blue rivulets every which way. "Come on!" he challenged the dogs to attack, but they seemed to think better of it, turned, and padded back into the bushes. With a rustle of chaparral, they were gone.

Michael knelt beside Sam who was still lying in the spring, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked.

Sam stared up at the sky for what seemed like a long while. "I think so." He sat up with a groan and examined his leg, which was bleeding through his sock. "I can't move it," he observed with curious calmness. "How's the other guy?"

James was already turning the stranger over. "He's not breathing! Give me a hand!" he called.

Jake splashed through the stream and helped him drag the limp man to the bank while Michael helped Sam hobble over. They laid the stranger out in the dust of the trail.

"Is he alive?" asked James.

Jake searched the man for signs of life. "I think his neck is broken." He pulled back the man's hood and gasped.

"What is it?" James asked. Then seeing what was wrong, dittoed the exclamation, "Woah! What's wrong with his face?"

Michael turned to look and was shocked to see a pair of short, curved horns protruding from the top of the man's completely bald head. One of them ended in a stump that was half jagged and half smooth as if it had been sawn part way then snapped off. The man's features otherwise looked human, but Michael could tell even in the low light of dusk that his complexion was awry. He was a dull, grayish-green. Red rivulets flowed from his throat and ran in a dark trail through the gravel to the blue river Fold.

"He must have stumbled into a Fold," guessed Jake.

"A Fold that turns people's skin green, makes them grow horns, and sends vicious black dogs after them?" asked James sarcastically.

"My dad has seen Folds do a lot of strange things," said Michael kneeling by the dead man. He picked up a limp green hand. The skin was already growing cold. "It's not impossible, but that is a pretty unlikely combination of effects...and it definitely doesn't explain the dogs." He pointed at the man's clothes. "Have you ever seen anyone wear something like these?"

"It looks like armor," observed James.

The man was indeed wearing a leathery-looking chest plate with protective sleeves of thick, black leather. A red star was emblazoned on the front of the chest plate and on each shoulder. He also wore tall black boots that looked more appropriate for combat than jogging through a forest.

"What do we do with him?" asked Jake. "Should we go back to town and find help?"

"We can't leave him here," Michael asserted. "Those dogs will come back as soon as we're gone." He asked Sam how he was holding up.

"Um, I'm okay, but my leg is bleeding pretty badly."

"Do you know any healing techniques?" Michael asked him.

"Yeah, but I've never used them on people before. They don't let first years do that."

"Ok, now is probably not the best time for you to try it out," said Michael. "We need to wrap up your ankle then."

"You can use my bandanna," said James, proffering the sweaty piece of cloth.

They didn't have anything significantly cleaner, so Michael took it and wound it tightly around Sam's wound. His ankle was twisted like it could be broken as well. Michael tightened the bandage and helped Sam onto his one good foot. His friend draped an arm around Michael's shoulder to support himself.

"Can you guys carry the body?" asked Michael, bracing himself against Sam's heftiness.

"Are you kidding?" Jake whined. "We barely made it up here just carrying ourselves!"

"Come on, Jake," said James patronizingly, "It's downhill almost all the way. We can't leave him here to be eaten by dogs."

"Yeah," added Michael, "and my dad needs to see his face so he can find out where the Fold is that did this."

"Alright," Jake grumbled, "but I get to carry his feet."

•••

Despite their adrenaline, it took a long while to descend the mountainside. The wan crescent moon slipping behind the hills did little to light their path as they made their way through the fields just outside of town. Michael helped Sam hobble along while Jake and James bore the horned man behind.

As they reached the oak tree, Michael's ear perked up. He could hear dogs barking in the distance, coming from the forest beyond the fields.

"We have to hurry," he said.

They picked up the pace. Sam limped as fast as he could, groaning with each step. As they reached the vineyards the barking was clearly closer and Michael could tell from their cacophonous calls that there were more of them.

In a sweaty panic, James and Jake overtook Michael and Sam, sprinting as fast as they could with the heavy body. Michael could see the streetlights of his neighborhood not far away. Beyond that, the first fireworks exploded into the sky, signaling the start of the Discovery Day celebrations. The sound of their bursts mixed with the wild clamor of the advancing dogs.

Michael knew that just beyond the farms were his parents and neighbors. The street lights meant safety. People could see them there— people who might come out to help. But there was no time to get there. The dogs were approaching fast. Their raucous howls seemed right behind them.

Michael dragged Sam faster, but the hounds were quicker. Michael was exhausted and covered with sweat. He turned to his friend whose leg was streaming with blood and his face was streaked with dusty tears. They were so close to home, but weren't going to make it at this pace. Suddenly, it seemed idiotic that his friends were carrying a dead stranger's corpse instead of Sam. He called out to them to put the body down and come back, but they didn't hear him. They were too far away or perhaps delirious from exertion.

"Sam, you're going to have to sit down," Michael said.

"No," wheezed his friend.

"Sit down," Michael commanded as calmly as possibly.

Sam looked terrified, but allowed Michael to lower him to the ground. "Michael, we have to run! _You_ have to run!"

Michael ignored his friend and turned around to see a pack of five, black-maned dogs bounding down the trail. Michael bent his knees, and put out his arms, standing as if he was going to push a heavy block. He focused on the dogs in his mind while his eyes blurred, staring into the middle distance. He took a deep breath. He would have liked to take many more, but there was no time. Just as he had practiced that morning over the stove, he imagined a burst of light and flames issuing from his palms, but larger, massive, and powerful enough to stop the snarling horde racing upon them.

"Michael!" Sam begged. "What are you doing?"

But Michael wasn't listening. He concentrated on his body filling with energy, Moving from his mind to his feet and back again, then imagined all of that energy flowing into his hands, building up to a mighty force. He drew his palms back then thrust them into the air ahead of him. As he did so, he imagined the dogs smashed apart by a blast of fiery light.

Michael returned from his mind's eye and stared awestruck at the result of his intention. A radiant orange flash was subsiding. His fireball had struck the pack of dogs and sent them flying in a cloud of smoke and flame. But one last dog leapt through the carnage, unharmed and undeterred by the shattered pack.

Michael crouched again, ready to hurl another ball of flame, but he knew there was no time. The dog was already springing through the air. Michael couldn't think about what he wanted. He couldn't bring his mind to focus upon the breath and the controlled Movement of energy he needed to save his life. All he could see was the wide pink maw and gleaming white fangs flying at him through the blackening night. He shut his eyes and held them tight.
Chapter II

CROSSROADS

A blue the color of the daytime sky flashed so brightly that it penetrated Michael's clenched eyelids. There was a deafening bang and he was knocked off his feet by a scorching gust of wind. Bits of flying gravel stung his face. Michael lay stunned on the ground and coughed from the dust and smoke that suddenly filled the air. Before he knew what had happened― why he was inexplicably not being torn apart by that deadly pink mouth― sturdy hands reached under his arms and lifted him to his feet. Through the whirling clouds of gypsum and trail dust he craned his head to see his father holding him up.

"Are you okay?" Simon asked.

Michael stammered. He didn't know what to say. He was too tired and confused. He felt fine, but between the monstrous dogs and the sudden explosion, it seemed too unlikely that he should be. He took a few seconds to make sure that all of his body parts were accounted for before mumbling, "I think so."

His father turned to Sam, who was lying on his back further up the trail. It seemed that Michael had been blown backwards a fair distance. Sam groaned, but did not stir. They rushed over to him and helped him up. He appeared to be no worse than before, except rather stunned by the blast.

Michael could see his other two friends standing in the street light, staring back at them, still carrying the limp body of the horned man. "Great shot, Mr. Edwards!" called Jake.

"Michael, what happened?" his father asked.

Michael took a few more dusty gasps before finding additional words, "We were up on the ridge, by the Fold, and that man came out of the bushes. The dogs were chasing him. They mauled him around the neck before we could fight them off."

His father looked impressed, "That was very brave of you, son. I didn't know that you could Move."

"I...I've been studying while you were away," Michael stammered, suddenly realizing he had blurted out his secret. His father had expressed little encouragement in his passion to study Moving. In fact, he had often tried to dissuade Michael, insisting that he was needed at home to take care of his mother. But this did not seem like the best time to discuss his clandestine studies. "There's something else," he said, changing the subject. "That man over there...there's something wrong with him. He has horns on his head and his skin's a weird color."

"Horns?" asked his father, raising a brow.

They walked over to where James and Jake were standing. They laid the man down on the cobble stones. Sweat glistened on their foreheads and soaked their shirts. They were still panting a little.

"Look," said Michael, pulling back the man's hood. He half expected the horns not to be there, as if he had hallucinated the whole evening, but they were still protruding from his skull, glinting yellow under the streetlights. "Do you think he wandered through a Fold?"

Michael's father stared at the man, brows furrowed. He responded only by tugging at his thick, graying beard.

"Dad? Do you think it could be a Fold?" he asked again.

"Yes," the senior Edwards muttered dryly. "I can't imagine what else it could be."

•••

Between taking Sam to the healers, locating his parents at the festival, and telling the evening's story a few times over to awestruck friends and authorities, it was several hours before Michael had a chance to rest. He expected to sleep deeply that night, but he felt that he had barely closed his eyes when he was awoken by the sound of his front door opening. He heard the deep voices of several men as they entered his house.

It was still dark outside his window, so Michael was not sure how long he had slept. What little sleep he did have was fitful and filled with the howls of distant dogs. Somehow, he wasn't groggy. His anxiety energized him and he sat up straight in bed. He could hear heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards as the men tromped into his living room.

Michael dressed quickly and snuck out to the top of the stairs so he could hear them better. He could not see anyone from his roost, but was quite sure the deepest voice belonged to the mayor, a heavy-set, mustachioed man in his fifties who always wore white-collared shirts a little too open so a wild scraggle of chest hair was just able to protrude out the top. It reminded Michael of a groundhog poking its head out of its hole to cautiously check for predators.

"...and that makes four in all," the mayor said. "The young girl was mauled quite badly. The healers are still working on her, but they need help from the masters at Alexandria."

"Have you called them?" he heard his father ask.

"We tried, but the lines are out," spoke a younger man that sounded like one of the mayor's assistants, probably John Fontaine.

" _All_ the lines are out?" his father asked in disbelief.

The mayor spoke again, "We've tried several phones. We even used the radio, but nothing's working."

John added, "We've had techs working on them for the last few hours, but no luck yet. They say that it may be a malfunction at the communications hub in Alexandria, but aren't sure yet."

"I have the girl stabilized for now," added a third voice, "but the wounds to her head and abdomen are quite severe. For her to make a full recovery she'll require more help than I can provide." Michael assumed that was Dr. Chang, a newcomer to the town and the islands in general. He was not an expert in the healing arts used in Arimbol, but was a respected doctor in his own country.

The mayor said, "We will of course do everything we can for her. In total there are three injured people in the hospital, plus one dead man with horns sticking out of his head. No one knows who he is. Plus there are more packs of those animals roaming the town. We had to shut down the celebrations early and set up a patrol. We could hear them out in the vineyards as we walked over here. Master Edwards, do you think these animals are attacking us because of some kind of Fold?"

"It's possible," considered Michael's father, audibly shifting about on what Michael assumed was their rumpled yellow couch. "I've seen Folds cause transformations in people and I have seen strange beasts emerge from them, sometimes even aggressive ones, but more than one effect per Fold is unusual."

"So it's multiple Folds?" asked the mayor.

"Possibly," considered Michael's father, "but they would have to be very near each other, if not overlapping."

"Can you find them?"

"Maybe. I would probably start at the ridge where my son first spotted the man and the dogs. I could try to follow their trail back to the Folds. I'm no expert in tracking though."

"John," began the mayor, "can you find someone in the village with hunting experience?"

"I think Mr. Garcia can help with that."

"We also need a few good Movers," the mayor continued. "People that have some skill to defend themselves. We need to warn everyone in the town to be careful and to not walk alone at night, especially on the outskirts of town."

"We should also check on the farmers to make sure they're safe," added John.

"Right," said the mayor. "In the meantime, we'll keep working on the communication lines and hope for the best, but we should also send a party to Alexandria to retrieve a healer."

"Wouldn't it be quicker to simply take the girl there herself?" asked Michael's father, adding that even at a fast clip it was a day's journey there each way.

"It would be faster," responded Dr. Chang, "but I would not move her in the condition she's in. I believe that I can at least keep her stable until more help arrives."

"Between sending people to Alexandria, a crew for me and security for the town, we're going to need a lot of help," said Michael's father.

"Right," said the mayor worriedly. "I fear we may be running low on skilled Movers."

Michael listened to the Mayor and his father list and divvy up their few assets. He was anxious to assist them, but knew his dad would make him stay with his mom. It was thus to his great surprise to hear his father suggest, "I think Michael should join the others to Alexandria."

No one responded. Michael assumed that they were just as shocked as he was. They all knew his family's situation.

After a stunned moment, his father continued, "Last night, I saw him blast several of those beasts away. Apparently he has been studying on his own and can Move much better than I ever suspected."

Michael was taken aback by his father's praise for his recently revealed abilities.

"But who will take care of Rose?" the mayor asked concernedly about Michael's mom.

His father explained, "I will make sure to be back by nightfall. If I don't reach the Folds by then, we'll have to organize a more elaborate expedition."

Michael heard the visitors stand up. As he watched them emerge from the living room and walk back towards the front door, he carefully slunk away from the stairs to be less conspicuous.

"Please ask your boy if he wishes to do this and we'll try to collect a few others for the journey," said the mayor, anxiously fiddling with his mustache.

"We need to move quickly, for the girl's sake," the doctor reminded everyone.

As soon as the door was shut, Michael's father turned and looked up to the dark mezzanine where Michael was hidden. "You can come out now," he demanded. "I know you've been listening."

Michael emerged sheepishly, unsure how his father caught him. "You really want me to go to Alexandria?" he asked.

"You don't want to?" his father replied, raising his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips, making him look thoroughly incredulous.

"I do," Michael mumbled hesitantly, "but..."

"Look," his father began tentatively, "I saw what you did last night. You have talent as a Mover. Did you learn all of that on your own?" He was actually smiling with a look of pride that Michael had not seen in a long time.

"Well, I had some books to help me," explained Michael. He was unsure if he should reveal more about them, but he knew his father would eventually pry it out of him. "Uncle Sefu sent them to me."

"Sefu?" his father spat, his smile fading to a sneer as if he smelled something unsavory.

Michael nodded uncomfortably, noting his father's unease at the mention of his uncle. "They're just basic textbooks," Michael continued, trying to understate his uncle's efforts to educate him.

"You know I don't like him interfering," his father said irritably, but then he caught himself and reversed course. "Never mind," he grumbled with a frustrated sigh. "I have an ulterior motive in sending you on this mission. It's not right for me to keep you here when all of your friends are going to college. You have talent that I did not know about. After finding the healers and the comm. station, go visit Chancellor Smith at the Academy to see if there are any spaces available for you to attend in the Fall. I'll write a letter for you and am sure that we can get a recommendation from the Mayor as well. He will owe you for performing this service. What do you think?"

Michael was astonished at this sudden shift in attitude. "That sounds great," he said tentatively, afraid that this sudden permissiveness could be withdrawn as quickly as it was granted, "but what about mom?"

"I'll work it out," his father said. "After all, I'm getting older and should maybe start focusing on projects closer to home."

Michael was shocked and thrilled. He ran downstairs, embraced his father, and thanked him repeatedly.

•••

It was early afternoon by the time Michael and the other three volunteers rode through the Blue Mountains beyond the edge of town. They rode swiftly on four white pegasus horses, bearing the tell-tale double mane on their shoulders reminiscent of folded wings. They were considered to be the fastest in Arimbol and were the quickest way for them to reach the hospital in Alexandria.

Despite the urgency, it took them a while to depart. They had to find volunteers and pack bags with food, first aid kits, and clothes for the night. This was normally a safe trip made by people every day, but the strange dogs that attacked their neighbors made their security unpredictable. Camping was out of the question, so they would have to spend the night at an inn along the way.

On horseback, Michael's head rose well above the cobalt vineyards. He could see far in every direction. To the west was the sea, blue and glistening in the afternoon sun. Beyond it was New Canaan, where he had just hugged his parents goodbye, excited for this brief but important journey.

As he rode past the vineyards, soft-tailed cottonwells scampered for their burrows amid the dry summer grass, and emerald-banded magpies inquisitively glanced down at him from twisted red oaks. Michael thought of the two letters from his father and the mayor to the chancellor of the Academy tucked into his breast pocket. He imagined what it would be like to attend school in the Fall and make this same journey with his friends Jake, James, and Sam who would be well-healed by then. He imagined signing up for classes on the first day and what he would take. All of the courses his friends took sounded so interesting— healing, engineering, biology, but it was applied metaphysics that really caught his imagination. He wanted to master Moving energy with his mind.

Michael had once heard that top students who finished the four year Masters program could apply to stay on for an extra two year research position. He imagined pushing beyond the boundaries of the books and courses to discover new applications for Moving. But of course, that was a long time away. First he had to deliver the letters to Chancellor Smith and hope that there was still space for him.

He dreaded to think what would happen if there was not. He would have to return home and wait there for another six months, or maybe even a full year before he could enroll. He tried to push this worry out of his mind and think positively, but the assuredness did not stay long. He felt guilty that he wanted to leave his home and his parents so badly, especially since they needed him. His father had always tried to dissuade him from studying or moving out on his own.

When Michael's friends applied for the Academy, he confronted his father. He told him that he wanted to study there, too― that he needed to grow, be an adult, and live his own life, but his dad was furious. Michael couldn't recall exactly what he had said, but he couldn't forget the look of anger and betrayal on his father's face. He made Michael feel so guilty that he never brought it up again. However, his heart never stopped yearning to join his friends in Alexandria.

Michael's birthday was a few months after that argument. His friends had all been accepted to the Academy and already left for school. Michael was feeling especially dour about this along with his relationship with his father, which was strained then even more than usual. They rarely spoke more than morning pleasantries to each other or enough to coordinate their schedules for the day. Michael didn't plan to do much for his birthday. He was too depressed to celebrate and there was no one to celebrate with anyway. But then something came in the mail that lifted his spirits― a gift from his uncle Sefu. It was a beginning textbook in applied metaphysics.

Michael wrote Sefu a thank you letter, and told him that he was unable to attend school that year, but he would use and enjoy the book nonetheless. A short time later, Sefu sent Michael another package containing two more books, more advanced than the first and including notes scribbled in the margins. An inscription from his uncle on the first page read, "So you may pursue Moving on your own. You shall be your own master."

That morning at breakfast, Michael remembered telling his father, "Uncle sent me a gift."

His father immediately snapped, "I don't want to hear about him!"

His father and Sefu had not spoken for several years. Michael decided it was best to keep the books under wraps. Over the next year, Sefu sent additional texts and Michael secretly devoured them.

Expectant of his father's undisguised disdain for Sefu, it came as a big surprise to Michael that his dad changed his mind. Even more so were the last words he said to Michael before he rode away, "Your mother would have wanted you to go."

Michael held those words in his heart and they washed away the guilt he felt about leaving. In a moment, he forgot his worries and smiled serenely again. He turned his attention away from New Canaan and the sea and looked northeast where beyond the hills and grasslands lay his future.

To either side of him were his companions. First, there was John, the mayor's aide. The mayor was frustrated to lose his assistant, but without enough good Movers in Canaan to go around, it was the best option.

John was probably the most well-trained traveler with Michael. He was twenty-eight years old, thin, short, and baby-faced, yet was obviously smart and skilled enough to be hired by the Mayor. Everyone said that he might become mayor himself someday, or perhaps move on to an important role at New Salem, the capital of Arimbol.

The other two volunteers were Aiden and Donald, two freckled and rust-haired Irish brothers in their mid-thirties. They had moved to the islands as boys and now owned a market with their parents near the town plaza. Both were burly and thick-armed from stocking hefty crates of produce all day. They were hardy men who camped, hunted, and traveled during their time off. They knew Moving for all of those things, so were valuable companions for this trip.

The dogs Michael had faced yesterday did not balk when attacked. They seemed more than fearless— they were determined. If they encountered more such animals on this trip, they would likely have to defend themselves, but with John, Aiden, and Donald he felt confident that they could.

However, Michael was not a confident rider, so focused silently on the road. The others were somberly quiet as well. Instead of taking the steep trail up the ridge that Michael climbed the day before, they followed the main road through the canyon that slowly rose to the north of town. This dirt road was wide and well-packed by years of wagon wheels and the heels of many feet. It passed through the hills before descending to the grasslands beyond. Vast black wheat farms with white ranch houses dotted the landscape and would be all they would see for some time.

•••

It was dusk by the time they saw trees along the trail again. The sky was a deep purple with a dusty yellow glow on the horizon. Michael was sore from riding all day. He was not used to riding for so long, nor were his horses. Despite the great reputation of their breed, even they had slowed considerably in the last hour.

"The pond is nearby," announced John.

As they approached a shallow pool lined with oak trees and stray tufts of black wheat, they dismounted and allowed their horses to drink their fill. Michael stumbled, his legs almost numb. He bent one back at a time, stretching his taught hamstrings.

"So what do you guys think?" asked Aiden, donning a jacket against the cooling evening. "There's an inn nearby. It's probably the last place to rest before night comes."

"Ain't no sign of those dogs," said Donald. "We should go on."

Aiden pointed out that all of their horses were getting tired. "I don't want them to get injured. I would hate to be stuck out here and have those dogs come upon us in the dark."

Being the youngest, Michael was not sure if he should offer his opinion, so instead decided to ask, "What about the girl?"

"Didn't the doctor say he could take care of her for a few days?" asked Aiden.

"He did," began Michael feeling responsible for her well-being, "but do we really want to test that?"

"I hate to say it," John dissented, "but we should stop. It does her no good if we get stuck in the middle of nowhere or if one of us gets hurt. We can leave when the sun rises and still be there by midday tomorrow."

Michael thought that this was sensible and did not protest further.

When their horses were sated, they remounted and trotted the short distance to the Crossroads at Leptis where their path continued to the northeast. Roads branched northwest towards Roan, and also south to the Hattusa River on the way to Urgench at the southernmost tip of their island.

Leptis housed little more than a couple stores for food and supplies for travelers. Sprawling ochre sycamore trees shaded the streets and a grassy picnic area for travelers to relax. Their great indigo shadows covered most of the town in the waning light. Closest to where the roads crossed was a stone inn swathed in white primroses. It was surprisingly charming for such a tiny flea bite of a town. A wrought iron sign above the front entrance advertised a tavern and restaurant, while a warm, homey light beckoned from the windows.

The group tethered their horses to a fence post and slouched tiredly into the lobby. A broad wooden counter greeted the guests, but there was no attendant.

John rang a bell on the front desk. "We would like some rooms for the night," he announced, but no one appeared.

"Is anyone here?" Aiden added after a while.

Michael walked into the adjoining tavern. The air smelled stale. Several of the tables still had plates of partially eaten food on them. A few plates lay shattered on the floor while two chairs were tipped onto their backs. No one had bothered to clean up. It was as if the restaurant and its staff had abruptly decided to abandon their duties. Michael suddenly realized how quiet the hotel was, and the whole town for that matter. It was late in the day, but it was strange that no one was attending any of the fruit stands or walking in the street. Aside from his companions, not a single traveler was to be seen. The charming inn suddenly felt quite eerie.

"What's going on here?" Donald wondered. "This place is usually busy. All the farmers stop here on their way to Alexandria."

"No merchants, no travelers..." murmured Aiden. "Do you suppose they're closed for Discovery Day?"

"Why would a hotel close for a big traveling holiday?" countered his brother. "And besides, that was yesterday. Everything should be open today."

Aiden nodded his head. "Should we check the rooms upstairs? Maybe the owner is asleep."

"I don't think so," Michael said, returning to the lobby. "The restaurant is a mess. It's like everyone just disappeared. And look at the desk," he pointed. It was strewn with papers, some of which had spilled onto the floor.

"This is weird," said John, backing towards the door. "I don't think we ought to stay here. Let's press on to Alexandria."

Michael and the others concurred, but just then Michael heard something. "Do you hear that?"

"Is someone here?" asked John, startled.

"No," said Michael, "it's from outside." There was a distant rumbling. It sounded like the gallop of distant hooves.

"Yeah, I hear it," said Aiden. "Definitely horses. Maybe it's everyone from the hotel?"

"Why would they all leave together?" asked Donald skeptically.

"Well, let's go see," said John. "It sounds like they're coming this way."

Michael could hear the rumble growing louder. It sounded like there were more than just a few horses. The group went back outside and walked to the town center where all the roads met. They stood staring at the road towards Alexandria.

Out of the darkness approached a party of men on horseback― Michael guessed twenty in all. All of their horses were black and had thick shaggy fur, the likes of which Michael had never seen before. As the riders approached, they showed no sign of slowing down. Suddenly, Michael saw something that made his hair stand on end. Perched on the head of each and every rider was a pair of sharp, curved horns.

"Run!" he yelled to his companions, but they just stood there dully. The approaching riders drew swords. They gleamed against the evening murk. Michael shouted for his friends again as he ran towards their horses. They finally realized the menace and turned after him. A bolt of red light screamed through the air, striking Donald in the back and knocking him to the ground. Aiden stopped to help him up, but was likewise struck by a blast to the chest, sending him tumbling backwards.

The air suddenly filled with shafts of red light. They struck the ground all around Michael's feet as he ran. He and John reached their horses and untied the reigns, fumbling with them in their panic. Just as John released the tether he was blasted back into a hedge of primroses. He slipped to the ground, eyes shut, and chin sunken against his chest.

Michael threw himself into the saddle and kicked his horse into a gallop back towards New Canaan. He crouched low, his head tucked against his horse's neck to avoid being hit by the shots, but before he could get past the first fruit stand, a blast struck him in the side. His whole body rippled in agony as he tumbled off his horse. Stars flashed before his eyes as he collided face first with the ground.

After rolling to a battered stop, he lay stunned on a dusty road for the second time in twenty-four hours. He was certain this was bad for his brain. His chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. He stared up at the stars emerging from their nighttime veil. He wanted to stand up and get back to his horse, but his legs were numb. His head throbbed and he tried to bring his hand to it to see if he was cut, but his arms would not respond either. They just flopped like fish suffocating out of water. Suddenly, a sword tip was pointed at him just inches from his face.

"Don't move," growled a horned figure standing over him.

"I can't," said Michael. "Or at least not really..."

"Shut it, roundhead!" snapped the man, pressing the sword to Michael's cheek. Its point dug into his flesh, cold and sharp. Michael cried out, but was answered by a boot to the ribs.

"Watch it!" called another horned man from atop a shaggy horse. Michael noticed that he seemed to have longer horns than the rest of the assailants. "Don't beat them up any more than you have to, especially their faces. Just tie them up and get them out of here."

The first horned man grunted in reticent acquiescence, then shoved Michael into a sitting position with the toe of his boot. As he bound Michael's hands with metal shackles, the effect of the blast seemed to fade. His breath returned along with the feeling in his appendages.

Michael's captor called to another horned man who helped him hoist Michael to his feet. They shoved him toward the main group of horned people, who Michael could now plainly see where soldiers. They wore the same black armor with red-starred insignias as the dead man at Roak Rock. John, Aiden, and Donald were tied and on their feet as well. They didn't appear to be hurt. Michael looked around for somewhere to run, but there were too many soldiers. He would not get far, and would probably suffer a worse beating than before. He could feel a warm trickle of blood dribbling from his hairline. It met with the cut on his cheek and coursed down his chin.

"Drastos!" called the long-horned man atop the horse. He seemed to be the lead officer.

"Sir?" responded the soldier who had assaulted Michael.

"Chain these profaners together and march them back to the city. Take three other kulpas with you. I shouldn't need to remind you again that Lord Acheron needs to look them in the eye and wants them breathing," the captain said sternly, "but if these roundheads try to escape, I am sure you can invent other ways to make them obey.
CHAPTER III

THE DROP OUT

Michael and his companions were marched all through the night, chained together at the neck and forced to walk single file with each man's hands shackled together behind their backs. The iron cuffs were heavy and chaffed Michael until his skin was raw. The blood had stopped dripping from his head wounds some time ago and had dried in a rusty blotch across his shirt.

There were two soldiers behind them and another in the front led by the short-tempered Drastos. All of them rode high above them on horseback. These strange invaders all looked about the same to Michael. All had the same greenish pallor and stubby bull-like horns upon their heads. They were completely bald, with neither hair on their scalps nor their chins. They also wore the same garb including black, leathery chest plates with red stars, which Michael assumed were military uniforms.

No one had spoken since leaving the Crossroads several hours before. It was dark out and Michael had no idea where they were. He was befuddled about the day's events. A short time ago he had tried to save one of these men and now he was a prisoner to them. It seemed unlikely that this was the result of some kind of Fold. They had obviously kidnapped everyone at the Crossroads and taken them away. 'But where?' he pondered to himself, 'and why? And where were the other horsemen going?'

Michael decided to take a chance with Drastos' temper. "Where are you taking us?" he asked.

Drastos ignored him.

"We need to see the healers at Alexandria," Michael tried again a little more forcefully. "There's a little girl who will die if we don't get help."

There was still no response, but John glared apprehensively at Michael over his shoulder.

Michael considered a different plea, "Back in my village, I saw one of your people being chased by dogs."

With the wave of a hand, Drastos brought the march to a sudden halt. He spun his horse about and brought it alongside Michael.

"Oh?" he asked, curiously, "and what happened to him?"

Michael hesitated, but remembered that he tried to help the man. He thought that should count for something. "I tried to save him. I fought off the dogs, but his wounds were too great. He was already dead. My friends and I carried his body―"

Drastos suddenly kicked Michael in the head, sending him toppling over. His chains dragged his companions down into a dusty pile. The other soldiers glared at Michael from atop their steeds.

"Neacan was a traitor!" snarled his captor. "Those dogs were supposed to tear him to pieces, you stupid roundhead! Thanks for confirming that they did." He yelled at them to get up and keep marching.

"Where are you taking us?" Michael protested.

"If you waggle your tongue again, I'm going to cut it off," threatened Drastos.

"Do what he says," John urged, wincing like a scolded puppy.

The blood had started to leak anew from the blow to Michael's head. He saw his companions all kneeling on the ground and realized that he was causing trouble for them, too. Drastos was too quick to anger, so Michael decided to keep his mouth shut for now.

•••

As the sun rose over the exhausted prisoners, Michael was surprised to see the stone walls and brick red rooftops of Alexandria rise in the distance. He suddenly felt more at ease, as if his plans to visit the Academy and Chancellor Smith were still somewhat intact. 'But why were these soldiers taking him there?' he wondered.

Alexandria was encircled by a great stone wall. The Memphis River, which fed the city and nearby farms, flowed along the western flank of the city. As they approached, they crossed a bridge over it and the massive steel gate of the city cranked opened for them.

Michael had been to Alexandria a few times with his mother before she became ill. He remembered the streets as bustling with students, professors, and scholars, all engrossed in the study of Moving, but there was no sign of any of that now. Instead, black and red-garbed men marched in rows with swords at their sides and horns on their heads. Others lugged weapons and armor, loading them onto carts. Some of the soldiers stared at the prisoners as they walked past while a few of them sneered. Michael thought he heard some mumble "roundheads" and "profaners" under their breath, but most seemed too engrossed in their chores to pay them any mind.

The prisoners marched through the cobblestone streets shaded by broad sycamore trees, three-story row houses, and venerable college buildings. They came to a wide plaza which was usually full of people talking or playing games in between classes. Drastos brought them to a stop in the center and ordered the other soldiers to remove their neck cuffs.

With his collar gone, Michael breathed deeply and stretched his aching neck. But there was no time to relax. Boots, shouts, and threatening sword tips prodded him to stand shoulder to shoulder with his mates. They faced a long colonnaded dormitory at the far end of the plaza. Michael stood on the far right, with John immediately to his left. John was shaking and Michael could feel cold sweat on his arm as they stood together. They waited in this position for several minutes. Occasionally Drastos barked at them to keep still.

Finally, a large arched door swung open on the left side of the plaza. Michael craned his head to look, but Drastos howled, "Face forward, human!"

Michael snapped back into position, but tried to see what was happening out of the corner of his eye. A dozen soldiers emerged in two neat rows. Several had long horns like the captain at the Crossroads. They marched in unison with right hands on the hilt of their swords and the other swinging stiffly at their sides. At their lead was an impressive figure. He was taller than the others, his horns were even longer, and he even had several additional ones that ran down the center of his scalp in three rows of short spikes. His skin was grey-green like the other soldiers, but noticeably brighter than theirs. He also wore a heavier suit of armor with bands of radiant gold encircling his chest and shoulders. His gauntlets and epaulets were of a shimmering crimson metal that Michael had never seen before. A cape of red and black rolled over his shoulders and billowed at his sides making him appear even larger. More striking than this outfit, was his intense countenance. With a furrowed brow, he approached Drastos, who dipped his head at his presence, "My Lord Acheron."

Acheron ignored the formalities and went straight to business. "Why are you back so soon?"

A long-horned soldier standing behind Acheron produced a notepad and began scribbling as they spoke.

Drastos replied, "We were traveling west and had just reached the Crossroads when we came across these four. They tried to run away, but we captured them and brought them back here. Demetros is continuing west."

Michael assumed he was referring to his captain. He cringed at the suggestion that they were heading towards New Canaan.

"Did you interrogate the prisoners or get their names?" asked Acheron. He still had not made eye contact with Drastos and instead stared intently at the four prisoners.

"No, I thought that best to leave to you," Drastos answered subordinately.

"Good," said Acheron. He paced slowly before Aiden, Donald, John, and Michael, his eyes piercing into each of their faces. He stopped before John, who began to shake more violently.

"What is your name?" asked Acheron with a breathy hiss.

"J-John," he stammered.

"Your last name, too," Acheron commanded coolly.

"Fontaine"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Where are you from?"

"New Canaan."

Michael wanted to nudge his friend to shut up, but when Acheron stared harder at him, the fool even elaborated, "It's a town in the west."

"My lord, that is likely where we were headed when we found them," interrupted Drastos, confirming Michael's fear.

Acheron, however, paid no mind to this comment and continued questioning John. "And where were you traveling?"

"We were coming here. Some villagers were attacked by dogs and we needed to retrieve a healer."

Drastos added, "The one at the end saw the traitor, Neacan."

"Oh?" asked Acheron, raising a hairless brow and turning towards Michael.

"He tried to help the traitor," Drastos went on, sneering yet again at Michael, pleased to incriminate him, "but he claims that the argos killed him."

"Good," remarked Acheron. "The traitor got what he deserved. But the question is, did Neacan say anything to the boy before he died?" He stepped before Michael. "What did he reveal?"

"The boy claims that Neacan was dead before he could speak to him."

As Drastos spoke, Acheron stared intently into Michael's eyes. Michael felt compelled to stare back. He suddenly knew why John was so quick to answer. It was as if this many-horned man was searching for something in Michael's mind. His pupils were of the darkest black and his iris flecked with gold and emeralds. They were beautiful and terrible, darker, yet more resplendent than anyone's he had ever seen before. They were beyond human. Michael wanted to turn away, but could not. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. If Michael had the answers to what this terrifying man wanted, he would have told him everything.

Acheron suddenly turned back to Drastos and snarled, "Why is his face covered in blood?"

"He fell off his horse," lied Drastos, suddenly looking grovelly and shifty-eyed.

Acheron scowled at Drastos, "That looks like a sword mark on his cheek! I need to see their faces unmolested."

Acheron never touched Drastos, but with a flourish of his hand, a cut much like Michael's appeared on Drastos' cheek. He yelped and clutched his face.

"Do not cry out!" commanded Acheron, looming over his underling.

Drastos pulled back a whimper. He regained his composure and stood still. The scribe meanwhile had paused writing and the other soldiers looked warily at Drastos. Michael saw their hands hover over their sword hilts.

"If you ever want to be anything more than a lowly kulpa," menaced Acheron, "you will listen to every word that I say." He pointed towards Michael. "Each unnecessary mark upon their faces will be punished with an equal one upon yours. Do you understand that?"

Drastos nodded as he pulled his hand away from his face. His fingers were tipped with blood.

Acheron turned back to Michael. "Now, tell me your name, boy."

Michael did not want to answer, but those black eyes drilled into his head again and compelled him to speak. "Michael. Michael Edwards"

"Edwards?" asked Acheron. He said the name again, rolling it around in his mouth as if feeling its shape with his tongue. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from New Canaan."

"Were you born there?

"No, I was born in America," he said, unable to hold back the words, "in a small town on the East Coast. My parents and I moved here when I was a baby."

"And what are their names?"

"Simon and Rose," he said, hating that he could not stop the flow of answers pouring from his tongue.

"Where are they from?" Acheron pressed on.

"They are also from America as were their parents."

"And tell me, how did you come across our traitor?"

Michael recounted the story of how he tried to save the horned man from the dogs.

"It is as I said, my Lord," said Drastos beseeching Acheron's favor. A drop of blood ran from the tip of his wound down his cheek.

"Quiet, kulpa!" Acheron scolded as Drastos shrank back. "Put those three in the north wing," he said to the guards standing behind him while gesturing at John, Aiden, and Donald. "They are too old to be of any interest, but take the boy to the dormitories," he said looking at Michael. "I want him cleaned up. I wish to interrogate him further."

•••

Soldiers seized Michael by each arm and half-walked, half-dragged him towards the colonnaded building at the east end of the plaza. He looked over his shoulder to see his companions being whipped towards a large brick classroom building. Meanwhile, Michael was led upstairs to the third floor of the dormitory and down a long hallway lined with many numbered doors on both sides. All of them were shut, but he thought he could hear voices behind some and muffled whimpers behind others.

The guards stopped him at a door near the end of the hall. They unlocked it and then, to Michael's relief, removed his handcuffs. They then impatiently pushed him inside. Before locking him in, one of the soldiers warned, "Don't try anything stupid. You're three floors up and there are guards everywhere."

Once they'd left, Michael took a moment to assess his surroundings. It was a dormitory room, but did not appear to be lived in. There were no personal effects, just a wooden bunk bed, two desks, a couple chairs, and two empty dressers. There was a light on the ceiling, but it didn't work. There were also three other doors. Michael tried them. Two were on either side of the front door and slid aside to reveal small, empty closets. The last door led to a bathroom. Michael walked in, but almost jumped out of his skin. A red monster stared back at him. It took him a second to realize that it was in fact his reflection greeting him from the mirror above the sink. His face wore a mask of dried blood and dirt. The wound on his cheek had closed, but the one above his forehead still looked tender enough to open at the slightest prodding.

Michael turned on the tap. There was neither hot water nor soap. He watched the ruddy water pour down the drain as he tried his best to wash his face. It felt amazing, but his wounds stung and the one on his forehead opened again, bleeding slowly at the edges. There were no towels, so he dabbed at it with his sleeve, trying to help it scab. He then cupped his hands and drank several palmfuls of water.

Feeling quenched and slightly cleaner, Michael returned to the bedroom. There was a window at the far end of the room. He tried to pry it open, but the tracks were worn and needed to be greased. It would not lift straight. Eventually, with some grunting, he managed to force each side up a little at a time until he could stick his head out into the warm summer air.

The window looked down upon the plaza and towards the main avenue into the city. He could also see the building where his friends were taken. There were horned men everywhere going about their battle preparations, carrying swords, hurrying down the street, and standing guard in front of some other buildings. He saw one soldier walking two large black dogs by a leash. They barked and yanked their chains taught causing the soldier to lurch forward. "Woah!" he yelled at them.

There were no normal looking people anywhere. Michael wondered if some were being kept in the other dorm rooms he walked by, or if they had all been killed. He shuddered at the thought, but it meant that he better search for an escape. He was on the third floor of the building. It looked too high to jump without breaking a leg, or even splattering himself on the cobblestones below. He looked below his room to see if there was a balcony, or a rain pipe that he could clamber down, but there was nothing— just a smooth stone façade. He also peered up. Above him was the roof, which protruded over the edge of the building, but there was no way to reach it.

Feeling discouraged, Michael tucked his head back inside. He felt beyond tired. He had marched all night and had not even slept well the night before. He looked at the bunk beds leaning against the wall. Even without any blankets, they looked inviting. He lay down and tried to sleep, but restless thoughts stirred his mind. He worried about his friends and family, and the little girl who needed help. He also wondered whether Arimbol was the only country threatened by these creatures and how they even found it in the first place. Its location was a rare piece of knowledge beyond their archipelago. He tossed and turned despite his exhaustion, but eventually, his thoughts turned to where he was. He realized that if he was studying at the Academy he might be sleeping in a room just like this one, perhaps even on the very same bed. It made him feel less like he was in a prison cell. He relaxed a bit and in a moment, he was fast asleep.

•••

Michael was still groggy when he was awoken by the sound of his door squeaking open. He quickly sat up. Two horned guards strode in leading a blonde girl carrying a black bag. Michael noticed that she didn't have any horns on her head and that her skin was fair and human.

"Clean him up, heal his wounds, and don't take too long," ordered one of the guards. "We'll be waiting outside in case you want to try anything stupid."

"Of course," she said detachedly.

They exited and locked the door behind them leaving the girl with Michael. "Did they just bring you in?" she asked, pulling a chair from one of the desks and dragging it next to the bed.

"Yeah," Michael said. "They caught us last night at the Crossroads. We were on our way here to find a healer. Some people in my village were injured and needed help."

The girl sat down as he spoke and carefully unpacked her bag. She removed a few bottles of ointment, some gauze, and a long flat box. Even through his sleepy eyes, he could tell that she was about his age and quite pretty, with high cheeks and lively, hazel eyes. Her hair was tied up in a bun on the back of her head, but looked long enough to drape halfway down her back if she let it.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"New Canaan," he answered.

She put a few drops of ointment on a piece of gauze and began dabbing at Michael's wounds. It stung antiseptically.

"Were the lines out?" she asked as she worked on him.

Michael nodded and said, "We couldn't call anyone. Are they out here, too?"

"They went out almost a week ago," she sighed, "before Alexandria was taken over. I hoped the lines were working where you're from and that maybe someone had contacted the king or capital for help, but it's the same story everywhere."

"Everywhere?" Michael asked, wincing as the antiseptic burned the gash on his cheek.

"Everywhere," she repeated. "They're attacking all of the villages and bringing the people here. You're lucky to be in this room by yourself. The classrooms are packed." She opened one of the other bottles and put several drops of a clear gel onto a fresh piece of gauze. "This is mother's kiss. It's from a plant that grows on Hyperborea. It should heal you really fast."

"That stuff is great," he said, still grimacing from the pain. "I sprained my ankle pretty bad once when I was a kid, and my doctor used it on me. It was better after just a couple days."

She spread the ointment over Michael's wounds. It felt icy against his open skin, but did not sting like the antiseptic. Michael wanted to know more about the attacks. "Are the people okay? Are they killing anyone?"

"The ones in the classrooms are in tight conditions, but they're getting food and water. Sometimes the soldiers hit them if they don't listen, but for the most part, they don't seem to be killing people. I spoke with a woman who said her husband was killed, and I heard that a few people were killed in Troy, but I also heard they flogged and imprisoned the soldiers responsible."

"Like Drastos," said Michael.

The girl paused what she was doing and looked at him quizzically.

"The one who captured me― he gave me these cuts," explained Michael pointing to his wounds.

"I know him," she said. "He's a bad one. He gave me this," she said, pulling down the back of her collar to reveal a large blue welt on her shoulder blade. "If he's not beating up prisoners, he's cursing them and spitting in their faces."

Michael grimaced sympathetically at the sight of her bruise. "It seems like they really don't want us dead though," he pondered out loud. "The head honcho down there― the one they call Lord Acheron― he cut Drastos across the cheek for blemishing my face."

The girl thought about this for a moment. "I think they're looking for someone. When they catch people, they march them into the center of town and then split them up. They send all the young people to this building― pretty much anyone under the age of twenty-five. There are some older people here, too, mostly town leaders, some professors, some mothers with babies, and my dad."

"Your dad?"

"He's the Chancellor of the Academy."

"Your dad is Chancellor Smith?" Michael asked excitedly.

"Do you know him?" she asked, surprised.

"No, but I was hoping to see him."

"You'll have to tell me about that, but hold on a moment. I need to concentrate," she said while opening the long black box. Inside, padded by red velvet was a delicate wooden wand. "I found that healing works best if the one who is hurt participates, so as I wave this wand over your head, imagine light coming from it and closing your wounds. Okay?"

"Got it," Michael agreed.

She took out the wand and held it in front of her chest with both hands, as if in prayer. Suddenly, she was interrupted by a pounding on the door. "Hey!" barked one of the guards on the outside. "Are you done yet?"

"Just five more minutes!" she called back.

"You have two!" warned the guard.

"Does Acheron want him cleaned up, or not?" she argued.

"Just shut up and keep working!" the guard said resolutely. "You have two minutes."

"Okay," she sighed with frustration and turned back to Michael. "I have to start over." She closed her eyes again and restarted her quiet meditation. Just as Michael had learned not to wish, want, or pray when Moving, but to affirm, she was visualizing Michael's health and well-being, as if her healing had already worked. After a moment, she opened her eyes and began to wave the tip of the wand over his forehead. Michael did as she prescribed and imagined light shining from its tip, shrouding his face. He felt a pleasant warmth wash over him. After several passes, she paused and looked closely at the wound. "I think that's working."

Michael touched the gash which had eased its aching. "I think you're right!" he said, astonished. "Thank you!"

"Well done to you, too," she smiled back. "Your thoughts helped."

Michael touched the wound again. He was not sure if it was just his imagination, but it really did seem smaller. As she wrapped clean gauze around his forehead to keep the wound clean, he told her, "You're really young to be this good at healing."

"Well, my dad _is_ the Chancellor. He used to let me visit the classes when I was a kid."

"You're lucky," he said. "I've been wanting to study here my whole life. It's one of the reasons I made the trip. I was supposed to meet with your dad to make it happen. I even have a letter from the mayor of Canaan recommending me if there's space, but now space doesn't seem to be the problem."

"I know, this is terrible," she said woefully. "I don't know what they're going to do to us."

Another pounding came from the door. "Your two minutes are up!"

"Okay," she shouted back, "I'll be right out!" She returned the wand to its padded container. "What's your name?" she asked him.

"Michael Edwards"

"Nice to meet you, Michael," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Maya."

Michael gently shook it.

"Don't touch the wound too much," she recommended. "I'll try to come back later to see how you're doing."

And with that, she picked up her bag and hurried out the door.

•••

Michael slept some more after Maya left, but in the evening woke up and looked out the window. He watched as three more men were brought in by soldiers. They were likewise dragged into the plaza in chains where they were examined by Acheron. He could just barely hear what they said from his third story room, but it sounded like they were friends out on a hunting trip. All of them were sent to the classroom building across the plaza.

As dusk approached, Michael's door opened and Maya was once again led in by two guards who yet again warned her to be quick.

"They threaten me every time," she grumbled to Michael after they left. "I've been healing everyone just like they asked for the past week. I never question them and I never talk back. I've even helped to heal some of their own men."

Michael suddenly noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I just haven't had much time to rest. It's only me and two other med students working the whole city."

"What about the master healers, or the professors?" Michael asked.

"They're all locked up, probably because they could use their Moving to escape or fight back. I'm just a lowly second year, so am no threat. Anyways, I brought you some clothes," she said, offering Michael a folded black shirt. "It's not much, but it's clean."

He thanked her and promptly put it on. It fit loosely, but was better than the blood and dirt soaked tee he wore in. It was amazing how having fresh clothes immediately lifted his spirits.

"So how are your wounds?" she asked.

"I haven't looked, but they feel much better."

"Well, the cut on your cheek is gone, but let me check on the one above your forehead," she said, removing the piece of gauze. She seemed quite pleased with its progress. She applied a bit more ointment and estimated that it would be healed by morning.

As she finished putting on fresh bandages, Michael heard a growing commotion outside. They hurried to the window. Soldiers were shouting and running towards the main gate. There, Michael and Maya watched in shock as hundreds of people were marched through them and down the main avenue to the plaza. Men, women, and even small children were chained together. It looked like an entire village had been emptied of its inhabitants.

"They really are bringing everyone here," Michael uttered, realizing the scope of the campaign.

"This is awful," fretted Maya. "This is at least the fourth village they've captured in the last week."

More soldiers joined the procession, threatening the townsfolk with the tips of their swords or a crack of blue electricity to walk faster. As the mournful and beaten villagers poured into the plaza they were prodded into several rows facing Michael's building. Soldiers removed the chains from the first row.

More and more miserable, frightened people trudged in through the town gates. Amongst them was a wooden cart pulled by two of the shaggy, black horses. Lying strewn in the wagon, Michael could make out the limp green body of one of the horned men. As he was dragged through the city, a commotion began amongst the other soldiers. They ran alongside the cart yelling epithets, shouting "traitor," and spitting upon the corpse. Michael's hair stood on end― it was the soldier he had tried to save at Roak Rock.

A second crowd gathered around another soldier who held aloft a single curved object. The crowd cheered and patted him on the back. Michael recoiled as his eyes focused on what it was. "Is that his horn?" he gagged. "Did they cut it off as a trophy?"

As the cart arrived in the plaza, a door opened in the northern building and once again Acheron stepped onto the square escorted by several guards. He approached the phalanx of prisoners and began examining the front row with the same calculating look he had given Michael and his friends that morning.

He stopped in front of a frightened young boy, no more than ten years old, and pointed at him with his right hand. Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms and dragged him towards the building where Michael was held, but did not bring him in yet. His parents were standing nearby and cried out for him, but kicks and blows from the soldiers' batons quickly silenced them to whimpers. The young boy was sobbing now, but stifled his tears after a warning from the guards.

Acheron continued down the line, picking out each young person and sending them to the east side of the plaza. The crowd was squirming now, fearful of what might happen to them and their children.

Acheron then came to a tall young man and likewise sent him with the rest of the children. Once separated from the masses, Michael recognized him. A new chill went up his spine. It was his friend, James.

Michael scanned the crowd. Behind James, he recognized his neighbor. A few rows down he saw Jake, and there was the mayor, slouched and barely discernible, his mustachioed face smeared with dirt. Michael saw Sam slumping against his mother. His leg was still wounded and probably damaged much worse from the long march.

Michael was aghast. "It's my whole village!" he lamented. "They took everyone!"

Acheron was still scanning the crowd, going through each row of tearful prisoners. Then Michael watched him approach a middle-aged man with a thick beard, but instead of moving on quickly as he had with all the rest, or waving him off towards the north building, he stood and stared at him.

Before Michael could think what he was doing, he called out to the man, "Dad!"

Both Simon and Acheron turned and looked up at Michael's window. Acheron's eyes shrank to slits as they caught sight of him, but before he could say anything, the horned lord was blown backwards by a massive blast of light. He was thrown towards the crowd of children, young people, and guards who scattered in every direction. But instead of crashing into them, his cape billowed out with a gust of wind and he righted himself in mid-air. Before his feet even touched the ground, he drew his sword from its scabbard and slashed it through the air. A wave of flames fanned back towards Michael's father.

Simon brushed aside the blaze with a wave of his hand, sending sparks and embers flying everywhere. Suddenly, there was pandemonium. Any prisoners who were not chained together scattered while anyone who was still bound tried to run back towards the gate only to fall upon each other in a hysterical pile. Even the horned soldiers panicked. Some tried to keep the prisoners in line, while others were scorched by the embers and ran for shelter.

Michael's father fired back at Acheron with rapid volleys of red light, but Acheron deflected them easily. They bounced off his sword and catapulted into the buildings on the north side of the plaza, incredibly igniting the stone walls as they hit.

The two powerful Movers circled each other, firing frightful balls of burning energy. Michael could not tell if it came from Acheron or his father, but suddenly a massive blast jetted towards his window. He shoved Maya out of the way as the room exploded around them.

Michael opened his eyes to a cloud of smoke and dust. Before he knew what was happening, Maya grabbed him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. "They blew a hole through the door!" she exclaimed. "Come on!"

There was not just a hole through the door, Michael realized as they ran into the hallway― the whole thing was blown off along with a substantial part of the wall it was hinged to. The two guards that had been standing behind it lay groaning on the floor under a pile of bricks and splintered wood.

Michael and Maya ran down the hall towards the stairs, but Michael paused. "What about the other prisoners?" he asked looking at the rows of doors.

"Do you want to ask them for the keys?" asked Maya, nodding to the guards who were already rising to their feet and drawing their swords.

They swung open the door to the stairway. Michael's heart jumped into his throat as they found Drastos standing there with his hand outstretched about to turn the knob himself. Taking advantage of the cruel creature's bewilderment, Maya slammed him in the face with her fist. As he grabbed his crushed nose, she shoved him hard.

"Take that, horn-head!" she spat, as Drastos tumbled backwards over the stairs into a jumble of clinking blades and armor.

They heard a door clang open downstairs as more soldiers charged into the dormitory trying to secure the building. Michael and Maya whirled about and ran upstairs. They burst through the heavy metal fire door and onto the broad, flat roof. The sky was darkening into a dusky purple, but the roof was well lit by the flames growing from the northward buildings. Blasts of light shot into the sky from the plaza below and exploded like fireworks.

Michael saw that only a short gap separated the dormitory roof from the classroom building. They easily leapt over it and ran to the far side, which connected to yet another rooftop.

"They're over there!" shouted an angry voice behind them.

Michael turned to see Drastos clutching his bloodied nose as two other soldiers ran past him and hurdled onto their roof.

Michael and Maya charged ahead, finding bridges, ladders, and ledges leading across streets and alleyways to yet other rooftops. More familiar with the layout of the city, Maya led the way. Her bun had come undone and her long, blonde hair stretched out behind her as she ran. They sprinted and climbed as far and as fast as they could until they simply ran out of roofs. They found themselves at the edge of the city wall looking down at the Memphis River several stories below. The Burnt Plains stretched out before them, disappearing into a fierce red sunset.

Michael could hear the soldiers shouting at them from behind. They were catching up, fast.

"We're trapped!" exclaimed Michael. "Is there a way inside this building?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Maya. "We're getting the hell out of town!"

Michael peered over the edge of the red shingled rooftop at the river and black wheat fields far below and then looked back at Maya as if she was crazy. Missiles of light zapped the floor around them, spraying shards of tile against their legs. The soldiers charged at them with swords drawn, firing wildly as they ran. Maya did not waste time debating. She grabbed Michael by the hand and yanked him off the ledge.
CHAPTER IV

GUIDING LIGHT

It felt to Maya as if she had jumped into the sunset. For the briefest of moments, the world froze and she felt like she was floating. The Burned Plains and glowing red horizon spread out all around her. Then she felt gravity tug at her bones. Holding each other's hands tightly, they plummeted towards the earth, straightening their legs and tucking their arms into their sides just before piercing into the Memphis River like twin daggers.

The drop was far enough that the icy water knocked the wind out of her. She kicked to the surface and as soon as she took her first gasp of air, began paddling for the other side. She had lost Michael's grip when they struck the water, but then saw his head pop up next to her as she swam. Red streaks zapped the water around them as soldiers fired from the rooftops.

Maya swam so fast that her arms and lungs screamed, but the hot summer days had narrowed the river and in a moment she found herself clambering through the thick mud on the far shore. With her blood pounding in her head, she shouted at Michael, "Get to the trees!"

He ran after her into a copse of oaks. More red bolts shot past them, burning smoking holes in the tree trunks as they took cover. Then the shooting abruptly ceased.

The two of them peered around their wooden sanctuary towards the walls of Alexandria. Vicious explosions were still rattling the city from the battle in the plaza.

"They're probably getting the dogs," said Maya, twisting the water out of her long hair.

"We have to keep running," said Michael.

She grabbed him by the hand again and they took off.

•••

They did not follow any trail. They ran west across the vast rolling plains, through the grass, doing their best not to stumble over hidden rocks or cottonwell burrows. The night sky was clear, but there was no moon. Only starlight illuminated their path. After what felt like hours, they came to a large ditch in which a small stream flowed. Maya supposed that during the rainy season it probably flooded into a wide creek, but during the summer it was dry enough to serve as a good hiding place. She jumped in and her feet sank deep into the soft earth. She heard a series of small splashes as several green carbuncle frogs fled into the creek.

"Do you think we're safe here?" she asked Michael as he crawled down after her.

"I don't know," he huffed. "I'm not sure we're safe anywhere."

"But for now?" she asked, hoping just to rest for a moment. "I don't know if I can run any further."

Michael slumped down into the stream bed with his back against the trench wall. "I need to rest, too," he said.

She was thirsty and her legs ached— not just from running, but from being on her feet for the last week taking care of injured people. She sat down next to Michael, too tired to care about the mud staining her jeans. After a while, their breathing relaxed and she felt her sweat cool in the night air. They sat for a while without speaking. Finally, she asked, "Was that really your dad?"

"It was my whole village," he said, looking down glumly. "It was everyone I ever knew."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"I'm sorry, too," replied Michael. "We just left behind your home and family, as well." They were silent again for a moment, then Michael asked, "Who are those men? Where did they come from?"

"I have no idea," Maya shrugged. "A week ago they just marched right through the front gate and began firing, shooting everyone in their path."

"Killing them?" Michael asked, wrinkling his forehead with concern.

"No, only stunning them," she sighed. "A few of the faculty and master Movers put up a fight while others tried to escape, but there were hundreds of soldiers. I was in my bedroom when the attack started. My mom and two of my sisters were downstairs. I heard shouting in the streets and looked out my window just in time to see four soldiers kick down my door. There was a commotion downstairs. I heard several loud bangs, plates and windows crashing. My mom was shooting at them. I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of her screaming at them to get out of the house. She cried for my sisters and I to run away, but what was even worse was when she went silent..." Maya paused for a moment remembering that awful moment. "...and then I heard their boots stomp upstairs. They kicked down every door until they came to my room. I wanted to run like my mother told me, but there was nowhere to go. I hid in the closet, but they found me anyway. I didn't put up a fight. I just trusted that if I was patient there would be a chance to escape later." She paused again. "No one was ready for this— there's no army in Alexandria and barely any police. The whole city was subdued within an hour."

They paused contemplatively again for a while. Then Michael said unexpectedly, "I think I know you."

"What do you mean?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we haven't met before," Michael began awkwardly, "but I think I've heard about you. Do you know Jake?"

"Jake?" she asked, surprised.

"A stocky guy with brown hair?" Michael described. "Kind of has a foul mouth?"

Maya laughed with half a snort, "Yeah, he was my study partner until he tried to, um―" she broke off, embarrassed.

"Kiss you?" Michael finished for her.

"Yeah," she said, giving Michael a puzzled look.

"I'm guessing he wasn't particularly smooth about it."

She nodded and smiled. "He was about as smooth as a hedgehog tree. How do you know him?"

"I grew up with him. He was never too suave about anything. He can be a nice guy though, when he's not showing off."

Michael gazed at his feet. She could tell he was thinking of his friends standing in rows with their families back in Alexandria. "They'll be okay," she said comfortingly, "even Jake."

"I just hope he doesn't tell one of the guards to stick anything up his round brown," said Michael.

Maya laughed, this time snorting for real. She must have heard Jake say that a thousand times― every time he screwed up an answer. Michael laughed with her, but they had to stifle themselves lest anyone hear.

Maya laid her head back against the muddy wall and looked up at the stars. They were numerous there on the plains, far from the lights of city streets and college dorms. She could feel her eyelids getting heavy.

"They have dogs," Michael warned, but she was too tired to worry. "They're good at tracking," he went on, ignoring the fact that she was falling asleep, "but they'll need something of ours to follow the scent. If they can't find something easily, then we may have a solid head start."

Maya bolted upright. "Oh, brown!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Michael jumped.

"They won't need to look very hard," she said. "We left your bloody shirt in the dorm room!"

"Brown!" echoed Michael, pulling himself to his aching feet. "We need to keep moving, but I think I know a place that may be safe."

•••

The sun had not yet risen when they reached the shadowy edge of Palmyra Woods

"We're going to take sanctuary in _there_?" Maya asked hesitantly. She gawked at the expanse of trees whose tangle of thorns and vines appeared darker than the night sky above. "I've heard it's full of dangerous animals. Even hunters don't venture in there!"

"It's not so bad," said Michael, sounding far too optimistic. "My uncle Sefu has lived in there for twenty years." Michael reconsidered for a moment, "Well, he's not really my uncle. He's more like my godfather, but he _is_ a great Mover. If we can find him, we'll be safe."

Maya didn't really care about who he was so much as where he was. "Do you mean you don't know where his house is?"

"Not exactly," said Michael as he prodded around the edge of the forest looking for a way into the grim snarl of foliage.

Maya was upset. "You brought me to this horrible forest and you don't even know where we're going?!"

"You'll have to trust me," he said encouragingly, but Maya was not placated. Noticing the irritated look on her face, Michael suddenly changed the subject. "Hey, I see something good over there!" he cheerfully exclaimed as he bounded off along the ominous tree line.

"Where are you going?" she complained as she chased after him. She did not want to be left alone anywhere near this place. A few people had gone in a long time ago and never came out. No one ever found them. Who knew what strange Folds or monstrous creatures dwelt within?

Michael came to a stop before a gnarl of thick, thorn-rimmed vines and began carefully sifting through them. He gingerly pulled leaves and brambles aside so as not to get stabbed by the tusk-like spines.

"If you want me to follow you into this forest, please don't run off like that!" Maya implored as she caught up with him.

But Michael was not paying attention. He was engrossed with his search through the vines.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, her annoyance shifting to curiosity.

"These!" proclaimed Michael, twisting an immense, bulbous fruit loose from its thorny stem.

Maya's eyes went wide. "Giant raspberries!" she gasped.

It was bigger than a grapefruit and its numerous drupelets glinted in the starlight. He passed it to Maya.

"My dad used to take me here when I was a kid on the way to visit my uncle. He said there's a hidden Fold nearby and that's why they grow so big."

"Are they safe to eat?" she asked, cautiously inspecting the giant fruit.

"Definitely!" said Michael, pulling another berry loose.

Maya bit into one of the tangerine-sized drupelets, but had to jump back as the juice burst forth from the taught skin.

"It's better if you make a small bite and suck it out," said Michael, demonstrating on his with a satisfied slurp of syrupy pulp.

She followed his lead. "Mmm!" she cooed. "These are amazing!"

Michael told her that he had never eaten more than half a giant raspberry in his life, but his thirst and hunger were so great this time that he finished two of them. Maya matched him, fruit for blissful fruit. She was about to tuck into a third when she heard the unmistakable sound of several large dogs howling in the distance.

"They're coming!" Michael said.

She forlornly let the succulent fruit tumble into the duff. With the fear of pursuit drumming in her chest, she ignored all prior foreboding and followed Michael into the woods.

•••

They scrambled over rocks and fallen trees through the nigh impenetrable darkness. The starlight could not penetrate the boughs, so they used their hands to feel their way through the blackness. Thorns and brambles tugged at their clothes and tore at their exposed arms, but they ignored each cut and abrasion as they fled the advancing soldiers.

The barking became muffled as they put more trees between themselves and their pursuers. After a while, they didn't hear them at all. Nevertheless, they kept moving deeper into the heart of the forest.

As they ascended a short hill and pushed through a bush wet with dew, Maya slowed to a halt. "Do you see that?" she asked, pointing ahead. Down the hill and through the trees, she could make out a faint glow.

"That might be my uncle's house. I always remember a warm light from his kitchen window."

But this glow was not warm. It was cool, greenish, and ethereal. However, it was rather inviting. Michael started down the hill towards it. Maya was about to argue against it, but the words clung in her throat, so she chased after him.

As she reached the bottom of the hill, it seemed that the light was moving, though she still could not make out what it was. She hoped that it was Michael's uncle carrying a lantern, but regardless, it seemed better than the creatures pursuing them.

Progress was exasperating through the thick underbrush, but they slowly edged closer to the light. She could soon see that it was definitely moving slowly through the trees and now seemed to be held high, a little above their heads. It was too high to be a lantern, but she could not imagine what else it could be. She wanted to call out to whoever was holding it, but still could not find her voice. Something about the light told her not to worry. It urged her to keep walking and see for herself.

As she approached, she heard the beacon emit a faint buzz. She was so engrossed by it that she didn't notice the sound of crunching leaves and twigs, nor the snap of a large branch as it was torn from a tree bough. Heavy footsteps tromped through the undergrowth.

Maya suddenly found herself impeded by a wall of shaggy brown fur. A massive sphinx bear, twice as tall as a human, stood between them and the light. Its neck was so thick that its face seemed set into its muscular shoulders. A patch of golden fur gleamed from its chest. Maya knew that this was one of the most dangerous animals of the forest. They were known to eat people, or simply trample them to death under their gargantuan paws.

To Maya's surprise, she was not afraid― the bear did not even seem to notice that she or Michael were there. It too was following the mysterious light, which Maya could now see was not held by anyone at all. It was just a floating bulb of swirling effulgence that appeared to move by its own will. This did not frighten Maya either, but simply intrigued her. She did not even care where it was going. She just wanted to touch it. She reached out for it, but it glided forward gently, staying just ahead of her fingertips. She walked faster to try again, but it sped up accordingly, staying just out of her reach. She decided to follow it and let it lead her where it may.

As the bear and the two fugitives continued their slow amble through the woods, other green flares periodically flew by. They whizzed through the forest at great speeds, going who knows where. They did not distract Maya though. She just wanted to follow this one wonderful light.

She lost track of time and how far they had walked, but she noticed a brighter glow up ahead. A warm, yellow light gleamed through the trees. Soon her little luminous friend led them into a grassy clearing where stood a house. It was a two-story, grey stone cottage with a thatched roof. A lamp illuminated the front door and the windows were awash with an inviting radiance. The house passed before her like the vaguest of dreams as the floating green bulb turned and began to circle the lawn, leading its three followers dumbly after it.

As it turned back to towards the house, the front door opened. A tall figure emerged, silhouetted by the yellow porch light. He carried a wooden staff with a gnarled burl of a head which he flicked it to one side. Maya stumbled forward a few more steps as she immediately lost interest in the ball. She felt dizzy and a little nauseous as she emerged from her daze. Michael likewise teetered on his feet and rubbed his temples. The giant bear, however, kept following the light around the grass like a lumbering parade.

The silhouetted figure approached them and put his hands on Michael's shoulders steadying him. "Michael?" the man asked in disbelief. "Is that you?"

Maya's blurry vision coalesced to reveal a tall, brawny old man with short white hair and an equally snowy beard cropped closely to his face. He wore simple jeans and a red and black plaid shirt. If he was younger, she might have taken him for a lumberjack. Maya did not know what to make of this character, but when he wrapped his arms around Michael in a sphinx bear-sized hug, she knew they had made it safely to his uncle Sefu's house.

•••

Michael's arms hung awkwardly at his side as his uncle embraced him. He was obviously still confused as to how he had wound up there.

"It's a miracle that you made it here!" exclaimed his uncle, releasing his bewildered godson, "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" asked Sefu.

Michael faltered to respond. He turned to Maya, who felt equally perplexed. "That's, um, Maya," he said, finding his voice. "Maya, this is my uncle, Sefu."

Maya blinked a few times. "What happened?" she asked, still feeling a little green around the gills.

"My wisps found you," explained Sefu, but when the blank expressions on their faces showed that this didn't clarify much, he continued. "I've been sending out wisps to draw the demons away from here. Almost anyone who sees them will follow. You're very lucky that you pursued this one. I've been trying to bring a sphinx bear here, but have been sending most of the demons off a nearby cliff."

"The demons?" Michael asked. "You mean the soldiers?"

"Those are the ones," Sefu winked proudly. "Are you guys okay? Is your family safe?"

"No...I don't know," Michael said uncertainly. "We've been running from the soldiers. There's a party of them chasing us."

"They have dogs, too," added Maya. "We could hear them."

"Do you know how many there are?" asked Sefu.

"No," said Michael, shaking his head, "but probably a lot. They were keeping us prisoner in Alexandria until we escaped."

"They captured the whole city," Maya elaborated. "The whole place is a prison now. They're bringing people in from everywhere."

"They took all of Canaan, too," said Michael.

"Even your father?" Sefu asked.

"Yeah," Michael affirmed despondently. "He helped us escape. I don't know if he's still there, or if he's even alive..."

"Okay," interrupted Sefu, "We need to test something. Have you been reading and practicing with the books I sent you?"

"Whenever my dad isn't there, yeah," he said, glancing at Maya.

She, however, was wondering what this had to do with anything.

"What have you learned so far?"

"I can Move objects, make things hot or cold, make fire, Move air and energy, but I'm not very good at any of that. I did manage to blow up a few dogs that attacked me and my friends, though."

Sefu nodded thoughtfully at this. "So you know how to manipulate energy, to increase it, or decrease its flow―"

"Sure. The books said to use it as an extension of my will."

"That's good," said Sefu, "but I want you to try something new that is not mentioned in any of the books. I want you to Create something."

" _Create_ something?" Michael asked, befuddled. "Like, to just make something appear out of thin air?"

"Exactly!"

"But that's impossible! The books all say that you can Move matter and energy, but not―"

"I know," Sefu raised a hand to cut him off, "but I want you to give it a try."

"Okay," Michael shrugged doubtfully, "but what should I Create? A flower? A rabbit? I don't have a top hat," Michael said sarcastically. He was clearly too tired for a pop quiz.

"No," Sefu said, ignoring Michael's frustration. "Life forms are too complex to begin with. Try something simple first, like a stone or a ball of dirt. Actually that's too complicated, as well. Dirt can be made up of so many things." He pondered for a moment before asking, "How about a lump of lead?"

"Okay," Michael muttered, obviously still confused.

Maya was no less perplexed. Sefu's request likewise contradicted everything she had learned at the Academy.

"I know you are tired and probably thirsty, but this is very important," urged Sefu. "I need you to forget for a moment that the books said this is impossible."

"Okay, I'll try," said Michael, setting his doubts aside. He held out a muddy hand and turned his palm upwards, then took a deep breath while he focused upon it.

"Now," said Sefu, "imagine a lump of lead, silvery and black, like a piece of the night sky. Turn it over in your mind then feel it resting in your palm. Imagine its weight and smoothness.

Maya watched Michael stare at his hand, where the ball of lead should be. She had done this herself a thousand times before, but always to Move what already existed. You had to concentrate until your belief was strong enough to manifest what was in your mind's eye. She watched as tense furrows dug into Michael's forehead and tears formed in his eyes.

•••

Nothing happened. No ball of lead appeared. Not even a single grain of black sand.

"That's enough," said Sefu, bringing Michael's attention back by gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I tried," said Michael, wiping a strained tear from the corner of his eyes.

"I know," his uncle said. "Thank you."

"What was that all about?" asked Maya.

"Come inside," said Sefu. "There is a lot to explain."

They left the great sphinx bear to continue plodding around the yard. Sefu ushered them into the house, but before he entered, he turned back towards the forest and rapped the bottom of his wooden staff soundly against the stones cobbling the floor of his entry way. At each tap, a spark flashed from the top of his staff and coalesced into a diaphanous ball of light. As soon as each one was formed, they darted off into the forest, zipping through the trees with their eerie whir. Sefu sent off a dozen wisps before coming inside.

"Those will keep the demons away for now," he said.

They entered an airy den that was open to a simple, rustic kitchen. Thick oak beams supported the thatched ceiling, while hanging below were several bright yellow lights set in cloudy glass balls. A set of stairs led up to a pair of doors along a mezzanine penned in by a wooden railing. There were a few carvings of forest animals and some old maroon curtains over the windows, but otherwise the place was an austere hermitage. Aside from a wooden table with some chairs, there was no other furniture to be seen. Nevertheless, the chairs looked incredibly inviting. Maya followed Michael's lead and plopped down in one with a tired groan.

While Sefu was still busy at the door, Michael leaned towards Maya and explained, "I used to visit Sefu as a kid, but he and my dad argued a lot. Eventually my dad refused to visit anymore. Sefu was always kind, and he continued to write to me. I don't think he sees many other people. He hunts and lives off the land and occasionally visits the city for supplies, but other than that I think he mostly just keeps to himself."

"I guess that's why this place is so spartan," Maya observed.

"I'm sorry that I didn't act more welcoming right away," said Sefu as he shut the front door and leaned his staff against the frame. "I'm actually very happy that you're here. It truly is a miracle that you made it. Things are very bad, Michael― very dangerous indeed. But you will be glad to know that your father is still alive."

"How do you know?" Michael asked.

"If he were dead, you probably would have been able to Create that ball of lead."

Michael and Maya passed each other doubtful looks. Sefu noticed, but only smiled and made his way over to the kitchen counter. "I'm going to make you guys something to eat."

Maya noticed a piece of green canvas rolled up on the kitchen counter. The tips of several blades protruded from it. Some were short and serrated, while others were long and pointed. A large green backpack sat on the floor below them. It was open and she could see an array of camping gear inside. "Were you going somewhere?" she asked.

"I have been ready to run for days. I know you just got here, but you should be ready to go at any time, too. My wisps have kept me safe so far, but eventually the demons will figure out what's going on, or they'll send a master Mover who can resist them."

"The demons?" asked Maya, still unclear. "Are they some sort of monsters?"

"Sorry, I didn't explain that earlier," said Sefu. "The horned people― they call themselves Magi, but we always just called them demons. The ones you have seen are half-breeds of course. No one has seen a true Daemon in a thousand years."

"What's the difference?" asked Maya. "And where did they come from?"

"True Daemons are nature spirits— rivers, fire, mountains, forests, and so on. The ones here are descendants of men who bred with those things, or so they like to claim."

Maya had never heard of such a thing. She was beginning to wonder what sort of madhouse Michael had brought her to.

Sefu rifled through the cold box. He produced a hunk of cheese and a slab of cured meat. "White elk," Sefu said.

Maya's stomach rumbled as she remembered the rich, savory taste of smoked elk. It rarely turned up in the markets of Alexandria as hunters hated venturing into Palmyra Forest. She hadn't tasted it since she was a kid. She tried not to drool as she watched Sefu pull one of the knives from the canvas roll and cut the meat and cheese into thick slices. Despite the raspberries earlier, she was so hungry that she could have eaten the whole slab. Sefu also cut up a few green and red forest apples and fixed a platter for them. He put all this on the table with a loaf of dense black wheat bread and poured each of them a cup of water.

As Michael and Maya tore into the food, he said, "I need you to tell me everything that you know about the demons."

•••

"I was held in Alexandria for about a week," explained Maya, taking a bite out of a crisp ruby-colored apple. "I never saw the demons all assembled at one time, but I would guess that there are at least four or five hundred of them there."

"All soldiers?" asked Sefu.

"Yes," she nodded, "and all men."

"That seems normal," he observed. "demons don't usually allow their women to fight. Did you see how they traveled? Did they have boats or transport?"

"I don't know," said Maya. "They had horses, but that's about it."

Michael said that was all he saw, too.

"So you have no idea how they got here?"

Maya shook her head.

"I doubt they just appeared out of thin air," Sefu mused aloud. "They don't go in for technology, so I can't imagine them flying a ship, and I doubt the Neos offered them a ride."

Michael and Maya looked confused again.

"Neosapiens," Sefu clarified. "They're another race of beings from where I am from."

"You mean, New York?" Michael asked.

His uncle laughed. "There are plenty of unusual people in New York, but I'm not really from there. I, uh―"

Michael looked frustrated. "Uncle, what's going on? I've been chased and arrested and kicked around for the past three days. You seem to have some idea why and where these so-called demons are from, but you aren't telling us. What the heck is going on?"

"I apologize," said Sefu. "There are so many things that have been told to you that are just not true, and there are even more things that have never been told to you at all. It's hard to know where to begin. I will do my best to explain everything, but I first need to understand what kind of danger we are in."

"Who has been lying to me?" Michael frowned, unwilling to talk about anything else until something was explained to him.

Sefu sighed. "Your father. That is a big reason why he stopped speaking to me. I insisted that he tell you where you're from, about your family's history, and your job in this world."

"What do you mean?" asked Michael. "Do my dad and I have something to do with these demons?"

"Not only that," said Sefu, tapping a long, knobbly index finger on the table," but you and he are at the center of this mess. This was all bound to happen someday and that's why I sent you those books. I had to do what I could to prepare you without breaking my promises to him. I always retained hope that he would take responsibility and tell you about your history himself, but I somehow always suspected that I would have to do it. That's why it's such a miracle that of all the places you might have escaped to, you came to me."

Sefu stood up and began walking around the room. He stroked his beard as he paced. "Considering I always thought I would have to tell you this tale, I should be better prepared. But the best place to start a story is at the beginning, and in this case, we shall start with the dawn of everything."

•••

"At the beginning of time, before there were stars, or planets, or galaxies, there was nothing in the vast emptiness of space, except for two great Beasts. One radiated with Light and the other smoldered with Darkness. They were Good and Evil, positive and negative forces. Together, they contained all of the Light and Dark Ki— the essential energies that make up the universe."

"Being opposite forces, they clashed for eons, battering each other with the force of a trillion supernovae. But they were equal in power and neither could overcome the other. Instead, with all of the will they could summon, they slammed together in a tremendous cataclysm, destroying each other at the same time. Their energy and matter scattered across space."

"This energy retained some of their consciousness and eventually coalesced into smaller beings. These new creatures had a thousand arms and a million eyes that allowed them to see and move things in the material world, but each one also had a special Eye that was focused upon the spirit world, the Causal Plane of all creation. From there they could summon new Ki to give shape to the universe. They Moved galaxies, solar systems, stars and planets into their orbits, and even brought new life into existence. They were the Prime Movers, the very first Creators."

"There were many of them, some of them of Light and others Dark, and they fought just like the Beasts did for control over the universe. The two sides were still equal in number and power, and being made from pure Creative energy, they could not be removed from the material world. They were effectively immortal, and just as before, it seemed that neither side could defeat the other."

"Their creations grew ever more complex, until they Created beings in their own likeness. While the Light Creators shaped friends and family to share their universe with, the Dark Creators forged armies to fight for them and stomp out the light of joy."

"One Light Creator named Manu grew despondent at outliving all of the children he Created. He watched each one them grow old and depart the mortal plane or die at the hands of his enemies. Eventually, he had but one son left. Manu could not bear to outlive him as well, so he cut out his spirit Eye and gifted it to this last son along with all of his powers. When Manu was ready to leave the physical world, he willingly passed through the Eye to the Causal Plane, leaving his child to carry on his legacy until the time that he might choose to pass on as well."

"In time, all of the other Creators of Light removed their Eyes as well, but when the Dark Creators learned about this miracle, they realized the Eyes' potential as weapons. They cut out their own Eyes and used them to permanently dispatch the Light Creators to the Causal Plane."

"The war between Light and Dark thus carried on through the eons with both sides using the Eyes to destroy the other. It is believed that if all of the Dark Creators are defeated, the universe shall rise into an eternal age of love, peace, and wisdom. But if all of the Light Creators are killed, the Universe shall descend into an eternity of suffering and chaos."

•••

Sefu poured himself a cup of water and sat back down to the table. Maya was still not sure what this history had to do with Michael or whether any of it was even true. Before she could comment, though, Sefu continued. "Michael, your father's name is not Simon Edwards, but Amon Endwar. That is your surname as well. Your father changed it, denied your past, and has kept you hidden. I'm guessing the demons took notice of the similarity though, didn't they?"

Michael nodded, recalling his interrogator's raised brow.

"Your idiot father thought he was keeping you safe," Sefu shook his head. "It was part of his grand plan that, in my opinion, is incredibly stupid. I never wanted to go along with it. Now it's falling apart and we have to do the best we can to pick up the pieces."

"Uncle, I'm still not getting it," beseeched Michael.

"I'm getting it even less," said Maya, looking back and forth between Michael and Sefu. "Who's your dad?"

Sefu cleared his throat. "Your father comes from a long line of Creators— Prime Movers of Light."

"My dad's a Creator?" Michael laughed incredulously. "You mean that story you just told me is real? I thought it was a metaphor or something."

"It's a myth," Sefu admitted, "but at least some of it is true. There are Creators, both Light and Dark, and there are Eyes, but whether they were ever organs of sight is a matter of debate. You are your father's only child, and are thus heir to not only his Eye and all of his Creative powers, but to the throne of Arimbol, and more. That is why I had to ask you to Create something. If your father was no longer in the physical world, you would have his abilities and I think would have easily been able to Create what I asked."

"So that means that he's alive?" posed Michael, sounding relieved.

"For the moment, yes," said Sefu. "Whether he is still prisoner in Alexandria or escaped, we cannot know."

"I thought Creating things from scratch was impossible," Maya remarked skeptically.

"That is correct, but Creators are the exception to that rule. The rest of us can at best Move matter. We can Move more energy in, or Move it away, but even that's a rare skill. On Earth there are very few people outside of Arimbol that can Move the way we do. Occasionally, one is born with a rare talent. I have also read accounts of ascetics who developed certain abilities after meditating in a cave for forty years, but that's about it."

"But Creators can make anything?" Michael asked.

Sefu considered this. "They can shape Ki into any material form, including life. They are responsible for all of creation. Even when they do not form things consciously, Light and Dark Ki flows from the Eyes through the Creators and out into the universe. Without them, the universe would decay or fall into imbalance."

"Can they also make Folds?" Michael asked.

"That is something I have never seen before. Your father Created many of the islands in the Arimbolean Archipelago as well as the cities, plants and animals here. The islands of Dwarka were here before us, as were the Babel Fold that allows us to understand any language, not to mention the Shield Fold that shrouds this place from the outside would. As far as I know, all of the other Folds here and on Geminon existed long before, yet many seem so perfect for our needs that it's hard to imagine that they were not intelligently designed. There are also Folds elsewhere on Earth, but their effects are usually much more subtle. No one knows why they're so much more concentrated here and on Geminon."

"And what's Geminon?" Maya chimed in.

"Ah," said Sefu. "Geminon is a planet― a very small one. It is the sister planet to Earth and follows the same orbit, always staying on the opposite side of the sun. Historians on Geminon believe that a long time ago there was travel and communication between the two worlds, but now only a few people on Earth know about Geminon, including no more than twenty people in Arimbol and only a handful of high-ranking officials in the United States and Europe. Geminon is as secret as Arimbol."

"And you came from there?" pressed Maya with a skeptical wrinkle of her brow.

"I was born there and was a general in Amon's army," said Sefu, looking back at Michael. "On Geminon there are many species that do not exist on Earth, except for a few in Arimbol. There are also several races of anthropoids, including the three nations of Geminon."

Sefu took a slice of bread from the platter in front of them. "There is only one continent on Geminon," he said cutting a piece of cheese in half and laying it across the top half of the bread. "The humans are here, in the middle," he said, marking it with a piece of meat, "in the kingdom of Aaru, once ruled by your father. To the East is Genesis, home to the New Humans, the Neosapiens, who pursue power exclusively through science and advancement of the mind." He marked the eastern country with a piece of red apple and then placed a slice of green apple left of the elk. "To the West is Elysia, ruled by the Magi demons, who you have come to know. They seek advancement of their race through Moving. They are ruled by Acheron who is the latest in a dynasty of cruel Dark Creators."

"Acheron?" asked Michael of Maya, "Isn't he the tall demon we saw back in Alexandria― the one who fought with my dad?"

Maya nodded.

"I'm not surprised that he's here," said Sefu. "He does not command from the rear. Even before he was king, he was always first into battle, thirsty for our blood. I saw him myself when he drove his armies through the Western Wastes, tearing the ground open beneath our feet and devouring our men with lightning and fire. I despise all of the demons, but he is by far the worst. During my last days on Geminon, the Magi tortured and killed thousands of our people under his command. I heard stories from the few who managed to escape. They say that he milked prisoners of their blood so he could bathe in it."

Maya was horrorstruck. "Is that really true?" she asked with wide eyes, doubting anyone could be so monstrous, even these frightful horned creatures. Life under them in Alexandria was certainly no festival, but she did not see any of them taking showers in gore.

"Nothing would surprise me about them," growled Sefu, twisting his mouth in disgust. Simply talking about the demons seemed to rile him up. "They seek control and dominance over all of Geminon. They are hateful, spiteful creatures," he spat, "even against their own kind. We knew little of what happened beyond the walls and wastes of eastern Elysia except what we gleaned from those demons that we managed to capture and interrogate. We learned that Acheron's cruelty inspired several uprisings, all of which were brutally crushed. Anyone suspected of treason was publicly disgraced and executed."

Maya thought of the dead demon in the cart, his severed horn held aloft in celebration.

"I saw Acheron strike and threaten one of his officers," Michael remarked.

"The officer was probably a short horn," guessed Sefu. "They call them kulpas."

"What's the difference?" asked Maya.

"None, as far as I can tell," Sefu snorted derisively, "but they believe the longer their horns are, the more pure Daemon ancestry they are supposed to bear, and thus the higher rank they have."

"Acheron had the longest horns of any that I saw," added Michael.

"And the greenest skin, I expect," said Sefu. "That's another traditional sign of their royalty that supposedly comes from pure Daemons, but don't believe it's real. Acheron is a Creator, and a powerful one at that. A great Creator can reshape matter into whatever form he wishes. He can even reshape himself. The horns and green visage are probably just to impress other demons with his power, but he can turn himself into things that are far more dangerous."

Maya could not help but imagine what horrors the demon king could transform into― a giant fanged serpent, a sphinx bear, or maybe a roak? Could he transform himself to look human? Surely if he could grow longer horns, he could eliminate them as well...

"But I need to stay on track," continued Sefu, stroking his beard. "Where was I?"

"You were telling us about Acheron and the three nations on the, um, other planet," said Maya.

"Right," said Sefu, tapping the table again. "Thank you, my dear. The three nations of Geminon do not get along. Aaru has been in almost constant war with the demons. They always encroach on our borders. Even during peace time their zealots stage raids on border towns, kidnap, kill, and steal from our people. They believe they are better than us because they are more adept at Moving, but they have no knack for science and technology. The humans of Aaru fear neither Moving nor science. They are merely tools that can be applied to any purpose. But the demons loathe technology as the antithesis to their worship of the old nature gods. That's why they hate the Neos even more than us. Your father actually managed to work out a peace accord with the Neos. We gave them access to mines and resources and they promised to stop developing weapons. The demons, though, have always been much less reasonable."

"This is a lot to soak in," Michael commented, running his hands back and forth through his hair.

"There's something else important that may help explain your father's actions," said Sefu. "On Geminon, there is an important right of passage to adulthood amongst the Aaruns. When a child turns fifteen, he is brought to see the Oracle Fold of the Cave. The Oracle tells every Aarun a single prophecy in their life. It always describes the most important thing that they shall do."

"Is the Oracle always right?" asked Michael.

"Most Aaruns believe so, and so it has always seemed to me, but words have a way of being tricky. They must be interpreted. Nevertheless, visiting the Oracle Fold has been a tradition amongst Aaruns for as long as anyone can remember and is so important that a person may even change their name when they hear their destiny. After all, our destiny is who we are."

"Our most important holiday took place on the rare occasion that a prince was brought to hear the Oracle because the prince's destiny will become the destiny of all his people. I was only a toddler, but I remember clearly the day your father went to see the Oracle―"

"Wait," interrupted Michael. "Aren't you older than my dad?"

Sefu laughed. "He's eleven years older than me. Don't forget that he's an immortal Creator. He can look any age he wants."

"Right," said Michael uncomfortably, clearly trying to reckon with the idea of his father as some sort of a deity.

"So, it was a huge festival," Sefu continued. "The cave entrance was bedecked with flowers and thousands of people gathered. There were musicians, performers, storytellers, and people hawking all kinds of food and treats. It felt like the whole kingdom showed up. Then there was a huge procession as Amon entered the grounds and sauntered towards the hallowed cave. When he arrived at its mouth, he was wreathed in flowers by his parents and received blessings from the high priests. He carried a torch and had to enter the cave alone."

"My own father lifted me to his shoulders so I could see everything. I was too young to know exactly what was going on, but the way all the adults looked as they waited for Amon to emerge, I could tell that it was a very important moment. Some people prayed, a few whispered to each other, but most were completely silent. It was eerie. I remember I felt scared as we waited for him to return."

"Then we could see a light emerge from the tunnel. Everyone in the crowd started whispering and muttering. It sounded like wind blowing through fields of wheat. Finally, your father emerged. I remember that his face looked sallow and worried, but the crowd didn't seem to notice. They were caught up in a great cheer. Amon was led to a stage and the priests called for silence. With beads of sweat gathering on his furrowed brow, the young prince stood at a voice amplifier and uttered the prophecy to his people. 'The Fold spoke to me,' he said. 'It told me of my future, which is the future of this land: 'my line will end the war between Light and Dark.' And that, Michael Endwar, is where your name comes from."

"Wow," said Michael taking a deep breath. "But why do you think my dad looked so upset?"

"When I got to know your father, the pressure of the prophecy weighed on him like a mountain of lead. I mean, how does one react when told to end a war that has existed since the beginning of time― a conflict that is woven into the very fabric of the cosmos? Where does one begin? But eventually, Amon's path came to him. It was not long after his coming of age that his father, your grandfather, was killed in battle by Emeron, the Dark Creator, King of the Magi, and father of Acheron. Full of rage and righteous faith in the prophecy, Amon decided he would fulfill his destiny and take revenge at the same time."

"When I grew up, I fought in your father's army, first as a lowly soldier, but over many years I rose through the ranks to become a general. Despite some small victories we were never able to take much ground against the demons. Then your father came up with a plan to wipe out the demon royal family and steal their Eye."

"I'm guessing it didn't work," observed Maya, noting that Acheron was probably hunting for them at that very moment.

"That is an understatement," said Sefu. "What your father did next helped bring about the doom we now face. There is much more you need to know, but you should hear the rest from your father's lips. For now, it is time to sleep."

"But I want to know more!" Michael begged, his face painted with a mixture of wonder and worry at the world opening up for him.

Maya was tired, too, but she was getting into the elaborate tale as well.

"I understand," said Sefu, "but we have a dangerous road ahead of us and you'll need your strength. I need you up early tomorrow to take advantage of what sanctuary we have left."

"Are we going to rescue my dad?" Michael asked hopefully.

"There would be no greater waste of time," Sefu said coldly.

Michael looked taken aback by his callousness.

"I know that sounds harsh, but Amon is in a prison of his own construction. When you hear his story, you'll understand."

"But how am I supposed to hear it if he's in jail?" Michael asked anxiously.

"Don't worry," Sefu appeased. "There may be another way to obtain the information we need."

They eventually acquiesced to go to bed. Maya was still not sure about any of this, but if it was true, she had wandered into fascinating company. She suddenly found herself near the locus of this adventure. She was the youngest of four siblings, the daughter of a chancellor, and always treated as one of the smartest, prettiest girls in school, so did not at all mind being at the center of things.

She hugged Michael goodnight as they climbed the stairs to their respective rooms. He had bags under his eyes that were dark enough to be seen beneath all the grime. The black shirt she had given him and his brown, wavy hair were spackled with forest bric-a-brac. It was hard to tell in this condition, but she supposed that he could be considered handsome, although he was skinnier and less muscular than her usual type. While she most of all wanted to rescue her family, part of her wished to see where this adventure was heading. If this Creator business was true, Michael might be the key to freeing them. All that potential power made him unexpectedly intriguing.
CHAPTER V

THE GENERAL

Michael awoke to green forest light filtering through his windows. He could hear the sound of water running downstairs, dishes clinking, and breakfast cooking. The delightful smell of elk sizzling in a pan wafted under the closed door and tickled his nostrils. He had not been away from home for more than a few days, but it seemed like ages since he had these comforts.

Michael found his clothes cleaned and placed in a folded pile by his door. No one had washed clothes for him in years— he had to do all of the chores at his house. Even if he had not been on the lam, he would have appreciated this small luxury.

He dressed and went downstairs. Maya was already awake and sitting at the kitchen table watching Sefu cook.

"Good morning, Michael!" announced Sefu as he shuffled hunks of meat, onions, and potatoes about in a frying pan. He was still bedecked in a plaid shirt, although of cooler colors than the one he wore the night before. "I was planning to wake you up much earlier, but I figured that you needed the sleep. How do you feel?"

"Better," he said as he stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. He somehow managed to sleep through the night despite Sefu's revelations clogging his mind like a wad of hair in a shower drain.

Sefu smiled graciously. "I was up most of the night keeping an eye on the wisps. So far we're okay. No other demons showed up."

"What if they do?" asked Maya.

"Well, if my wisps don't take care of them, then we'll have the old choice— fight or flee. Either way, we have important work to do today. You need to learn how to defend yourselves."

•••

After breakfast, Sefu took them to the far corner of the living room where a square hatch was cut into the floorboards. He lifted it by a small brass hook to reveal a hidden staircase.

They descended into a dark stone basement. Sefu placed two fingers against a crystal globe set into the wall and suddenly a dozen other globes flickered on, illuminating the room.

The walls were lined with racks upon racks of weapons and armor. There were swords, knives, spears, staffs, bows, whips, maces, and a slew of boots, chest plates, helmets, and gloves.

"Wow!" exclaimed Michael taken aback by the extent of his uncle's secret armory. "You have enough here to arm every man, woman, and child in New Canaan!"

"Well," said Sefu, "that was my plan. I was never confident that Arimbol was a sanctuary. Even if Acheron never came after us, one of the other Dark Creators would eventually find us."

"Where did you get all of these?" asked Maya.

"I bought most of them and made others. I even brought a few of them with me from Geminon."

Michael walked along the racks looking at the swords. Most appeared to be made of steel, but there were several carved from wood, probably for training purposes. Several swords were inlaid with jewels and had ornate flowers, faces, and animals carved into their hilts.

"It is possible," began Sefu, "to only use your hands or even just your mind to Move an attack, but if you have a weapon, your strike can become much more focused. Weapons are often easier to use in close range than Moving. While a master can Move energy very quickly— as fast as thought― it takes time and concentration for a novice. The right weapon might save you if your enemy has you pinned down in close quarters."

Michael picked up a lengthy broadsword with a golden hilt in the shape of a ruby-eyed dragon. He felt its weight as he hefted it back and forth between his hands.

"Your sword acts like an extension of you,' Sefu continued. "Your power stems from the universe. It runs to your mind, through your hand, to your sword, and back out to the universe again. Through your mind, energy flows from thought into action― from immaterial to material and back again. Look through these weapons. Find one that you are drawn to, that feels natural for you to use. It should feel heavy enough to be powerful, but light enough that it is not a burden. Remember that we may be traveling and you will have to carry it. You don't want to be exhausted before you even arrive at the battle."

Michael carefully put the gaudy dragon sword back in place and pulled a simple steel sword from the shelf. It had a long double-sided blade that came to a sharp tip. The guard was not very wide, but it had a long hilt wrapped in a black leather band.

"That's a good one for you," suggested Sefu. "It's long enough to keep your enemies at a distance, sturdy enough to be swung with two hands, but light enough to be used with one."

Michael held it out in front of him and swung it a couple of times, careful not to hit anything in the tight basement. It seemed good enough to him. He certainly did not want to walk about with any of the more ornate swords.

Meanwhile, Maya browsed the bows and arrows.

"Don't bother with those today," said Sefu. "You already have Moving for long range attacks. You need something to fight close up."

"To be honest," said Maya, "I can't picture myself plunging a blade into someone's heart, even one of those demons. I mean, I'm studying to be a healer. This is kind of counter to everything I've worked for."

"It can be used for healing, too. It works the same as a healing wand."

"Not exactly the same," argued Maya. "A sword is for killing. It's kind of hard to concentrate on closing a gash with something that was also used to gouge holes in peoples' bellies."

Sefu smiled, impressed by her logic. "You make a good point, but we're at war. You're going to have to get past things that make you uncomfortable. A sword is not just for offense. It also serves as a shield. You can parry with it, or block most anything a Mover can send at you. You may not intend to be some famed demon-slayer with a hundred heads to your name, but you need to be able to defend yourself."

Maya reticently acquiesced by selecting a light, single-sided short sword that curved slightly at the tip. "This one seems good," she said half-heartedly.

"Excellent," said Sefu. "Now I want you to choose some light armor and wooden swords for practice and go upstairs."

•••

They stepped out onto the grassy lawn of the house. The great sphinx bear was now locked in a large wooden pen tucked into the edge of the nearby forest. The pen was almost as large as the house, but seemed barely strong enough to contain the massive animal. It sat on its haunches in front of a wooden trough filled with water. A wisp still hovered in front of its face, but seemed to be just holding it in place. Michael suspected that without it, the bear would easily smash through the flimsy-looking cage whose bars were no thicker than one of the beast's formidable foreclaws.

"You both know the basics of Moving," said Sefu, holding his staff out in front of him with both hands. "There is almost nothing different when using a sword. In fact, for what we are doing, having a sword or any other relatively straight weapon will make it easier."

Sefu strode over to a dead tree at the edge of the clearing and drew a knife from his pocket. He carved an X into its trunk about chest height. The tree was blackened as if from a fire and had several large branches broken off. Michael guessed that his uncle had been using it for target practice for many years.

Sefu walked back to them. "That's your target. I want you to aim your sword like this," he said, standing with his right shoulder pointed towards the tree. "You should always face your enemy with your side. It gives you the longest reach and makes you a thinner target for them to hit you."

Michael and Maya did as he said.

Sefu gestured towards their feet, and instructed them to stand with their legs shoulder width apart. Keeping their knees slightly bent, they pointed their lead foot ahead and turned their hind foot perpendicular to it. He checked to make sure they were doing it right, correcting their positions by tapping their heels with the end of his staff.

"Raise your sword arm towards your enemy keeping your elbow slightly bent. If it's locked, you can't do anything." He explained that this was their ready position when fighting. "Now I want you to concentrate on firing a blast at the center of that X. Just remember what I told you about Moving energy from your mind through your arm and out your sword."

Michael shut his eyes and imagined energy flowing from the air around him through the crown of his head, warming it, filling it with light. It coursed through his neck and shoulders, down the length of his arm, expanding and stretching the muscles. He could feel it now, no longer just imagination, running through his finger tips into the steel of his long sword. The blade vibrated more and more with his power until it felt ready to burst. He opened his eyes as a beam of red light erupted from the tip of his sword and shot past the tree, flying wide and disappearing into the forest beyond.

"Excellent!" cheered Sefu. "But you'll fare much better if you learn to concentrate without closing your eyes. You need to see what you're aiming at, plus whoever might be aiming back at you."

Pleased with his first attempt, Michael stood up straight.

"Stay in ready position!" Sefu corrected him sternly.

Michael returned to form, suddenly aware of his uncle's military background.

"Maya, you're next."

Maya did as Sefu advised and kept her eyes open as she fired. A ball of red light fizzled towards the tree, striking it with a sullen 'clack.'

"Commendable aim," Sefu critiqued, "but you barely blew the grass back. You're going to need to focus much harder to do damage to an armored soldier."

"Sorry, but it's hard to concentrate with my eyes open," she complained.

"You'll get used to it. The most important thing is to be convinced of your strength and believe that your strike has met its target before it even leaves your hands. Now," he said, tapping his staff against the ground, "both of you try again."

They practiced all morning until both Michael and Maya were able to consistently hit the target. Still, Michael was troubled. He had not done much damage to the X. It was barely scorched.

"Don't worry," Sefu said encouragingly. "Being the son of a Creator, or even a Creator yourself, does not give you any special aptitude for Moving."

"Actually, I am disappointed because I was able to do this before, when all of those dogs were attacking me. I blew them apart."

"That's because you were in the heat of battle. Your life was at risk and so was that of your friends. For some people, facing death is a terrifying distraction, but it sounds like it only made you stronger."

•••

After a short break for lunch, Sefu showed them the basics of fencing. They practiced against him using wooden swords. He showed them how to advance and retreat, to stab and swipe, and how to parry.

"The essence of the parry," explained Sefu, "is to use the base of your blade against the tip of theirs. Although your swiftest cutting edge is at the tip of your sword, its greatest weight and thickness lies at its base." He gestured towards Michael, "Swing at me."

Michael obliged, swinging his wooden sword at Sefu's torso. Sefu caught the tip of Michael's blade with the base of his. "See how I can control your blade now?" he said as he easily pushed it aside.

Michael nodded, impressed.

"Now try and push my blade out of the way."

Michael tried to press with the tip of his sword, but couldn't. He put his weight into it, but his sword was useless in that position.

"Now," Sefu directed, "try and hit me."

Michael swung his blade again at Sefu, who brushed it aside with a slight flick of his weapon. "Do you see how easy it was to knock it aside? It only requires a small movement on my part. Just a tap, really." Sefu explained that they should not parry too hard. They should stay as close to center as possible so they could easily repost. They practiced parrying until Sefu felt they had a reasonably good understanding.

Sefu lay his sword down and picked up his staff again. "Now, I want to show you how to parry a Moving attack," he said, swinging his stave from side to side. "Surround your weapon with the conscious force of your will to deflect the shot. It is swift and works well against focused attacks such as the bolts you have been firing, but does little good against heavier attacks."

"What constitutes 'heavier?'" Maya asked, wiping her brow. They had worked up a bit of a sweat from their training.

"A spray of fireballs, ice, lighting― it doesn't matter what form it takes, but if it's too big to swat away with your blade, a simply parry won't work. While many demons cannot manifest more than a poorly aimed shot, others are quite deadly, especially the long-horned officers. They are well-trained and can Move a great deal of energy. In which case, you will need to Move a field of protection around you. You can also use that to protect others."

"Why not just use a full shield all the time?" asked Michael.

"Because it takes much more concentration than a parry," explained Sefu. "It's inconvenient to walk when you're holding a shield over yourself and it's even harder to fight back. Of course, if you are fighting in a group, some soldiers can Move shields while others direct attacks at the enemy."

"To be honest," said Maya. "I would feel much more comfortable doing that than shooting at people."

Sefu nodded. "Healers often make excellent defenders and we may need you for it. Moving takes concentration and it is hard to concentrate on something that you do not believe in. Focus on your passions. Consider defense an extension of healing."

"Prevention is often the best medicine," Maya smiled.

•••

They spent the next three days practicing with Sefu. After his time with the demons, Michael was in heaven. It was not that he was particularly passionate or skilled at sword play, but just that he loved learning about Moving. He had wanted to go to the Academy so badly and had been so close, only to have his dreams squashed by the invasion. He despaired that his dream would never manifest, but now, unexpectedly, he had a chance to study Moving, and even better, his mentor was the man who had supported his learning all his life.

However, the bliss was short lived. On the morning of the fourth day, Michael was shaken awake.

"Get up!" he heard his uncle calling though his contented slumber. "We have to go!"

"What's going on?" Michael asked groggily.

"My wisps haven't returned. The demons are on their way."

Michael sprung upright as his sleepiness instantly evaporated.

"Get your clothes on. I have bags packed for you and Maya. We must leave immediately." With that, Sefu departed to rouse Maya.

Michael dressed in a frenzy, putting his shirt on backwards and stumbling over his shoes in the process. The room was dark and he did not have the wherewithal to think of turning on the light. It felt like it was still the middle of the night.

Once dressed, he hurried downstairs. Three green canvas packs lay by the front door reminding him that Sefu had prepared for this day for years. Michael's sword leaned against one so he knew it was his. He pulled it over his shoulders, cinching the straps. It was heavily laden with food, water, clothes, and tools they would need on the lam. He was not sure though how he was going to be able to run away from the demons wearing something so cumbersome. As Maya and Sefu descended the staircase, he clipped his sword scabbard to his belt.

"Here's yours" said Sefu, pointing to a bag for Maya. "We have everything we need in there for the next week."

"It sure feels like it," she grunted as she lifted it onto her shoulders.

"Don't worry," said Sefu. "We're not carrying it far." He guided them out the door. It was not as late at night as Michael imagined. Turquoise flecks of dawn broke just over the tree line. As Michael stepped onto the dewy lawn, he was startled to see the bear was out of its cage and facing them, or actually facing a wisp just in front of its glazed over face. Several ropes were tied securely around its waist.

Sefu pointed his staff at the wisp and commanded the bear to lie down. Even on its belly, the bear's shoulders were still well above Michael's head.

"Do you expect us to ride that thing?" Maya desisted.

"Would you rather carry the packs yourself?" Sefu answered curtly. "Just grab a rope or patch of fur and climb on!"

Maya stared at him reticently.

"Look, we have to hurry," he urged her. "Those demons could be here any moment." He walked back towards the house and proclaimed, "I'll join you in a moment. I just have to take care of something," and he disappeared inside.

Michael and Maya gave each other disconcerted looks then proceeded to the bear. They took off their packs. Michael kneeled and cupped his hands, making a step for Maya to lift herself onto the massive beast. Michael then passed her the backpacks before hoisting himself onto the animal as well. Its fur appeared coarse, but was softer than it looked. Its back was so wide that without their packs there would have been enough space for several more people to join them. As it was, they would be quite snug once Sefu climbed aboard.

"Do you suppose we're the first people to ever ride a sphinx bear?" Michael asked.

"From the look of these straps your uncle has had some practice," she said, tugging at one of the ropes.

Sefu emerged from the house and shut the door behind him, but left the lights on inside.

Michael smelled Sefu's cured meat. "Did you start cooking something?" he asked.

"Yes," Sefu smiled deviously as he passed Michael his pack and staff. He climbed onto the bear with ease and took the front seat.

Michael handed him back his weapon. He was impressed by the old man's agility. His hair was white and his hands pocked with liver spots, but he was strong and limber.

Sefu snickered, "I'm making breakfast for the demons."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked with a raised a brow.

"I want them to think that we're still at home, snuggled up, getting ready for a tasty meal. I rigged the house to explode as soon as that door is opened. If it doesn't kill them outright, they're going to think twice about following us. They'll be checking every bush and boulder for booby traps."

Sefu turned and grinned widely at Michael. Then with a flick of his staff the wisp rose into the air, making the bear lurch to its feet. Michael grabbed onto one of the tethers to keep from tumbling off. With a forward flick of his staff, the wisp took off with the hypnotized bear loping behind it.

•••

They lumbered southward through the forest. Branches cracked and splintered as the sphinx bear drove through the trees. Red-breasted thrushes and fluffy, long-eared cottonwells scurried out of the way. Michael kept expecting to hear an explosion from the distant house, but none ever came. Their black dogs were good trackers. Michael wondered if the demons realized they had departed and simply bypassed the house.

"Where are we going?" asked Maya.

"First we're going to Canaan to visit Michael's home."

"Won't there be demons there?" she asked worriedly.

"Probably," said the old general. "By now they must've figured out where Michael and his father lived and have scoured the place for information. They will likely have guards keeping an eye on the place in case Michael returns."

"So, why would we ever go there?" asked Michael.

"Because we need the same information they do. We need to know where the Eyes are. Your father told me a long time ago that he left you a will. He made me promise that I would bring you to it should anything happen to him. It was the last thing I promised him before I resigned as general and retired to the woods. After I do this, I won't owe him anything."

"Do you have any idea what it says?" Michael asked.

"It should offer some kind of explanation as to what you're supposed to do― how you're going to take up the mantle of Creator. It also should say something about the whereabouts of the Eyes. We're going to need them. I also hope Amon comes clean about what he has Created. But I warn you, you will not like what he has to say. I think you'll understand why I could not speak to him anymore."

This worried Michael. Sefu made his father's intentions sound quite odious. He asked his uncle, "If the demons have found my house, wouldn't they have already taken the will?"

"Only if they found it," said Sefu wryly, "but I doubt they could. Your father has hidden it quite well in the kitchen cupboard."

Michael scoffed in disbelief, "The cupboard?"

"Yes, there should be a secret opening in there," Sefu elucidated.

Michael was no less doubtful. "I've been in there a million times and have never seen anything like that."

"That's because you never looked," his uncle said assuredly.

•••

The trees thinned as they came to the edge of the forest. Michael's eyes had to adjust to the bright sunshine. He shielded his brow with his hand and looked over the vast grassy plain that stretched as far as his eyes could see. A cool breeze blew from the west, where not far away Michael knew the sea crashed against the island's stony shores. The wind rippled through the shaggy bear's fur like dry summer grass. In the distance Michael could see several grazing hesats **,** their single short horns protruding from the center of their lazy foreheads.

As they progressed south, Michael saw numerous herds of the slow grazing herbivores. Sometimes they rode quite close to them, but none seemed concerned by the passing bear and its riders. Michael considered the animals lucky. They didn't have to worry about good and evil or the questionable plans of parents. They just placidly chewed their cud.

The hesats only paused to look up when a thunderclap echoed in the distance. It rolled through the forest and across the plains. Sefu's booby trap had been sprung. He grinned proudly as the rumble died off. Still, he continued to periodically check behind them to see if they were being followed.

As they traveled south, Michael passed time atop the bear by trying to Create something― a ball of lead, or even a speck of dirt. It helped calm his nerves. Sefu had warned him that he would not like what he would learn from his father's will, but at the moment, he was more concerned with his parents' well-being. Each failed attempt to Create something reassured him that his father was still alive.

Maya rummaged through her bag and drew out a folding knife along with some bread, meat, and cheese. She cut off slices and passed them to Michael and Sefu. The lumbering picnic in the warm summer sun felt oddly idyllic.

As the afternoon drew upon them, the ground began to gently rise and fall. In the distance, Michael made out even greater hills. He assumed that these were the same ones that rose up behind Canaan.

"I've been keeping us away from the roads so as not to be seen," explained Sefu to Michael, "but do you know of a safe way to get into Canaan?"

Michael thought for a moment. "There are only a few roads in. We can enter along the coast. We could maybe find a boat along the way—"

"But we would be easy targets down there," Sefu interrupted. "Demons could see us from the cliffs and we would be pinned against the water."

His uncle clearly had a keen mind for strategy, Michael thought.

"We can also enter along the sea cliffs," Michael proposed, "but it won't really give us a good view of town. After that, there's the main road through the valley. It would be hard for the demons to surprise us there— you can see pretty far in every direction except when you get into the vineyards, but if they have sentries posted in the hills, they would easily spot us." Michael thought some more. "The only place left is the trail along the ridge line. It eventually connects to the main road in the valley, but before that it would give us a pretty clean view of the town."

Sefu clicked his tongue. "That sounds like our best bet."

"It's probably our only bet," agreed Michael.

"The trouble is," Sefu rubbed his head, "that if it offers the best lookout, then the demons will likely have soldiers posted there to watch the valley. We must approach cautiously."

•••

They ascended the ridge to Roak Rock slowly. The group had to dismount from the bear in order to navigate through the low hanging trees. The beast also made a lot of racket as it tromped through the dry undergrowth, its feet straddling both sides of the tiny trail. Sefu had the bear follow them at a distance, so it would be less likely to give them away.

The hill became steeper as they pressed on and Michael began to perspire. He was certain that not all of it was from the sun, but his nervousness as they passed each bend in the trail. He worried that a platoon of demon soldiers was around every corner.

They crouched slightly as they walked with swords and staff drawn and Sefu in the lead. Michael was so tense that he was ready to blast the first thing that moved. Sensing this, Sefu whispered, "You two stay behind me and fan out. If they start shooting at us, we don't want to be caught close together."

Michael watched every pace his uncle made with intense concentration. As they neared the top of the ridgeline, Michael could hear the trickle of water from the luminous blue spring. They were close to the Fold, but the trail ahead was blocked by trees and tall bushes where a few days ago, a solitary demon had stumbled through and changed the course of Michael's life.

Sefu motioned for Michael and Maya to stop then waved his staff at the wisp to halt the bear. He crouched down by the edge of the bushes and peered through. Michael watched him for what felt like a long time. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he was too tense to wipe it off. He didn't want to make a peep.

Finally, Sefu turned and crept back to them. "There are two sentries armed with swords," he whispered. "One is standing by the rock and the other is looking out over the ridge. We need to take them out before they can signal anyone else, but I can't hit both of them at the same time. I need you two to take out the one by the rock while I deal with the other.

"What if we miss?" asked Maya.

"Don't miss," commanded Sefu sternly.

"But what if we do?" she repeated.

"Then he is either going to signal or he is going to start shooting at us. There are two trees up ahead," he pointed to either side of the bushes. "Hide behind them without making too much noise."

"They might not be able to hear us coming because of the creek," suggested Michael.

"Maybe, but don't take any chances." Sefu warned. "I'm going to go in between you two. Wait behind the trees until I give you this signal," he said, raising a closed fist. He told them to take aim and fire all together when he spread his palm. "Just remember what I taught you over the last few days and you'll be fine.

Michael was not so sure. He switched sword hands momentarily so he could wipe his sweaty palm on his shirt. He didn't want to clumsily drop his weapon at the vital moment.

"It will be quick and clean. They'll never see us coming," said Sefu assuredly. "Are you ready?"

Michael and Maya nodded, no less apprehensive. Sefu crept back into the bushes. They followed, careful not to snap any dry twigs or rustle too many leaves. Michael and Maya leaned against their respective trees and watched as Sefu crouched between them. The bushes and brambles shielded him from sight, but not the beams and missiles of the sentries.

Sefu held onto his staff and raised a closed fist with his other hand. Michael and Maya peered out from around their shelters. Amidst the leaves and tall grass Michael could see the outlines of the two demons quietly looking out over the valley. They were so still that they could have been statues.

Trying as much as possible to keep his body shielded by the thick trunk of his arbor, Michael aimed at his demon. He was some distance away, perhaps forty long strides. It seemed a much farther target than the tree he had practiced on back in Sefu's forest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his uncle level his staff at the sentry on the right. Then, with his free hand, he signaled to fire. Sefu's bolt lashed out first, striking his demon in the back with a swift crack. With a piercing cry he was blasted off the hillside and out of view, but Michael's shot went wide, as did Maya's.

The surprised demon whirled about and fired a red bolt at Sefu, but the general whirled his staff. The force of his will rippled the air around him and the blast was knocked aside into the ground. Sefu followed through with his spin and in one fluid motion pointed the foot of his staff at the demon. He fired back, striking the horned man in the chest and dropping him to the ground. A wisp of smoke plumed from his motionless enemy.

Sefu pushed his way through the foliage and nudged the fallen demon with the end of his staff. He then walked over to the hillside where the first demon fell. "Come out," he motioned to Michael and Maya. "We got them."

Michael emerged sheepishly, acutely aware that he had had nothing to do with "getting them."

Sefu stood at the overlook and surveyed the valley.

"Sorry I missed," Michael apologized as he joined his uncle.

"It's quite different to shoot at a sentient being than a tree. I didn't expect you to do it your first time, but you should take every opportunity now to learn."

Michael hoped that his uncle did not mean killing every demon they saw for target practice. He assumed the man was not that cold-blooded.

Peering over the valley, Sefu stirred the head of his staff, drawing a circle over and over again in the air in front of him. The air thickened like whisked meringue until it formed a lens made of ice that clung delicately to the head of the stave. Sefu looked through it across the valley.

"How did you do that?" asked Maya, impressed.

"I Moved the moisture in the air," Sefu explained. "If you use your imagination, your environment can provide almost anything you need."

Michael and Maya peered over Sefu's shoulders so they could see. Sefu scanned the valley and the opposite hillsides. He gazed from left to right, slowly moving down from the hilltops to the valley floor. "The canyon looks clear," he said. He then panned towards the town. "Aha!" he exclaimed. "There are two demons waiting outside your house and four in the town square. There are probably more hidden nearby."

Despite the lens, Michael could not see them at first. They were very far away, but then his eyes adjusted to the scale. "I see them" he remarked. "They're standing by the apple tree in my front yard." Their green skin helped camouflage them against foliage. It was only their black armor that gave them away.

He then scanned beyond his neighborhood towards the town square. There were four more demons standing by the fountain in the middle. The once playful stone sea wolves that spat water into the basin were now still. It was so strange to behold his town devoid of people.

Sefu abruptly flicked his staff and dissipated the icy lens into a puff of steam. Michael blinked to adjust his surprised eyes from the eerie view. "Sorry, we need to get moving," he commanded, and with another quick whir of his staff, he summoned the great bear.

•••

Sefu dropped them off amongst the cobalt vineyards at the edge of town.

From atop the bear he stated, "I'm going to distract the demons. When they're out of the way, get to your house and find the will. Remember, there is a secret passage in the kitchen cupboard. If I recall correctly, your father said it was locked."

Michael thought of the pantry he had opened a thousand times to make a snack or fetch a jar of spice to help cook for his parents. It seemed unlikely that it held any secret beyond some forsaken cookie crumbs tucked into the corners.

"But I don't have a key," Michael pointed out.

"I don't think it requires a key. It will probably open with a word— something personal that only you would know as his son."

Michael quickly ran his mind across some possibilities— where he was from, how he met his mother, his father's job— but after hearing Sefu's tale, he felt like he barely knew his father at all.

"When you're done, I'll be waiting for you on the south side of town. If I'm not there, keep going without me."

"But―" Michael began to protest the idea of something happening to his uncle. He had no idea what to do on his own, but hoped the will would clarify that.

"Good luck," Sefu interrupted as he raised the wisp into the air. The bear jerked to its feet. Sefu smiled over his shoulder and then thrust his staff forward, sending the wisp hurtling ahead with the great bear galloping after it. Michael was astonished to see the great lumbering animal run so fast.

Michael looked at Maya.

"Let's go!" she whooped.

They drew their swords and took off after the bear. It kicked up so much dust as it sprinted along that Michael could barely see anything, but as they neared the paved roads of Canaan, he could hear the surprised screams of the demons as the beast charged into them.

As he burst through the cloud of debris, blasts of red light flashed in the air. A demon soldier lay still in the street while three others fired at the beast. The beams singed its hair, but did not seem to irritate it at all. Michael wondered if it would be so unfazed if it was not hypnotized by the wisp.

Sefu was safely shielded by the bear's giant head. With an upward flick of his staff, he made the bear rear up on its hind legs. It pushed up its awesome weight and rose slowly over the rooftops. Two of the demons stared aghast at the monster. They stumbled backwards, lowering their swords to their sides in horror, but the third soldier was unfazed. He brandished his blade at the head of the rising bear. Michael wondered if he was going to summon his Ki and fire a massive blast that could actually do some damage, but before the soldier had a chance, the bear came crashing down.

Maya gasped. Whereas the bear had risen slowly, it descended like a landslide. The impact was unbelievable, sending dirt and cobblestones flying. The nearby houses shuddered and Michael felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. The demon did not have time to dive out of the way and was trampled under its bouldery paws. The other demons were knocked off their feet from the force of the impact. Their swords skittered across the street like terrified mice. For the briefest of moments, they stared in abject horror as Sefu commanded the bear to rise up on its hind legs again.

Michael never saw anyone run so fast. The demons were three houses away by the time the bear reached its full height. This was not sufficiently far away though, and they were once again knocked off their feet as the mighty bear shook the earth. Their armor clanged cacophonously as they skidded and rolled over the cobblestones.

The other demons had surely heard this racket by now and were coming to investigate. This bear was going to be a very good distraction, Michael thought. Perhaps even overkill. Sefu charged after the two demons who had once again struggled to their feet and were now hobbling away, pants presumably soaked in terror. Michael almost ruined his britches merely watching his uncle trample the soldier.

Michael and Maya used the opportunity to hurry to his house. They tried not to look as they passed by the two smashed demons lying in the street, but Michael ruefully caught a glimpse of one, his various parts squeezed out of his armor like a tube of toothpaste. He immediately wished he hadn't seen that.

They turned the corner and in a moment stood outside Michael's home. It was easy to recognize. Even Maya knew which one it was. It was the only house on the street that looked like it had been beaten and tortured.
CHAPTER VI

WILL AND DESTINY

As Michael and Maya entered his house, they gasped and covered their noses at a horrible smell. All of the familiarity of the house Michael grew up in was gone. The rooms were still there, but it looked like a hurricane had whipped through. Beams of light pierced through the shattered windows and illuminated the dusty air. Broken glass covered the floors along with ripped books, clothing, and moldy green food. The furniture was torn apart and its stuffing lay strewn about like exposed organs.

The demons had left nothing unturned, unopened, nor unmolested in their search for information. But by the shattered windows and utter disarray it was clear that they went beyond mere reconnaissance. The place stank from far worse than rotting food. He supposed that after they were done searching the place, they celebrated their victory by trashing it. Indeed there were burns on some of the walls in the shape of a star like those he had seen on the chest plates and badges of the demon soldiers.

Glass crunched under their feet as they made their way to the kitchen. They stepped over heaps of refuse, careful to avoid slipping and touching anything toxic.

The kitchen smelled especially vile, as that was where most of the food lay rotting, splattered on the ground and even smeared across the walls. Michael was pretty sure it was his leftover vegetable soup that now spelled "Roundhead Profaner" on the wall.

Every cabinet lay open and the doors were even torn off some. Michael walked over to the pantry where the will was supposed to be. It still looked like an ordinary wooden cupboard just large enough for a person to step into.

"I still have no idea how to make it open," Michael admitted.

"Could it be his name?" asked Maya.

"Maybe."

Michael turned to the cabinet and spoke his father's name. He waited a moment, but nothing happened. He tried his father's other name, then his mother's, but nothing happened with either.

"Did he have a pet, or a place that he loved?" Maya suggested helpfully.

"No pets, but maybe a place." Michael spoke again to the cabinet, "Aaru!"

Nothing opened.

"Geminon! Arimbol! New Canaan!"

Still nothing.

"Is there anything else that your dad told you?" Maya asked, trying to jog his memory. "No story that seemed especially important?"

"He told me lots of stories about his work. He traveled a lot to catalog the Folds in Arimbol. They were great stories," he said wistfully. "I loved listening to him and kind of wished I could travel to see all those things, but there was nothing that he seemed to focus on or repeat to me." Michael turned to Maya and scratched his head. "I suppose I didn't know my dad very well at all. He wasn't around a lot, and according to Sefu, half the things he told me were lies."

Maya cast Michael a sympathetic look. Her eyebrows, furled together over her soft hazel eyes, urged him to keep thinking.

Suddenly, he realized one simple bit of truth. He stepped inside the cabinet, placed his hands on the wood paneling that made up the back wall and proclaimed, "My name is Michael Endwar."

As if responding to his touch and recognizing his voice, the edges of the floor lit up. Michael quickly stepped back. The wood faded away and revealed a staircase of white marble that descended to a dark passageway.

Michael looked back to Maya who appeared awestruck.

"Your mouth is hanging open," he observed, proud that he had figured it out. "Come on, let's go!"

•••

As they entered, the cabinet immediately sealed behind them, completely darkening the stairway.

"Now what?" asked Maya. "Are we going to have to feel our way down?"

But as she said this, the walls, floor and ceiling began to glow an ethereal blue.

"Well, that works!" she said appreciatively.

"Maybe you should wish for a couple of steaks while you're at it," Michael joked.

Maya laughed. Her laughter made Michael feel more at ease. He was glad that she was with him. He was nervous about what he might find in this cellar or what his father's will might say.

As if sensing his anxiety, Maya took Michael's hand. "Don't forget," she whispered, "You are Michael Endwar." And with that, they began to descend the stairs.

With his free hand he touched the glowing blue walls. They were cold and felt more like glass than stone.

They came to a landing, then turned and continued down another set of stairs in the opposite direction. They descended numerous flights in this manner. After the first ten, Michael stopped counting. He was shocked that such an extensive passageway existed under his house without his knowing. He wondered how often his father came down there.

After a seemingly interminable descent, they arrived at a long hallway. At the far end was a warm, bright light. There was something strange about it that drew him in, but also repulsed him.

"I do not look forward to climbing back up," said Maya. "Do you suppose we can talk to another wall and make an elevator?"

Michael smiled at her as they continued down the hall, still wrapped up in the strange convoluted feeling.

•••

Michael's eyes had to adjust to the new room. It was as bright as daylight. Indeed, the entire ceiling was open to the bright azure sky. A bird flitted by, silhouetted against a few wispy clouds. But then Michael realized that it was not real. It was some sort of a projection. The room was perhaps two or three times his height, but they were deep underground. There was no breeze or fresh air, but still the illusion made the subterranean chamber feel less claustrophobic.

Michael scanned the square room. The walls and floor were all made of the same blue stone as the hallways, but did not glow. There were doors at each of the walls and at the center of the room was a large white platform. Upon it stood a faceless statue of a male figure made from white marble. It stood proudly with its chest out and its arms locked behind its back. Most startling of all was that, sitting at its feet, was a shadowy, stooped figure, staring at a white bar in its hands.

"Mom!" Michael exclaimed as he ran to her, his heart beating in his throat. He kneeled down and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

She did not look up.

"How did you get down here? Did dad bring you here?"

She continued to stare at the white block of stone in her hands. Michael thought that she seemed okay. She did not appear to be hurt, or scared, hungry or thirsty, just vacantly afflicted by her mental illness.

Maya continued around the room, peering into each door. "There's four beds in here," she said of the first. "And this one," she said, walking over to the room opposite the entry, "is a bathroom. Wow, there's a waterfall in there!" She walked over to the last room and went inside. Michael heard her call from within. "Michael you have to see this!"

"Is it the Eyes?" he called back, still stroking his expressionless mother's shoulder.

"Um, no, but it's pretty cool!" she said.

"Hold on," he let go of his mom warily. "I'll be right back," and he followed Maya into the last room.

It was massive— far larger than the atrium with the platform or even his house above. It was filled with tall shelves stocked with thousands of cans and bags of food. There appeared to be a huge variety, including all kinds of preserved vegetables, fruits, nuts, and meats. Michael grabbed a bag of sweet almonds, tore it open, and crammed a fist-full in his mouth. They were crunchy, salty, and tasted amazing after a day of traveling. Maya likewise grabbed a bag of dried fruit and gobbled it up as they explored the rest of the chamber.

Several of the shelves were devoted entirely to medical supplies. At a quick glance Michael saw all kinds of gauze, pills, antiseptics, and bottles of herbs. At the back of the room was a counter with all the makings of a kitchen, including a sink, stove, and an array of utensils. 'A person could live for years down here with no need to go outside,' Michael thought.

Beyond the kitchen was another door that led to a smaller room filled with supplies of another kind. Weapons lined the walls― swords, knives, spears, and more. It put even Sefu's ample armory to shame. Michael did not even recognize what some of them were. 'Did his father know that an invasion was coming?' Michael wondered. 'What exactly was he preparing for?'

There was also a table with two machines on it. The machines both had headsets and microphones, several switches, lights, buttons, and number keypads on them. They were identical except for the labels affixed to the top of each. One read "Arimbol" and the other was marked "International." There was also a clipboard with blank paper, a few pens, and a small book bound in black leather.

Michael was about to reach for it when a loud buzz rang out from the atrium that made his hair stand on end. Had the demons returned and found the bunker? But then the drone coalesced into a familiar voice. "Michael..." it said.

"Dad!" Michael exclaimed.

"Your dad?" asked Maya, surprised. "How did he―" she began, but Michael was already running back to the atrium.

•••

Michael returned to the atrium and sure enough he saw his father standing on the platform, facing the entry way.

"Dad! I'm here!" Michael exclaimed, overwhelmed with relief and happiness. His parents were both okay and his dad would be able to protect them. "How did you get away from the demons?"

But his dad did not turn around. He continued speaking, "...my son. You are here because something has happened to me. I may not be alive any more to tell you about your past, so I have left you this message."

Michael reached out to touch his father's shoulder, and suddenly his heart sank into his stomach as he realized the illusion. It was some sort of projection of light and form that emanated from within the marble statue, which in his excitement he had completely forgotten about. It was incredibly realistic looking. He noticed his mother had turned towards it as well. She listened intently and aimed the white stone block at it, which Michael now suspected was some sort of device that turned on the effect.

The recording continued, "You must now know that I am a Creator and that as my only son, you are my heir."

Michael was crestfallen, but tried to compose himself enough to listen to his father's secret message.

"When I die, my title and abilities as Creator shall be passed on to you. You will be able to Create form from nothingness, to transform matter into whatever shape you desire, and to even change yourself. You will also be king of Arimbol and ruler of Aaru on the planet Geminon. The current leaders are only retainers. They loyally await the return of their true king."

"I am also sorry to say that along with my powers, you must inherit a long and bloody war. The Light and Dark Creators have battled since the dawn of time. The kingdom of Aaru borders Elysia, ruled by the Dark Creator Acheron. If I have been slain, it is likely he who orchestrated it."

Michael was glad Sefu had explained some of this before. He would have had no clue what his father was talking about otherwise.

"But we have fate on our side," the statue continued. "When I reached adulthood, I visited the great Oracle Fold of Geminon. It told me a prophecy that not only effects me, but you, all of our descendants, our kingdoms, and the whole universe. It told me, 'Your line shall bring an end to the war between Light and Dark.'"

"At first I took it to mean that it was my responsibility to find and defeat all the Dark Creators. I went after Emeron and his son, Acheron, first."

"By interrogating captured soldiers we learned that the royal family would be visiting a city near the border to celebrate Alo, their spring festival. Instead of attacking with the full army, which would have led to many deaths, I snuck in over the mountains with a small group of my best Movers, including my top general, Sefu, my closest advisor, Leyon, and several trusted others. It was a very risky plan to sneak a dozen humans into Elysia without being noticed, kill the royal family, rob them of their most powerful weapon, and make it back safely to Aaru."

It sounded impossible to Michael as he recalled the map that Sefu had composed from the sandwich. They would have had to traverse all the way from meat to apple.

"I never would have considered it if it wasn't for the prophecy," his father went on. "It guaranteed that my line would someday end the war between Light and Dark. And as I had no heir, I felt invincible."

"The plan almost worked. We snuck over the mountains. I used my Creating to grow false horns on our heads and some forest dyes gave us believably green complexions. I still have the nubs of those horns hidden under my hair. We infiltrated the pavilion where I killed the king and queen in their sleep, drawing Emeron's spirit into his very own Eye, but we failed to accomplish the last, vital part of the mission, which was to assassinate Acheron. To his fortune, he had not attended the festival that year. Hidden far away in the capital, he became heir to Emeron's powers."

"We snuck back over the border before anyone knew what happened, but the news that his parents were murdered reached Acheron before long. He was furious. He rallied his people into a nationalist frenzy and in a few short weeks bowled over our borders and razed our western cities."

"Our capital filled with refugees and we heard horror stories of the atrocities committed by the demons. I became despondent as I realized that my successes had only brought misery to my people. I had not increased good in the world, but had fanned the flames of Darkness. I began to reconsider my destiny."

Michael remembered what Sefu said about prophecies― they can be tricky and are subject to interpretation.

"The Oracle stated that my line would end the war between Light and Dark, but I realized that the prophecy did not explicitly state who in my line would do that. My duty wasn't necessarily to win the war, but to ensure the birth and safety of the one who could. I realized that destiny would be fulfilled no matter what I did."

"I also concluded that if I and the Eyes were no longer in Aaru, then the demons would abandon the rigors of occupation and go home. So I went into exile along with the twelve warriors who helped stage the raid on Elysia. We first went south to the neutral kingdom of Minos, but this threatened their truce with the demons, so we soon had to go somewhere where Acheron's fury could not scald us. By good fortune, Leyon discovered an ancient text in the Minotian libraries that described the whereabouts of a secret land on Earth that could keep us hidden. The demons lack the technology for space travel, so this seemed like our best chance to find sanctuary. The Minotians gave us a small ship and enough fuel to send us to Earth."

"We landed in the deserts of the southwestern United States and I immediately sought to meet the top leaders of Earth. The first authorities I met took me for a lunatic and my twelve soldiers as cultist followers, but after a display of Moving to the right people, we were able to meet with the leaders we sought."

"I told them that I would be taking over Arimbol. I did not seek their permission, but required their protection and secrecy for the sake of all that is good. At first they resisted, but after a more impressive show of Moving, they were convinced to keep our secret and lend aid should Arimbol ever be attacked."

It sounded to Michael that his father's display of Moving to the earthling governments was not so much an instructive demonstration as it was a thinly veiled threat.

"Even with Leyons' old book hinting at the location of Arimbol, it took us nearly a year to triangulate the correct bearing so we could penetrate the Shield Fold. At that time, Arimbol consisted solely of the grouping of three islands we call Dwarka."

Michael scowled, realizing that everything he had been taught in school about Arimbol's founding was some grand deception orchestrated by his very own father.

"After causing so much destruction on my home planet, I wanted to Create something good. I wanted to use my powers to build a more perfect world with enough food, water, friends, and beauty for all. So, over the next three years I Created the islands of Arimbol that you know today. I pulled the land out of the sea. I sculpted the mountains, flattened the plains, and seeded the forests. I spread the unique flora and fauna of Arimbol all over the archipelago and recalled more familiar ones from both Earth and Geminon. I built the cities and the house that you grew up in. Then, when I was ready, I invited deserving people from all over the Earth to populate this new country."

"Besides making Moving easily accessible to all, we discovered that there was another aspect to the Folds surrounding Arimbol— all those within it could understand each other, no matter what tongue they spoke. We attributed this effect to what we now call the Babel Fold."

"Although I Created this new utopia, I did not want to be its leader. I had failed at keeping the people of Aaru safe. I only wanted to have a child and live peacefully and anonymously so he might grow up to be the great and victorious Creator described by the Oracle Fold."

"I offered Sefu my crown, but he refused. Instead, I gave the crown to my advisor, Leyon. I made my other advisors governors of the major islands and chancellors of the four Moving Academies."

"Wait! What?" exclaimed Maya. "My father is a chancellor! Is he from Gemiwhat, too?"

But the recording went on, "Sefu did not agree with what I did next. I wanted to purify my line to speed up the prophecy. I did not want another woman's destiny to interfere with my own, so I left to the Shambalah Mountains. There, I spent the next three years taking on the greatest challenge a Creator can pursue— the Creation of human life. I Created a wife who soon became mother to you, my heir."

Michael suddenly looked aghast at his mother still sitting listlessly on the dais. Her wild hair draped over her dim eyes.

"I made her beautiful. I made her the kind of person that I could love and who I could enjoy a life of peace with. I made her the kind of person who would be a loving, caring mother..."

Michael tried to soak this in. His mother was...a Creation? Was she even human then? And if she wasn't, then what was _he_? The question made his skin crawl.

"...but before you were even born, I realized my great error. Strange things started happening all over the islands of Arimbol. Sometimes they were good, like the giant raspberries you like from Palmyra Forest. Sometimes they were beautiful, like the Flying Waters near Quivira, but sometimes they were dangerous, like the vortex that devoured a village on Lemuria. The land I built was failing, so I could not live the anonymous life I hoped for. Leyon and the other governors explained these phenomena to the populace as Folds and I have spent the last nineteen years managing them as Assessor of Folds. But in truth they are my failures as Creator. The only true Folds in Arimbol existed before I ever arrived."

"But they portended something much worse. For twelve years your mother worked without a glitch..."

Michael winced at the words his father used to describe her― like some sort of faltering machine.

"...but I worried someday something would go wrong. Then she had her first seizure. The complex networking of her nervous system that I strived so hard to perfect had broken down."

Michael stared at the woeful creature he had nursed for the last seven years. Unable to speak or take care of herself, she was locked in the shell of her own defunct mind and body. And his father― what arrogance did he have to Create life, to Create worlds, to attempt to manipulate prophecies and fix destiny? It was so irresponsible to expect his son to clean up his messes while he watched his friends go off to college to pursue their dreams! He didn't want any of this.

"Michael, you have always been smart, creative, and responsible. You will be a wise leader and a great Creator if you choose to be. If I am dead, then you already have my powers. Remember that the prophecy is open-ended. You too have the choice to fight or wait until a new Creator is born. So long as you remain the only one left in our line, you cannot be killed, but as soon as you conceive a child, your immortality is compromised. If you follow that path, I suggest you hide better than I have."

"If you decide to take up your sword against the Darkness, you will need one of the Eyes. You must draw the Ki from the Dark Creators when they are slain. Leyon is my most trusted servant and knows where one Eye is hidden. The other I can see from my mind's eye."

"What the heck does that mean?" interjected Maya. "He wants you to take on the lords of Darkness, but he hid the only thing you can defeat them with?"

Michael barely heard Maya and had all but stopped listening to his father. He was fuming.

"Moreover, the European and North American governments have promised to send aid if Arimbol comes under attack, but they must be alerted. Every town has a communications center. There is one above ground here, but there is another located in this bunker in the armory. Find the international communications link. There is a small black book next to it that lists the names of several countries and numbers associated with them. Those are the contact codes. They will link you directly to special receivers belonging to the head of each nation and used only for this purpose. They know the importance of this call, as your survival is theirs as well."

"Whatever you may think of me, know that everything I have done has been to help you rise to this challenge. The Eyes are but a veil between this world and the next. I love you, son, and hope that someday our Ki will meet again."

With that, the projection faded and the room fell silent. Michael's father was gone.

•••

Maya comfortingly wrapped an arm around Michael's shoulders, but he barely noticed. He heard his mother murmur something. It was not so much of a word as a whimper. She looked at the white control block in her lap and gripped it tighter. Suddenly a whirring sound drove the illusion into action again. The blank face of the statue sprouted a nose, eyes, and other features as Amon's form coalesced and began to speak again.

"Michael, my son. You are here because something has happened to me..." it repeated.

Had his mother just been sitting there watching this recording over and over again? Michael felt sick.

"I'm going to go see about the comm. center," said Maya.

Michael nodded emptily and followed her into the back room. She sat down at the table by the radios and opened the black book. The first page gave instructions on how to use the devices. Maya traced the words on the page with her finger.

"Here's what we're looking for," she pointed. "'Only use the international line in case of an emergency such as in the event of natural disasters or foreign military incursions. Phone numbers connect directly to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) headquarters in Belgium or with heads of state belonging to NATO. Select a contact and dial the corresponding number code into the transmitter.'"

"Seems simple enough," remarked Maya. She turned the page. In bold letters at the top was listed "Arimbol." Below it were dozens of names and numbers of towns scattered across the archipelago. Maya flipped the page. The top was titled in bold, "International" and directly underneath that was written "NATO Headquarters" and a corresponding string of numbers. Below that were the names of several countries in alphabetical order along with their own digits: "Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Iceland, Italy, Luxemburg, Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Turkey, United Kingdom, and the United States."

"Well, let's try NATO first," Maya suggested hopefully. She put on the headset for the international line and dialed the code.

"Do you hear anything?" Michael asked after a while.

She shook her head. "Let me try again." She located a button labeled 'End Call' and pressed it, then dialed the numbers again. "The numbers make a tone when I press them, but then it just goes silent. Am I just supposed to wait until someone answers?"

"I don't know. Maybe try another country. How about the United States? That's where my dad said he first landed."

Maya looked up the number in the little black book and dialed it. "I heard the number tones again, but that's it."

"Crud," griped Michael. "I forgot that all the comm. lines are out."

"They were out in Alexandria, too. Do you think the demons are blocking them?"

"Seems like," Michael shrugged disappointedly.

Just in case, Maya dialed all the rest of the numbers including the other cities in Arimbol, but no one responded.

"Your dad said that there are comm. centers in every city in Arimbol. Let's take the book with us. Maybe we'll have better luck elsewhere."

Michael nodded, discouraged. They left the headsets and blinking lights and returned to the atrium. Maya took another bag of dried fruit from one of the shelves. Michael considered taking something, too, but had lost his appetite.

•••

When they returned to the atrium, Michael's father was beginning his long tale again. It seemed that his mother had started it a third time. She was still sitting at the edge of the stage staring up at the phantasmic sculpture. Michael knelt beside her so he could look her in the eye.

"Mom," he began tenderly, "Arimbol is no longer safe. There are bad people here who want to hurt us. I need you to come with me. Uncle Sefu is upstairs. He wants to take us somewhere safe, okay?"

She did not move.

Michael stood up and extended his hand to her. "Mom, I need you to come with me. You can't stay here."

Still, she refused to look at him. He clutched her arm and tried to lift her to her feet. She always let him guide her around the house as he went about his chores, but he was surprised to find her resisting.

"Mom!" he beseeched her.

He pulled harder, but was shocked at what happened next.

"No!" she shouted.

Michael could not remember the last time he heard her voice. Sometimes she seemed lucid and would understand him, but she had never spoken.

"Michael..." said Maya, stepping towards them.

But he wasn't listening. Tears welled in his eyes. "Mom, you have to understand," he pleaded. "Dad is gone. You have to come with me. There are people who will kill you if they find you!"

He tried to pull her up one more time, but she threw his arm off and crawled onto the stage. "No! No! No! No!" she cried as she reached out for her husband. She grabbed onto the statue's legs like a petulant child refusing to go to the dentist. Her tears flooded the white marble at his lucent feet. Through all this, the apparition merely  
continued its speech, describing his own failings and Michael's destiny.

Michael stared helplessly at the sobbing woman, a mixture of pain and horror across his face. Despite the destruction of her mind and nervous system, the one thing that remained was her love for this man. Michael could not believe that her devotion extended beyond even her son and her own life. He wondered if she really loved Amon so much or if he had Created her that way.

"Michael," Maya said gently behind him. "She should stay here. It's not safe for her to travel with the demons after us. She has managed to survive here this long. She has food, water...she'll be okay."

"...someday our Ki will meet again," spoke Michael's father, finishing its speech and fading out once again.

Michael knew Maya was right. He placed his hand on the ankle of his sobbing mother. "Mom, I'm sorry. You can stay. I'm going to try to bring dad back for you."

She did not raise her head from the marble floor, but continued to cry and clutch the control. She squeezed it again and the projection began anew. Michael wiped the tears from his cheeks and watched her for a while.

Maya touched his arm, "Let's go, Michael. She'll be okay."

Michael nodded. "Goodbye mom. I love you."

•••

Sefu awaited them on the south side of town. He stood on a hilltop leaning on his staff. The ocean breeze blew the tall grass in gentle waves. The great bear was nowhere to be seen.

"Did you find it?" Sefu asked as Michael and Maya joined him.

Michael only nodded morosely. He did not feel like talking.

Sefu put his arm around the boy and said to him in a lowered tone, "Now you understand why I could not speak to him anymore."

"There was a comm. center there," Maya said.

"Oh?" asked Sefu.

"We found a book of codes and tried calling for help, but no one answered."

"Huh," pondered Sefu. "Seems like the demons figured out how to jam a signal. They were never able to do that on Geminon."

"He also said that King Leyon knows where one of the Eyes are and he gave a clue to the location of the other. He said that he could 'see it from his mind's eye.' What do you suppose that means?"

"I'm actually not sure," said Sefu, scratching his short white hair. "I'll sleep on it."

"So where do we go from here?" Maya asked.

"We need to find a ship and get off this island— either to the U.S. or to the capital to find Leyon. I searched the waterfront and the beach, but all of the boats are gone. I suspect the demons sank them. They have no idea whether Amon had more children, so wouldn't want anyone to escape." Sefu turned south and began walking. "With any luck, there are still boats at Caral."

Maya squeezed Michael's wrist and then hurried after Sefu.

Michael took one last look at Canaan, the town where he was born, and had spent his entire life. It was beautiful with its red tiled roofs sloping down through the hills to meet the shining blue sea. He had wanted to leave for a long time to go study, visit the other islands, and maybe live somewhere abroad. Leaving always symbolized freedom from all the responsibility imposed by his mother's illness and his father's job. Now he was leaving, perhaps never to return, but it was not the way he imagined. He did not feel free. Instead he felt the crushing weight of a new responsibility that his father had sprung upon him. He was no longer beholden to just his small family, but to his village, his country, and perhaps the whole cosmos. The thought made him feel incredibly small and helpless.

Michael held his palm out in front of him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on a small piece of black lead forming in his hands. He imagined it already formed, round and perfectly smooth. He forced all of his will to make it so. His forehead felt warm and his temples ached slightly from the effort, but when he opened his eyes, there was still nothing in his hand. He felt slightly relieved. The onus was not on him yet.
CHAPTER VII

THE RIVER

Grant's stomach growled. He didn't think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but it still made him uneasy. He hoped that no louder emissions were about to ensue. The strange fruit he had been eating for the past three days was starting to disagree with him, but he felt lucky to be stuck somewhere that provided enough to sustain him. However, he might soon be forced to find a squirrel hole in which to finish that disagreement. He considered the alternative of answering the call of nature on the eight devils below, but was quite certain that he would be in big trouble when they realized the droppings did not belong to a very large bird.

For now, Grant tried to find a more comfortable position to sit in, but very little felt comfortable after sitting in a tree for three days. Forcing cheer, he once again reminded himself that he was lucky to be where he was. The branches were wide and smooth, so they did not scrape him as he sat or slept. He was thankful that he was not particularly tall or thickset, or else his perch may have been even more awkward than it was.

The tree also had broad leaves that shielded him from being seen and the river nearby provided enough of a din to make his clambering about in the branches unheard by the creatures below. Plus it was a very tall tree, so he was quite high above the devils. The latter was particularly important, because as Grant knew well, people rarely look up.

Grant had no idea what kind of tree he was in, which was the very reason he had climbed it in the first place. He had never seen such long green fruits before. At first he was going to call them tree-zucchinis, but now thought that crap apples was more fitting. He liked to know about all the plants and animals of Arimbol. He had explored much of the islands, but this was the first time he had noticed such a tree despite passing by this area many times. He wondered if it had recently bloomed or mutated from an unmarked Fold. If he hadn't climbed it to pick one of the fruits, he might have been caught by the soldiers who unexpectedly came down the Hattusa River in a small boat. Beneath the tree was a slightly arced, wooden bridge that served as the primary crossing over the river. Grant watched the soldiers disembark there and set up watch over the bridge. He hoped that at some point they would move on and he could climb down and chalk this up to another adventure, but they didn't.

"What's the proper term for climbing out of a tree?" Grant asked himself. "Is it disembark?" He laughed at his punnery. And then he laughed at the fact that he was laughing at something so stupid. He was bored and there was little to entertain himself with beyond his own thoughts and the conversations between the devils below, which were occasionally audible over the rush of the river.

Grant had never seen such soldiers before. They were nothing like the ones he saw in the news reels as a kid. They looked like a cross between a science fiction movie poster and something the nuns described to him in Sunday school. He loved adventure and meeting new people, and normally he wouldn't allow anyone's strange appearance to keep him from a good conversation, but something in his gut told him to stay in his tree and listen.

What they said was not very inviting. He heard them discuss fighting and taking people prisoner. They spoke about looking for someone. Grant didn't want to be mistaken for that someone. They also recounted a story of torturing people to find that someone. Grant could not make out the details, which he was glad about, but he was disturbed by the amount of glee they took in their descriptions. He was sure that any amount of glee in torture was far too much.

There were eight devil men in all. They took shifts at either end of the bridge while a couple of them rested. A few times, more horned guys marched southwards down the road, kicking up clouds of dirt as they went. Sometimes they rode shaggy black horses and had even shaggier dogs, but most were on foot.

The incoming soldiers would stop at the bridge to speak with the guards before moving south. Grant tried to make out what they were saying, but it was always more of the same― fighting and hunting for someone. Grant gleaned that they were seeking someone human, but he didn't see a single human the whole time he sat in the tree. That made him increasingly worried.

The soldiers guarding the bridge seemed almost as bored as he was. Some of them complained that they wanted to see more action. Others complained that they missed their homes. One of them, who had longer horns and appeared to be their captain, complained that they whined too much and needed to keep a better lookout.

When they weren't chatting, Grant busied himself by recalling places he had visited. He had spent a lot of time alone in his life. It was not that he didn't like people― he loved them, actually― it was just that he often found himself traveling solo, so he was quite good at entertaining himself. He often passed the time by singing _All Along the Watchtower_. After listening to this song in his head a few dozen times, Grant wished that he could recall something else, but his mind had gone infuriatingly blank.

Then Grant's stomach burbled again. At least when he finally browned down upon the soldiers he wouldn't be bored anymore. As he contemplated this impending gastro-intestinal disaster, the soldiers suddenly clammed up. One by one they turned and peered towards the north, at what, he could only guess.

The soldiers drew their swords. Using only hand gestures, the captain signaled to the others to fan out and move forward. They disappeared from sight behind the foliage. Grant strained his ears, trying to listen for footsteps or the crunching of leaves, but all he could hear was the rush of the river.

After a while, he wondered if they all had left. His ears twitched trying to hear anything.

Suddenly, a shot rang out followed by an anguished scream. He heard one of the soldiers shout, "Over there!" and then there was a flurry of bangs and whizzes as red flashes rent the air. Another soldier yelped as he was hit.

One of the other soldiers called, "They're behind the trees!"

"There's one over here!" yelled another from a different direction.

A stray blast struck the foot of Grant's tree. It shook the branch upon which he was perched and sent a hail of leaves raining down below.

Then scores of red lights zipped past like hornets made of lightning. They flew wildly, hammering their way up the side of the crap apple tree. One even struck the underside of Grant's branch with a sizzling whack. More people cried out, but Grant couldn't tell anymore if it was the devils or their assailants.

The battle ceased. He heard no more blasts or shouts. A thin wisp of smoke rose silently from where the bolt had struck his roost.

Grant considered climbing down and making a run for it, but he wasn't sure who had won. He might hastily reveal himself to the soldiers. Even if they all were dead, their assailants could be even worse. But then his bowels clenched up violently. It was time to go no matter who had won.

He grabbed his pack from the crook of the tree and slung it over his shoulders. Gripping onto his branch with both hands, he swung onto the next sturdy one below. The next one was a longer drop, but with a nimble leap he was able to hop down without losing his balance. He navigated like this from limb to limb until all that remained was fifteen ankle-shattering feet of smooth tree trunk that he had no choice but to shimmy down. He took one last look around, but there was no sign of the soldiers or their attackers so he lowered himself down the tree by finding small grooves in the bark to place his feet. Half way down he pushed off the trunk and landed in the soft grass with a cushiony thump.

"Don't move!" ordered a woman's voice behind him.

Grant's stomach dropped, which was not easy considering how full it was of bad fruit. He could not see who spoke to him. Had one of the horned soldiers returned?

"Keep your hands away from your pockets!" commanded the stranger. "In fact," she reconsidered, "put them behind your head."

Grant obliged. He then felt a sword tip press sharply into his side as the woman raided his pockets.

"I'm unarmed," he declared, hoping she wouldn't shoot. "I don't do magic."

"Magic?" asked his assailant, perplexed.

"Moving," Grant corrected, "I don't do it."

"Then what's this blade for?" said the woman, discovering the knife he kept stowed in his bag."

"It's for sandwiches!" Grant explained. "I love sandwiches!"

He winced as her blade jabbed harder against his side. It wouldn't take much more to run him through. Meanwhile, his stomach growled vociferously. "Careful with that or you'll make me pop like the smelliest balloon ever!"

"Huh?" said the woman, then, realizing what Grant was implying she snapped, "Knock off the jokes! Who are you and what were you doing with the demons?"

"Demons?" Grant asked.

"Yeah, the demons!" flared the woman, who sounded much younger when she raised her voice.

"You mean the horned guys?" he asked. "I'm not with them. I was hiding from them. Didn't you see me up this tree?"

Another voice called out from the edge of the clearing. "Maya, who do you have there?" It sounded older, and a little out of breath. Grant could hear footsteps in the grass as whoever it was approached.

"He was with the demons," said the girl, named Maya apparently, "but claims he was hiding up this tree."

"What's your name?" said the new person.

"Grant," he offered, trying to sound agreeable.

"Well, Grant," said the man, "please turn around so we can take a look at you."

"But keep your hands up!" ordered the girl cautiously.

She withdrew the blade from his ribs. Grant kept his hands raised and slowly turned to face his aggressors. He was relieved to see that they didn't have horns on their heads. They must have chased off the soldiers. Moreover, the woman holding the sword at his side was much younger than he thought― almost a girl really― thin and pretty with almost whitish blonde hair. She stepped back as Grant turned, but still pointed her sword and glared suspiciously at him.

"See, Maya?" said the older man, who had caught his breath. He was tall and despite the whiteness of his beard seemed to be strong and robust. He had probably done most of the fighting. "No horns," he continued. "You can rest your sword, but I'm glad to see you putting some gusto into it now."

"He was over here with the demons," she pointed out. "You said you don't know how the demons found Arimbol. What if they had human collaborators?"

"That's a good point," said the old man, squinting one crow-footed eye inquisitively at Grant. "No one from Aaru would ever work with them, but earthlings may not know better."

"Earthlings?" asked Grant, befuddled. "I promise you that I was not working with them. I'm an explorer. I go all over Arimbol looking for new wonders, strange plants, and weird animals. I catalog them and draw crappy pictures. You can even look at my journals. Let me just fetch them from my bag." Grant began to reach for his pack.

"Keep your hands where they are!" the girl barked and jabbed her sword at him anew.

Grant froze. "Look," he said, "you have nothing to fear from me. I don't even know how to Move. I saw those strange fruits up there and climbed closer to check them out. While I was up there the devils―"

"You mean the demons," the girl corrected.

"Whatever," Grant shrugged, "the bull-horned jerks! They appeared below my tree and wouldn't leave. I didn't like the look of them, so I stayed up there for the past three nights. Fortunately those fruits are edible."

"You survived on _those_ things?" the old man asked in disbelief. He pointed his staff at Grant's chest. "Maya, you might be right about this guy. Those are olumbers. My forest is full of them. It's okay to eat a few now and then, but any more will tear your stomach apart. There is no way you could have survived on those for three days."

"You're right," Grant admitted. "They do tear your guts apart," and he let go of a deep, tempestuous drum roll from his rear that had been threatening to tear him from taint to sternum for hours.

The girl lowered her sword and covered her nose while the old man couldn't help but laugh.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," bowed Grant, "I have some business to take care of behind those bushes."

•••

When Grant emerged, much relieved, the girl and old man were standing on the bridge. They were joined by a slender, dark-haired man who seemed to be about the same age as the girl. He stared quizzically at Grant as he brushed bits of leaves off his shirt.

"Sorry," Maya apologized sheepishly to Grant.

"My apologies as well for detaining you from your, um, business," said the old man, "but things have become very dangerous and we cannot be too careful."

"No harm done," Grant smiled agreeably, "although another moment longer and you would've owed me a new pair of trousers."

Maya laughed embarrassedly. "I'm really sorry," she said again.

"I know we probably owe you for your trouble," said the old man, "but if you wouldn't mind doing us a favor, please do not tell anyone that you saw us. It would be for your own good and theirs."

"Happy to oblige," replied Grant, "but only if you promise not to tell anyone what I did to that shrubbery. That bush's family might seek revenge."

"We promise to speak to no trees along the way," said the old man, giving a wry smirk and bowing his head. He tapped his staff against the wood planks of the bridge and began to stride away. "We must be off, but good luck to you."

Before they got very far, Grant warned, "You probably don't want to go that way, especially if staying unseen is high among your priorities."

"Oh?" asked the old man.

"The devils have been passing this way by the hundreds."

They looked dispirited.

Grant cocked his head. "There is another way. Just look below the bridge."

The girl leaned over the rail. "A boat!" she exclaimed, discovering the small wooden skiff tied up below.

"I know this river well," Grant said. "If you help me paddle, I'll show you the way."

•••

After exchanging names, they decided that it would be best to leave the bridge immediately since it was such a major thoroughfare. Grant considered that they may still be spotted on the water, but it would be much harder to catch them, especially once the Hattusa and Zion Rivers join to form the Magna. Still, it would be at least a two day journey to the southern cities.

The current swiftly carried them downstream. They did not need to paddle much except to nudge away from rocks or stay out of the shallows. Grant could not relax, though, until they were finally shrouded by pine trees. The sun was low in the sky so the trees cast long shadows across the water. There were no roads along the river here, so there was little chance of being spotted.

"We should find a place to make camp for the night," Grant proposed.

Pulling onto a small sandy shore, Grant realized that their boat was painted a bright, sky blue. "That's going to stick out like a sore thumb, even at night," he remarked.

They found some leafy boughs that had fallen to the ground and dragged them on top of the vessel. It was certainly not enough to cover it, but it made it less conspicuous at a quick glance.

They walked a distance into the forest until they came to a small clearing where they would be out of sight from anyone navigating the river. While the other three plunked down on the ground, exhausted, Grant's belly burbled emptily, urging him to find something to eat. He used the waning light to search the vegetation at the edge of the clearing. He pulled some leaves from a low lying plant and brought it over to the other three.

"Here," he offered, "it's perfume lettuce. Its not going to fill us up, but it smells kind of like peaches and lavender."

"Mmm," said Maya, "that will go good with our sandwiches."

Grant blinked in surprise and felt a bit of saliva bubble at the corner of his mouth. "You have sandwiches?"

"Well, they're not sandwiches yet, but we have bread, and meat, and―"

"I knew there was a reason we met up!" Grant clapped his hands. "It was destiny! I love sandwiches. Especially ones made out of meat!"

They sat in a circle while Maya produced the ingredients for their dinner from her pack. The ground was hard and dusty, but Grant was thrilled to be sitting on terra firma― no more nightmares about falling out of a tree and being impaled on the devil horns below.

The pleasure of eating began to lighten everyone's mood. Even the boy, who had been dour and mostly silent throughout the day, began to speak jovially. "Where are you from?" he asked.

"The U.S.," Grant said. "Michigan actually, just outside of Detroit, but I spent a lot of time in New York."

"And where do you live now?"

"Anywhere I can," replied Grant through a heaping mouthful of sandwich.

Michael looked at him with concern. "Don't you have a home?"

"Kind of, but I spend most of my time on the road."

"Sounds like my dad," he said. "Do you have a job?"

"In a way, although I don't get paid for it." Grant rummaged through his rucksack and produced several weathered books. Tattered string and sticky notes feathered out of their tops, marking the pages. "I catalog every strange thing that I encounter. Each book covers a different topic: flora, fauna, and Folds." He passed them to his three new companions.

"These are amazing!" said Maya looking through the book on Folds. They were full of drawings and writings.

"At first I intended them to be like Audobon field guides, but so many things defied simple scientific description. Each encounter required a story." Over time, his books had become more journal-like― more personal.

"Like this one here," said Michael as he displayed a page in the fauna book. It showed a drawing of Grant holding a knife while bellowing and confronting a burly hoofed and horned mammal. "Did you really try to fight off a mountain ox with a knife?"

"No, that was just to make the drawing look cool. I found from watching the male oxen butting heads during mating season, it isn't the one who is the strongest or hits the hardest that's the victor, but the one who bellows the loudest. The louder ox holds its ground and the other lowers its head and backs away, so when I accidentally startled one when I was hiking in the Morningstars, I figured I could just yell at it until it backed off."

"Interesting," Sefu speculated, "but quite dangerous if it didn't work. Why didn't you just Move at it?"

"I don't Move," said Grant.

"What do you mean?" asked Michael, surprised. "You never tried?"

"That's right," said Grant offhandedly.

Michael looked puzzled. "Why not?" He asked. "I've never met anyone who didn't want to be a Mover."

"I'm not into religion," Grant responded, trying not to sound irked.

Michael looked even more confused, "What do you mean?"

"I grew up in a Catholic orphanage. If you're forced to be religious as a kid, you may dislike it as an adult. I ran away from the orphanage when I was fifteen and never looked back."

"I still don't see what Moving has to do with religion," observed Michael, cocking his head.

Grant was not particularly looking forward to this conversation after such a long day, but he decided to oblige. "In order to Move, you're supposed to believe in an invisible energy that bonds everything together. That is just another name for God, if you ask me."

Sefu interjected now, "But it's not like some Biblical miracle that happened thousands of years ago―"

Grant interrupted, "And reinterpreted by people who didn't see it and then again by popes and kings based on their whims." If Grant sounded exasperated, it was because he had explained this a thousand times before. "I know that Moving works, and I know that religion makes many people happy, but they're also both used to hold power over people."

Sefu frowned a little. "That depends on the user. Moving is an extension of the will, like a hammer is to an arm. You can choose not to hit people over the head with it."

Grant was unmoved. "Power corrupts good judgment. I've seen too many people in positions of authority who thought they were doing good, but their good intentions hurt a lot of people. I have no interest in that kind of power."

"So, if you don't want to Move, why did you come to the islands?" Sefu asked.

"The same reason anybody does― because I was invited."

"There has to be more to it than that!" prodded Sefu.

"Well," Grant leaned back and crossed his arms, "it sounded new and exciting, and I didn't have any attachments to hold me back. I was open for adventure."

"No friends or family?" asked Michael.

"Like I said, I grew up in an orphanage, but I got out of there as fast as I could and made my way to New York. I got by for a while selling newspapers, doing a little begging, even a little stealing. Those weren't my proudest days, but I had to survive. While most homeless people hunkered down in the subways at night, I climbed up buildings and slept in empty apartments in the winter and penthouse gardens in the summer. I never got caught for any of this until I tried to pickpocket some hippies. They busted me, but instead of turning me over to the cops, they took me in. So, for a while I kind of bummed around with a bunch of hippies and artists in Greenwich Village. They were really nice and gave me odd jobs, but they never felt like family. Plus they were all vegans." He feigned gagging. "I would go off by myself whenever I could to buy a hot dog or explore the city."

"Was it hard being alone like that?" Michael asked.

"Sometimes," Grant mused, "but I always had a lot of freedom. I think that's partly what inspired me to come here. It was a new land, lots to see, and all of my needs could be met. I was pretty keen on the utopic, barter-friendly, minimal technology aspects, too. That was something I liked about the hippies. They were very giving in a very uncharitable place. But this land, Arimbol, is generous. It will give you everything you need if you're just willing to look for it."

Everyone was getting sleepy and Grant was happy for it. He was open with his convictions, but was rather bored of being scrutinized for them. It reminded him of his hippie friends in New York. Every time one of them stated they were vegan, they would be barraged with questions. People seemed to take personal offense in the way others lived, even when it had no impact on anyone else's life. Grant had no interest in forcing his beliefs on anyone. He was more interested in living well than living for a cause.

"We should get some sleep," suggested Sefu. "I'll take first watch."

"I'll go next," offered Grant.

Sefu told Michael and Maya to take the morning watch together since they were not yet proficient in Moving. "Obviously," he emphasized, "there will be no fires tonight."

They passed the journals back to Grant.

"These are amazing," complimented Michael. "I want to look at them more tomorrow."

Grant was content not to take first watch. He was worn out from his three nights in the tree. With a belly emptied of olumbers and full of delicious sandwich, it only took a few blinks before he was sound asleep.

•••

Grant was roused from slumber by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Are you awake?" whispered the old man.

Grant grumbled something akin to "Yeah." His eyelids were stuck together and burned with night glue. He pulled himself up and tried to rub awakeness back into them.

"If there's any trouble, please don't try bellowing at it like a mountain ox," Sefu joked. "Just wake me up,"

"Okay," Grant laughed.

Sefu pulled a backpack under his head as a pillow and curled up near Michael and Maya. The old man stirred a little, but in a few moments was asleep.

It was the middle of the night and the grove was very dark. Only a few stars were visible through the tree tops. If Grant was not so used to sleeping in nature, he might have found this very foreboding. He spent a few hours in silence. To pass the time he whittled a piece of wood with his knife. He didn't make anything in particular, but just wanted to keep his hands busy. The only sounds besides peeling wood were the distant rush and burble of the river and _All Along the Watchtower_ still stuck on repeat in his noggin.

Bored, Grant put the knife down and stared out into the forest. Beyond the first row of bushes, darkness engulfed everything. Then the hairs on Grant's neck rose. Something shimmered amidst the trees. He stared hard into the woods, doubtful if he had seen anything at all, yet nothing else stirred.

He had an eerie feeling that he was being watched, yet there was nothing. No more flickers. No strange sounds. More time passed in tense silence save for the rustle of mice in the undergrowth or the silvery slide of a shout owl gliding through the night. It was just black and quiet.

Grant was always cautious in the woods, but rarely nervous. The thought of the green devils looking for them had put him on edge. He resumed his whittling to ward off the haunting silence. After a while, his hackles lowered. About the time that his stick was worn down to a nub, Michael and Maya awoke to take over the watch.

•••

In the morning, Grant foraged for some more things to eat so they wouldn't have to ration their food so sparingly. Unfortunately, all he came across were some roots that required a roasting before they could be eaten. Even though no one would see the fire easily in the daytime, they might investigate the smoke rising above the trees. So, Grant packed them away for later in case they found a more secure campground that night.

When he returned to camp, Sefu was running Michael and Maya through an attack routine. They stood with swords in hand facing the trees on the far side of the glade. He told them to always keep an eye on their opponents' feet. "They can indicate what they are about to do with their hands. A well-timed counter-attack can often outmatch strength or experience."

Sefu demonstrated by stepping forward quickly. At each step he slashed his blade― left, right, then stabbed it forward, ending with a blast of red light. The bolt shot across the glade, smacking squarely against a pine trunk.

Michael and Maya emulated Sefu, but clumsily swung their swords as they went. When they fired, their shots crisscrossed, missing the tree.

"There is no need to move so quickly," Sefu instructed with an austere countenance. "Move deliberately. Speed will come later. You don't need to slash your opponent to pieces. A small wound can disarm them or knock them off their guard, then use your Moving to finish them."

Sefu demonstrated again, hitting the tree in the exact same spot he had before. Grant was impressed. He was no fan of Moving, but could tell that Sefu was a master. "Try it again," Sefu ordered his students.

Michael and Maya went through the maneuver again, but with greater care. This time they both struck the tree, making two holes not terribly far away from Sefu's.

"Yeah!" Michael and Maya erupted.

"Well done!" Sefu praised them. "Now go back to your positions and try it again. When you hit the mark we can have breakfast."

•••

After an hour of improvement, but no direct hit, Sefu gave in and let his students eat. They needed to take advantage of the light and continue downstream.

After breakfast, Sefu and Maya eliminated any trace of their camp site, while Grant helped Michael load the gear into the boat. When the other two returned, they pushed the skiff into the cool waters at the river's edge. The water felt good on Grant's skin, so he took a much needed dunk. He was used to being somewhat grimy during his long adventures, but after several days in the tree he was due for a bath. It also helped wake him up completely. The rest of the group thought it was a good idea too, so they took a quick dip as well before loading up their gear and clambering aboard.

It was another warm day, so the sun quickly dried their clothes. Grant sat in the back of the boat with a paddle in hand and watched the steam rise off his travel mates as they floated down stream. The steam curled surreally against the backdrop of sandy shoals and black pine forest. It might have been relaxing if they were not on the lookout for enemies.

The river kept a steady pace so they made good time. They didn't break the whole morning, opting to eat aboard their small vessel. "But where will we go to the bathroom?" Maya worried.

"Take a swim!" Grant smiled.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"You've been in the city for too long!" quipped Grant. "You're getting to dive right into nature."

"What about, um, other needs?" asked Maya.

"You mean dropping a deuce?" Grant said bluntly.

"Um, yes," said Maya disdainfully.

"Normally I wouldn't suggest soiling a clean water source, but we can't risk going ashore."

"You're really serious, aren't you?"

"Consider yourself lucky," Grant smirked. "We have water to wash ourselves with. Several days of trekking over land can get pretty gamey, but I bet the demons would give us a wide berth."

"I'd rather not think about it," Maya grimaced. "I'll just wait until we stop."

"Suit yourself," shrugged Grant, "but I'm going to take another dip." He took off his clothes and dove into the water. He surfaced and clung onto the side of the boat as they floated on. "Come on in! The water's warm and getting warmer!"

Michael and Sefu snickered.

"Gross," said Maya, but Grant noticed she was laughing a little, too. "Are you always this open with strangers?"

"Life's too short not to have fun!" said Grant. "Plus making people laugh is some of the best magic there is. I'd wager that it can get you just as far as any of your fancy Moving."

"That's a nice theory," said Sefu turning serious again, "but a joke won't protect you from a sharp sword."

"Maybe not directly," said Grant, still clinging to the side of the boat like a crab, "but it has made me some very good friends who've helped me through some tough times."

Sefu raised a finger about to emphasize some contrary words when Michael told them to hush. "There's a road over there!" he pointed.

Grant looked over his shoulder. Indeed a road was weaving through the trees alongside the river. He pulled himself back into the boat and quickly put on his clothes. They were approaching civilization and would have to be careful.

"We need to paddle," Grant urged. "There's a town coming up. Go as fast and as quietly as you can."

Michael and Grant each took an oar. They picked up the pace and tried to keep away from the road. A few buildings became visible ahead.

"Carthage," said Grant. "It's a small town― just a few hundred people. It's really just a way station to transport goods up and down stream."

"Maybe the demons haven't found it," posed Michael.

It was eerily silent though, and as they neared the village it was immediately apparent to Grant that something was awry. Several docks lined the edge of the river and not a single boat was moored to them. At second glance, Grant realized that there were ropes tied up to the docks, but their other ends vanished into the deeper part of the river. All of the boats had been sunk.

"It's just like Canaan," said Michael.

"Hush," warned Sefu.

As they floated further past the town, all of the windows were dark. Not a single person was in sight, but then Grant heard a shout. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he saw someone run down a street. It was one of the so-called demons, but fortunately he was running away from them. Another devil man burst out of a house and sprinted after the first. The first demon pointed down the street and then they both took off in that direction.

Grant paddled faster. The boat began to spin with the misbalanced effort, but then Michael noticed the demons running away from them and he began paddling faster, too. Despite still being wet from the cool river water, Grant began to sweat and his shoulders ached with the effort.

Even when they passed the demons, Grant and Michael did not let up. They paddled vigorously until they were well past the docks and the very last house.

Beyond Carthage, the Zion River joined from the north, pouring its silty runoff into the black waters of the Hattusah. The river widened and increased speed. Meanwhile, the road disappeared into the thickening forest. They eased up on the rowing and allowed the river to carry them. Soon the shore became rocky again. The rocks became boulders, and the boulders grew into tall, grey cliffs.

As the afternoon wore on, the setting sun pushed the shadows off the cliffs and across the river. It was then, against the waning day, that Grant saw something flash above the boat. It floated in the air for a moment and then was gone.

"Did you see that?" asked Grant.

"See what?" replied Michael.

"A light," said Grant, poking at the air with the handle of his oar. "It looked like something I saw last night," he said, recalling the strange glimmer in the forest. "I felt like I was being watched, but there wasn't anybody there. I thought it was just my imagination."

"Could it have been a wisp?" asked Maya.

"Wisps don't just appear and disappear," noted Sefu. "Whatever it was, I don't like that you have seen it twice. Something may be following us."

•••

They found a sandy shore nestled among the high cliffs. There were a few shrubs, but no trees or branches to camouflage the boat with. It did not matter much though anyway. Pinned against the bluffs, there was nowhere to hide. Their only solace was that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone sneaking up on them from behind. The cliff was both prison and protection.

They ate dinner uneasily. They tried to act normal, but bristled at each strange sound. A frog hopping into the reeds at the rivers edge made Maya fidget. A bird darting from its leafy cover gave them all a start. Even the sound of the running water began to play tricks on Grant's ears.

But just as they finished dinner and began to relax, Grant saw it again. He jumped and the others immediately saw what he was looking at. Floating in front of the cliff, pale against the darkening night, a featureless face hung in the air like a ghost.

Sefu rose to his feet and pointed his staff at the apparition. "Who are you?" he barked.

The head showed no expression, but moved backwards a few paces.

"What do you want?" he snarled again, threatening with his staff.

Without a word, the ghostly head vanished.

"What was that?" Michael asked, shaken.

"I don't know," said Sefu, keeping his weapon ready, "but it was no wisp."

"Is it gone?" asked Maya, worriedly.

"I don't think so," said Sefu as he surveyed their tiny beachhead.

Grant knew it was still there. He could feel its watchful eyes scratching at the back of his neck. He looked around at the cliffs, the river, and the other shore beyond. "It's still watching us."

Sefu nodded.

"We could find another place to camp," suggested Maya.

"It'll follow us," Grant said.

"I think it has been after us for some time," said Sefu. "Perhaps since Canaan,"

"Since Canaan?" asked Michael, his eyes still darting from side to side, looking for anything out of the ordinary. "Did the demons send it?"

"I don't know, but they knew you would return home. They could have sent something to track you."

"But why not just have it kill me and get it over with?" asked Michael.

"Because they might be hoping that you will lead them to more family― to find out if you have brothers and sisters who could be heirs."

Grant listened curiously to this exchange. He wondered why the devil men were looking for this boy.

Sefu lowered his staff. "We'll sleep with our backs to the cliff tonight, and keep watch two at a time."

•••

There were no more incidents that night, but Grant had a fitful sleep. He dreamt of luminous horned men rising from the river and pinning him to the cliff with their swords. He was happy to arise at first light. The others appeared to have slept just as poorly. They decided to leave as swiftly as possible, hopefully leaving the ominous spirit behind.

They ate a cold breakfast on the boat. Afterward, Grant rowed while Sefu did his best to run the youths through their Moving lessons. There was not much he could teach them on the small, rocking vessel, but he explained how to do feints and blocks with a sword, plus Move flashes of light to distract or blind an opponent.

Sefu explained, "There are other things you can do besides create light and flames. You can take heat away, too." He stood up and aimed his staff at the water alongside the boat. The water froze where he pointed, leaving a crackling white surface that broke up in the current and trailed behind the boat like miniature icebergs.

"With enough focus, I could freeze this boat in place," he continued. "Remember that only Creators can Create Ki. We are part of that Ki so can Move it, but no one can destroy it. By freezing, you are only Moving the Ki from one place to another."

While Michael and Maya practiced freezing the water into different shapes― blocks, balls, zig-zags, and snowy foam, a great silhouette appeared in the sky high above the eastern treetops. They lowered their weapons in awe as the giant raptor glided through the air, passing over the river above them.

"Is that a roak?" asked Maya, covering her eyes against the intense sunlight to catch a glimpse of the behemoth bird.

"It is indeed," said Grant, still rowing.

"Shouldn't we find cover?"

"Not particularly," Grant said casually. "They're mostly scavengers, and when they do hunt they're usually interested in bigger game than us." He was not particularly worried, but didn't want to take any chances. With one eye on the bird and the other on the river, he rowed a little faster. He hoped to preserve some level of nonchalance. If he splashed about like some panicked river walrus he might give it incentive to investigate.

The roak rocked its great plumed wings slightly from side to side taking advantage of the warm air currents so it could circle over them. It cocked its head as it flew.

"It sees us," observed Michael.

"So long as we don't bother it, it should leave us alone," he pontificated with a tone of moderate certainty.

" _Should_ ," Maya emphasized, noting Grant's unease.

Sefu tightened his grip on his staff. He aimed it warily at the great bird, but with a blood-curdling screech and a beat of its colossal wings, it banked north and disappeared into a pillar of white clouds.

They breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's hurry out of here in case it comes back," Maya suggested, still not taking her eyes off the sky.

"Doesn't matter much anyway," said Grant. "We're approaching the Scissors."

"What's that?" she asked as the boat floated around a bend and began to speed up.

Grant tucked the oars in a bit and let the current take over. "It's a split in the river. If we go down the wrong side, we'll be cut to pieces." It was probably also the reason the roak was scouting out area. It likely knew that goodies sometimes washed up beside the rapids with their necks snapped. There was no need to waste energy attacking if it just waited for the river to do all the work.

Grant asked Michael to grab an oar to help keep them on course, but as soon as Michael reached over to grab one, a beam of light tore through the air striking him in the shoulder. He tumbled out of the boat with a great splash.

"Michael!" yelled Maya as she reached after him.

Grant tried to see where the beam came from. Several demons stood atop the high cliffs where they released a barrage of red bolts.

Sefu waved his staff in the air, wrapping the boat and its passengers in a sheet of pink light. The bolts struck and fizzled out against this translucent field. Sefu fired back a huge thunderball. It exploded just below the demons' feet, crumbling the cliff and sending two of the creatures toppling into the rocks below.

"Maya, take the other paddle!" yelled Grant.

"Where's Michael?" she shouted as she clung to the side, looking for her friend.

But Michael had not surfaced yet. "We have to move!" Grant urged her.

Maya took the paddle and they rowed as fast as they could, trying to get beyond the reach of the remaining demons. The river was rushing now and in a moment they were out of striking distance, leaving the demon bolts to fizzle in mid-air. Unable to reach their quarry, the soldiers turned and ran into the forest, probably to find a way to cut them off.

"The Scissors are up ahead!" Grant pointed.

A sharp cliff protruded from the middle of the rapids dividing the stream in two. The left branch descended quickly out of sight.

"We need to stay to the right!" he shouted, but as he did, Michael bobbed to the surface. He was far across the river, thrashing the water with one uninjured arm.

"We have to get to him!" said Maya, yelling over the roar of the rapids.

They rowed as hard as they could, but as they moved near enough to grab him, Michael was sucked under. All of a sudden, the boat crashed against a hidden rock and Grant was thrown against the side of the boat. Pain tore through his ribs, but somehow he held onto the oar. Sefu hunkered down in front, completely soaked. Maya's eyes were wide but she appeared to be okay.

They were jarred off course and found themselves staring down a deep and deadly ravine. The boat thudded from boulder to boulder as they tore through the whitewater.

Grant caught sight of Michael's head heaving to the surface again. Incredibly, he still seemed to be paddling against the thunderous torrent.

Straight ahead rose another cliff face. It appeared at first that the river dead-ended at it and that they would be smashed against a wall, but as they approached, Grant could see the river dove steeply into a large cave at its base. He watched as Michael was swallowed by the darkness. In another moment they were tossed into the cave as well.

Maya called out for Michael again. Her voice echoed against the cave walls, but there was no response over the roar of water.

The river slowed, and in the last rays of light penetrating from the cave mouth, Grant saw a sandy shore. They pulled their boat onto it. It was full of water, not just from the splashing river, but from holes that had been smashed into the hull by the pounding rocks.

Maya called into the darkness again, but still they heard nothing.

"We have to find him," said Sefu.

"How?" asked Grant, wringing water from his shirt. "I've been here before, but _with_ a map. It goes on for miles and splits in a hundred directions. It's a maze!"

Sefu looked Grant sternly in the eye, "Michael may be our only hope to save Arimbol. Without him we are doomed."

"Well then," said Grant with sudden determination, "We'll need a torch!"

Sefu tapped his staff on the ground, and the head burst alight.

"Let's go find him," said Grant, "but meanwhile you can fill me in on why those long-horned devils think he's so important."
Chapter XIII

LIGHT AND SHADOW

When Michael came to, he wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, although the cold, wet, and pain, seemed to indicate the former. He found himself wedged against a boulder by the current. He had to get out of the frigid water, so despite the pain in his arm where he had been shot, he managed to hoist himself onto the rock. Unable to see in the pitch black cave, he could not afford to stand up and walk lest he fall off his perch and cripple himself even worse.

He called out into the darkness for his friends, but his words merely echoed dully against the moist cave walls before fading away. He had no idea how far into the cavern he had been carried. He began to despair.

He sat there for a while worrying before realizing that he was a Mover and knew how to make fire. He didn't have a sword or a wand to focus with, but still could Move something.

He closed his eyes. He needed to focus his energy as best he could, to focus beyond the bruises and pain throbbing in his arms and legs. He held his hands out and focused on light flying out of them like a butterfly escaping a child's jar. Light pierced his clenched eyelids, but by the time he opened them, the flash had already dissipated. He caught only a glimpse of where he was, but his eyes could not adjust fast enough to soak it in.

He tried again, but with the same results. He needed a light that he could hold for longer, so he concentrated on a small flame. Michael was now shivering from the damp and cold, which did not help him concentrate on making fire. It sputtered out as fast as the flash of light.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed in frustration.

He could try to fire a burst, but when he tried that against the black dogs back in Canaan, the flames went wild. It was hard to control without a wand or sword as a medium. Plus, he had no idea how big the cave was. He could be a few feet from a wall and bounce flames right back into his face. He needed to Move carefully without closing his eyes.

He took several deep breaths and tried to relax. His shoulder was throbbing, but it would be easier to Move if he was calm. After deep breathing for a while, his initial panic subsided a little. With his eyes still open, he visualized energy Moving from his brain down his spine, through his shoulders to his arms, and emanating as a bright flash from his hands.

The room illuminated for a brief moment. It was just long enough to see that the rock that he stood on was actually a stony embankment above the river that clung to the side of the cave. Michael began following it upstream. He did not get a long glimpse though, so moved slowly, shuffling his feet. He did not want to trip over a rock and strand himself with a sprained ankle.

After moving ten paces or so, Michael chanced another flash and saw that the cave went around a bend up ahead. He kept one hand against the wall for stability. Whenever he wasn't sure where to step next, he fired another flash, each time with an audible poof like dry tinder igniting. He also glimpsed his shirt, which was soaked from the river. The left sleeve was wet with blood from the shot and probably a few other abrasions. This method did work, but was horribly slow. He needed to dry off and do something about his wounds before they became infected.

He periodically called out for his friends as he scrambled along, but suddenly thought better of it. He had no idea what else lived down there. There were wolves and serpents and other nasty beasts that inhabited the caves of Arimbol, not to mention the demons were surely still hunting for him.

Just as Michael was considering his stance on noise, a dim light illuminated the cave beyond the bend.

"Maya...Sefu...is that you?" he asked cautiously.

The owner of the light did not respond, but appeared to be getting closer.

"Grant?" he asked.

Still no one responded, but he could tell that it was definitely edging nearer. Michael began to panic. He had no weapon with which to defend himself. He did not want to light another flash for fear of drawing whatever this was to him even faster. He felt around on the ground and picked up a rock then leaned against the cave wall, trying to blend in with the stone. As the light crept nearer, he slowed his breath, afraid to move or make a sound, but whoever it was had surely already heard him. They knew he was there. If he ran, he would likely trip and injure himself, so he clutched onto the stone and prayed that whoever it was would pass.

The light did not rock or flicker like a person carrying a lantern would. It did not shake or dim with each foot step, because it wasn't walking. It was floating. Michael cringed when he realized what it was.

The floating head came around the bend. Except that it wasn't just a head anymore. The faint outline of a torso was apparent, but not exactly human, or even demon. It was tall— taller than Michael and had four long arms that ended in hands with two wide, mitten-like fingers.

Michael shrank back against the wall, but it did not matter. The room was illuminated from the creature's soft glow. It stared ominously at Michael with its eyeless face.

Michael's heart raced. He cocked his arm back, ready to throw the stone with one hand and blast the apparition with his other.

"Stay away!" he shouted.

To his surprise, the creature paused, appearing to listen.

"What do you want?" Michael asked, still terrified.

It opened its mouth, if one could call it that. It was really just a darker area against its luminous, bulb-like face. It looked like it was trying to say something, but no sound came out. The creature seemed to be more light than matter.

"Why have you been following me?" asked Michael, still threatening to throw the rock.

The creature stretched out a spindly arm and glided towards him. Michael didn't hesitate. He hurled the stone as hard as he could. It passed right through the creature's chest before skipping off a boulder and plonking into the river behind.

"Don't come any closer!" Michael shouted again, but now he had even less to back up his demand with. If the rock had no effect, he was not sure what Moving would do.

The creature backed off a little bit and gestured at Michael with one of its four hands. Michael glared mistrustfully at it. It seemed to be inviting him to follow it, but he had no idea what this thing was or who had sent it. It could be working for the demons, or maybe had its own insidious agenda. However, it had been following he and his friends for days and had not hurt them yet, even though it could easily sneak up on them.

As he could see where he was walking when in the monster's presence, Michael figured that following it would at least result in something faster than shuffling along until he perished from hypothermia. He took a tentative step towards the creature. It moved a short distance away and beckoned once again.

Michael guardedly stepped towards it once more, wary that the creature did not lead him into some sort of trap. It glided effortlessly, while Michael walked on the stony rise above the water. To navigate the cavern, he sometimes had to crawl over large rocks, or hop from stone to stone where the river spilled onto his path.

They traveled for a long time. Sometimes the cave split, but the creature continued to move steadily upstream. It paused patiently for Michael when he needed to rest or had to maneuver over craggy terrain. After a few forks, Michael realized that he had no idea how to get back to the place where he had woken up. If he became separated from the creature now, he would truly be lost.

They proceeded like this until Michael spotted another light up ahead. He stopped for a moment, fearing that this might be another creature, perhaps many of them, lurking and hungry for him. The creature beckoned to him again, but Michael held back apprehensively.

Then he realized the new light was different. It flickered and rocked against the walls with a much more human pace.

"Sefu! Maya!" he yelled.

"Michael!" he heard Maya shout.

In a moment he saw them running towards him. "Michael!" she called again, a great smile across her face. "You're okay!"

Sefu and Grant were grinning, too, but then they saw the strange light before him and quickly shortened their lips.

The creature hovered in between them and looked back towards Michael.

"I think its okay," said Michael tentatively. "It led me here."

The other three proceeded towards Michael, but very cautiously. They passed by the glowing creature, who was a fair bit taller than any of them, even Sefu. It glowed down upon them as they slipped by. Once past it, Maya threw her arms around Michael in a tight embrace. He was very glad to see her, too, but grimaced from his wounds.

"Your shoulder!" she exclaimed noticing the blood on his shirt.

"I don't think I broke anything," he said, "but I wouldn't mind your healing wand about now."

Maya rummaged through her pack, while Grant clapped Michael on his good side. "Glad you're okay!"

Sefu, on the other hand did not take his eyes off the glowing creature, which still kept a safe distance away. "Who are you?" he asked.

The creature did not respond.

"He can't speak," said Michael. "It seemed like he was trying to talk to me, but I couldn't understand anything. If it wasn't for him though, I never would have found you guys."

Maya set upon Michael's wound. She pulled back his sleeve, revealing the meaty gash where the beam had cut across his shoulder. She cleaned it with a bit of alcohol and gauze from her med kit. He clenched his teeth against the antiseptic's bite. Maya then pointed the wand at his wound and began to concentrate.

•••

Michael's injury was still swollen and sore, but Maya did manage to stop the bleeding.

"We need to get out of this cave," Sefu spoke slowly to the glowing creature, as if to make himself clear to a foreigner. "We can't go back the way we came. There are enemies looking for us there. Can you show us another way out?"

The creature did not nod, but simply turned back down river. This encouraged Sefu enough to follow it with the others in pursuit.

"I'm glad that we found you," said Sefu to Michael as they passed through the darkness. "We would have been lost without you."

"Lost without me?" Michael scoffed, thinking how he had felt completely alone and adrift just a short time ago.

"Actually yes, if anything happens to your father, you may be the only hope we have against Acheron."

"But I was practically helpless without you!" Michael protested. "I barely know how to Move!"

"Not yet," said Sefu, "but you'll get there. You'll have to."

•••

They traveled through the cave for several hours, branching from tunnel to tunnel. The river provided a constant soundtrack to their meandering.

The creature floated onward tirelessly. A couple of times someone in the group had to call for it to pause so they could tie a bootlace or rest their shoulders from their heavy packs. Eventually though, Michael saw light ahead. The fresh sunshine was a huge relief. As they neared the egress, the creature faded against the growing radiance and when they finally walked outside, it was hardly visible at all.

Maya threw her hands up and thanked the summer for the blue sky and the green trees. The sun was low in the sky now, casting violet shadows across the western hills. Bees and dragonflies darted between the trees and pink- blossomed honeysuckles, filling the air with their fervent hum.

They took a moment to gather their bearings while the now barely luminescent creature continued to hover a short distance away.

"Thank you," Michael told it, "whoever you are."

Without any reply, the creature simply disappeared.

"Do you think it's gone?" asked Maya.

"I doubt it," said Sefu. "That thing hasn't been following us just to help us through that cave. It wants something more."

"We shouldn't linger here too long," said Grant. "If the demons know where the cave exits, they'll be here soon."

"We need to go southwest to Caral," said Sefu, divulging their plan to Grant. "We have to find a boat and get Michael out of Arimbol."

Grant shook his head. "It's too far to reach Caral today, especially if the demons are looking for us. I know a safe house nearby. My friends will appreciate your predicament and may be able to help."

Sefu cautioned Grant, "The nature of our predicament is best kept secret. We do not want Michael's whereabouts getting to the demons."

"Trust me," said Grant, "this is exactly the kind of thing my friends would love to help with."

•••

Michael was pleased that Grant's safe house was not far off. He was anxious for the possibility of sleeping somewhere soft and clean after several days on the road and river. Despite being washed down stream, Michael swore that he still reeked of sphinx bear. Unfortunately, as they reached a rocky cliff at the base of the hills, Michael disappointedly realized that by "safe house" Grant did not mean an actual house.

Grant skulked along the base of the cliff searching for something. "It's amazing that even though I helped build this thing, I still have trouble finding the door."

He came to a slight protrusion in the rocks bordered by a few leafy bushes with yellow flowers. It was only when Grant pushed against the stones that Michael realized that it was a very well camouflaged door. Much like the secret passage in his pantry or the Fold that kept Arimbol hidden, you would have to know it was there to find it. Of course, this was just a sliding door that was built to look like rock and did not require any special Moving.

The door opened into a dark hallway with smooth stone walls.

"Right this way," Grant bowed sarcastically.

Michael thought how lucky it was that they had met Grant. He helped them get down the river and now was providing them shelter and possibly even a way off the island. It felt beyond serendipitous.

Grant slid the door shut behind them as they proceeded into the hall. Michael was not particularly thrilled with being somewhere so confined so soon after his ordeal in the cave, but then another door opened ahead of them and a warm yellow light spilled into the corridor.

"Who's there?" called a heavyset bearded man silhouetted against the bright doorway. Michael noticed that he was brandishing a long knife.

"Put that away," said Grant with a wave of his hands.

"Buddy!" beamed the man as he pushed past Michael to embrace his friend. Being rather slight, Grant gulped for air as he was submerged in his friend's enthusiastic embrace. "Good to see you safe, my brother! Who are these strangers?" Grant's friend asked, looking over Michael and the others.

Michael could just make out his face against the silhouetting light shining from the doorway. He was tall and stout with a square jaw. He looked old, but Michael suspected that his knotted red beard and weathered skin made him look grizzled past his years.

Grant introduced Michael, Sefu, and Maya. "These refugees could very much use our help."

"Well, we have a lot of those here, but we can squeeze in a few more," said the man giving a gap-toothed grin. "My name is Harbin," he said, extending a calloused palm to Michael.

"Harbin helped me found this club a number of years ago," Grant explained. "He is one of the most avid explorers I have ever met."

"Explorers?" asked Sefu.

"Yes," said Harbin gesturing for them to enter the bright room. "Welcome to the Kerouac Club!"

•••

They entered into a large atrium. While the walls were carved out of the stone cliffside, the room was extravagantly attired with ornate rugs, softly cushioned seats, and shelves full of books and artifacts. Just at first glance, Michael noticed dozens of ornate knives, crystals, sea shells and animal skulls. Table tops were crowded with crafts from the far corners of Arimbol. Lemurian rugs covered the floor and sparkling glass mobiles from Gwaeold hung from the ceiling amid dozens of taxidermied birds frozen in mid-flight. There were parrots of myriad colors from the jungles of Ogygia, the famous blue and violet spotted doves of Faralon, and several species of striped magpie.

Amidst this veritable cabinet of wonders sat dozens of people. They filled almost every available chair or parcel of floor. Michael recognized immediately on their faces the same worry of displacement and loss that he witnessed on the prisoners in Alexandria.

"They're all refugees," said Harbin. "Some of them are friends and family of our members. Others are just people we found fleeing the raids. We're lucky to have food here, but its not going to last forever. We tried calling the capital for help, but nothing goes through."

"They're jamming communications," said Sefu. "That is why we need to catch a boat in Caral."

"That might already be impossible," said one of the refugees, an older man wearing a brown vest over a stained yellow shirt. He sat on the ground with his back against a book shelf. "Those monsters are amassing on the road to Caral. There's no way through the canyon. There's nowhere for any of us to go." The despondency in the man's voice made Michael's heart sink.

"There's always a way," asserted a plump woman sitting across the room from him, clutching two young children. "Before I was invited here, I had no money and no family to turn to. I was out of work for months and was going to lose my home. Then I received an invitation to come to the islands. It was a gift from God," the motherly woman emphasized by pulling out a gold crucifix strung around her neck and planting a thankful kiss on it. "God helps those in need."

The old man wasn't having any of the woman's argument though. "God helps those who help themselves," sulked the old man, "and we can't even do that! We have no army and no way of calling for help!"

The mother turned to Michael and explained in a sympathetic whisper, "His daughters are trapped in Caral. That's why he's so upset."

"I have to know if they're okay," muttered the old man.

Maya knelt by him. "Don't worry," she said. "I was imprisoned by the demons and managed to escape. They were avoiding hurting people, especially children. They're just looking for someone."

"Who?" asked the man, eyes glistening, suddenly irate. "I'll give them whoever they want!"

Maya backed up. "I... I don't know," she stammered, looking at Michael for help.

"Calm down, Gregory!" beseeched the mother. "Would you really turn someone in to those monsters?"

The man sat up straight. "Calm down? I would do anything to know my daughters are safe!"

"Hey!" interrupted Grant, cheerfully trying to change the subject. "Would you guys like the grand tour?"

"Yes, please!" exclaimed Maya, following Grant into the next chamber.

"Pay them no mind," Harbin whispered to Michael as they left the room. "They're good people. They're just stressed by the situation."

But Michael did pay them mind. He realized how lucky he was that Grant had turned out to be sympathetic to their situation. Gregory's wanton desperation was very dangerous. Michael decided he had to be very careful about what he shared and with whom.

•••

Grant showed them the kitchen and the pantry.

"We're rationing food," explained Harbin. "Daniels and I are in charge of that, so please don't go into the kitchen by yourself. We have a lot of mouths to feed, but if we're thrifty it will get us through the next two weeks before we have to go foraging."

"Fortunately we have some of the best hunters and gatherers around," said Grant proudly.

"It's also fortunate that we have a lot of water," added Harbin turning on the tap in the sink. "There's a spring that we draw from that runs down the cliff. We have enough water pressure for the kitchen and showers all year round."

"You have showers?" asked Michael, excited at the prospect of cleaning up and tending better to his wounds.

"We have everything!" Grant pronounced with another delighted twinkle in his eyes. He almost levitated with pride for the house he built.

Grant led them into a grand dining hall with a long banquet table running down the center. The ceiling was carved with intricate patterns and inlayed with seashells and semi-precious stones. The room was lit by a bright chandelier— really a mobile of lights and opulent columns of translucent white crystals. It was gaudy, but beautifully sparkled off the pearlescent ceiling. Much like the sitting room, the walls were covered in artifacts and animal heads. There were some especially large ones here, including a nine-horned hydra deer _,_ its antlers splayed like the branches of a tree.

There were several people gathered around the table that looked almost as weathered as Harbin. Their sun-bleached clothes, worn leather sandals, and ubiquitous facial hair almost looked like a uniform. A slender man with a short salt and pepper beard and receding hairline stood up and embraced Grant.

"This is Daniels," Grant introduced his friend. He pointed at the others around the table who were now rising to greet them. "And this is Mercer, Feinstein, Turner, and Lopez. We go by last names in the club. It sounds cool," he grinned.

"So, Grant's your last name?" asked Maya.

Grant nodded, "No one calls me Christopher."

Lopez, the one woman at the table, spoke. She had long, dark hair tied up behind her head. Michael supposed that she might be pretty in a rugged sort of way, but it was well masked by her baggy green cargo pants and many-pocketed fishing vest. "We started hearing about the attacks not long after you left. We thought you would be right back."

"I got trapped behind enemy lines, but these guys helped save me," Grant gestured toward his new friends. He then scanned the faces of the Kerouacs. "Where is everyone else?"

"Some of them are in their rooms," said Lopez, "but there are a lot of members that we haven't seen yet."

Grant gave her a disconcerted look.

"So where did this place come from?' asked Maya, still taking in the ostentatious decor.

"We built it," said Daniels. "It was Grant's idea."

"Well, not entirely," Grant said modestly. "And you guys did most of the work to build this place. That's a time when Moving really did come in handy," he playfully jabbed Sefu in the ribs with his elbow.

Sefu grimaced and rubbed his side.

"Back when I lived in New York," Grant carried on, "the hippies were obsessed with a writer named Jack Kerouac. One of his books inspired a lot of people to explore the world as a way to find themselves. When I first arrived in Arimbol, I wanted to see every bit of it."

Michael knew that the various cities and landmarks of Arimbol were named after famed lost, ancient, and mythical places elsewhere on Earth. For the settlers it added to the sense of wonder about the islands and enticed them to move there. For Michael however, it inspired curiosity about what lay beyond the Shield Fold. He had never left the island of Ennor and everything on it was built within the last thirty years. He had never seen a city as old as those in Europe, or even America. There were some relatively big cities and skyscrapers on the islands, but many modern devices were missing or outright banned, including cars, movies, and television. Even radio and telephones were rare outside of government facilities. This was usually under the pretext that they polluted the qualities that made Arimbol unique, but he now supposed all of this was part of his father's plan to hide and isolate the archipelago. It probably did make it a purer Mover's paradise, and that usually made up for whatever he felt like he might have missed, but after the recent revelations about his father, it just reeked of more manipulation.

Harbin continued the story of the Kerouac's founding, "People come to Arimbol with dreams of magic and adventure, but in actuality, life more or less goes on as normal. Time passes and few explore beyond their own front yards."

Grant nodded in agreement. "I wandered all over the islands during my first two years and only met a handful of others doing the same. I decided we needed a base to share stories and souvenirs from our journeys, and prepare for our next ones. I founded the first Kerouac Club for those whose hunger for adventure will never be sated."

"There are meeting houses and chapters on all of the major islands," added Harbin.

Grant did indeed look very much at home among his fellow adventurers. Michael, however, felt very far from home. In fact, he was not sure if he would ever be able to return there again.

As if reading his thoughts, Grant generously added, "This can be your home, too, for as long as you need it."

•••

Grant and Harbin led them down another long hallway with several doors on either side. Through the open ones Michael could see families sitting on the beds and on the floor. Some were talking while others read quietly. Some of the children laughed and played games with a small crystal-like ball. Its mirrored surface flashed across their faces as they rolled it back and forth. They stopped and looked up as Michael passed, probably wondering who the new refugees were. It was then that Michael uneasily recognized that he too was a refugee. The term always bore a stigma to him of someone who was at the mercy of more powerful forces. Even as he was buffeted about by stormy waves over the past week, he was buoyed by the belief that he had some modicum of control― some ability to paddle, however helplessly, in the direction he chose. Casting his lot with sallow-eyed refugees like Gregory or the fatalistic mother in the other room seemed to suggest otherwise.

"These are all the bedrooms," said Harbin pointing down the hall. "We had to convert them into dorms. We'll try to find you beds if we can, but I don't think there are many left."

Michael and Maya thanked him.

"Normally we keep this clubhouse private for our members, but these are extraordinary circumstances. Fortunately, that means that very few people know this place exists, so you can sleep easy trusting that you're safe here."

These were kind words, but Michael doubted that this place would go unnoticed by the demons for long.

Harbin showed them to a set of four washrooms before heading back to the banquet hall. Sefu and Maya closed their doors behind them, but before Michael could go into his, Grant grabbed him by the arm.

He spoke in a low voice, more serious than Michael had heard him before, "I know you're tired, but I need to ask you something. While we were in the cave, I asked your uncle about why the horn-headed guys are after you. He told me a long-winded tale about giant beasts at the dawn of time, Creators, and magic eyeballs. Then he said that you're next in line to be one of those all-powerful dudes. I think I told you how I'm not particularly fond of religion," he said gruffly. "It rubs me the wrong way, but I spent the last few days with you and you don't seem like a fanatical nutjob proclaiming he's God."

Grant's harsh tone caught Michael off guard. He stared blankly at the normally jocular explorer before he went on.

"If it wasn't for you guys, I'd still be stuck in that tree, browning my brains out, so perhaps I owe you one, but I need to know where you stand on all this."

"Well, I actually just found out about all this myself," said Michael, a little uncomfortable about being accosted when he really just wanted to wash up.

"So, you believe that there were actually two giant space monsters slap fighting each other so hard that they caused the Big Bang?"

"I don't know," said Michael, anxiously glancing at the shower. "I haven't really had time to think about it. There were a few other things that kind of took my attention."

"I can imagine, but what _do_ you think about it?" Grant pressed.

Michael thought for a moment. "Um...I guess there couldn't have actually been two beasts fighting at the beginning of the universe. It must be a metaphor for something, like two powerful, opposing forces."

"Fair enough," said Grant, "but what about the Creators? You spent your whole life with your dad. Do you really think he's some kind of a deity that can Create things with his mind?"

Michael sighed. "If you asked me a week ago, I would have thought that was impossible, but it seems like there are a lot of things about my dad that I didn't know. There was a huge secret bunker under our house, the entrance to which was in a kitchen cupboard that I must have opened a thousand times. I can't imagine how he even built that without anyone knowing, without some kind of Creative power, or at least some incredible ability to Move."

"But do you really believe he could have Created these whole islands?"

"I couldn't say," Michael shrugged, "but all of a sudden we're invaded by an alien race of horned people that no one on Earth even knew existed. They're here for something and that something supposedly is me. All I wanted was to go to school and learn how to Move. I didn't ask to be a Creator."

Grant released his arm. "I'm sorry to be so skeptical. It's just that if I'm going to risk my life and my friends' lives to help someone, I need to know what your intentions are. I appreciate that your newfound status is not getting to your head."

Michael smiled, "Believe me. I don't want to be a Creator. All I want is to rescue my dad. If we free him, he can help fight off these bastards. But first we need to get help. My dad said we should contact the Americans or Europeans. They signed an agreement to protect Arimbol."

Grant nodded solemnly. "I'll speak to the other Kerouacs to see what we can do." He was about to walk away, but turned back to Michael and wrinkled his nose, "By the way, you should really take a shower. You smell like a sphinx bear."

•••

"There are only two ways to get to Caral," began Harbin the next morning, unfolding a map on the broad wooden banquet table.

Michael, Sefu, Grant, and Maya stood around him while the other explorers sat nearby.

"A major road runs through the canyon," he continued, pointing his finger at a line running through a narrow pass in the hills, "but it's blocked now by the demons. They're massing their numbers there and are poised to attack Caral. Then there's the sea road, from the North, but it's poorly maintained and prone to landslides. It will take you several days to hike around the mountains, then travel back down South. The demons probably have it guarded as well."

"There is one other alternative," interjected Daniels. "You can fly down."

"Fly down?" Sefu coughed in surprise. "We don't have wings!"

"No, but we have roaks," said Daniels. "They nest on the peaks above Caral. From there they scavenge off dead whales and sea wolves that wash up on shore."

"That's an interesting idea," said Sefu with more than a tinge of sarcasm, "but how are we supposed to ride giant vultures? They're bigger than sphinx bears and even more irritable."

"We don't ride the birds," said Daniels, "just their feathers."

"You must be joking," Sefu snorted incredulously. He sounded just like Maya when told to ride the bear.

"Not at all," said Harbin. "How do you think such big birds are able to stay aloft? I'm no physicist, but I figure that a bird that size would need wings far bigger than their body could support, so they evolved something else. They Move with their feathers!"

He turned to Daniels and asked him to demonstrate. Daniels took down a long, brown feather that was pinned to the wall. It was the biggest feather Michael had ever seen, even longer than he was tall.

"We found this in the mountains near here," said Daniels. He held it over his head and jumped in the air. Instead of falling back to the ground, the feather yanked him several feet into the air as if he was a kite suddenly hoisted by a gust of wind. It slowed quickly before letting him float softly down to the ground.

"That's a great idea!" said Grant excitedly reaching for the plume. He jumped in the air and floated just as Daniels did. "It's not really like Moving," said Grant. "You don't have to concentrate at all. The power is in the feather."

"That's right!" said Daniels with a satisfied grin. "Mother Nature provides everything we need!"

"This is amazing," observed Sefu. "It's almost like the feather has a Fold in it."

"Is this going to be safe?" asked Maya.

"Absolutely not!" laughed Harbin, "but it will be a great adventure!"

"It also seems to be the only option we have," remarked Sefu. "Roaks are not to be trifled with. They will not care for us poking around their nests and steeling their feathers."

"That's why we'll have to wait until they're off scavenging," Daniels recommended.

"But what about flying?" worried Sefu. "Couldn't a strong breeze send us hurtling into the trees, or out to sea?"

"It's surprisingly stable," said Grant as he climbed onto the table and jumped in the air once more, drifting slowly to the ground.

Sefu turned to Michael. "We would only do this to get you off of the island. What do you think?"

It did not look particularly safe to Michael either, but what choice did they have? "Well, I have always dreamt of flying," he acquiesced with a reluctant shrug.

"Terrific!" exclaimed Grant. "Giant, whale-eating birds it is!"

•••

Sefu stayed with Grant in the banquet hall to work out the final details while Maya and Michael walked back to their respective dorms.

"How do you feel about this?" Maya asked Michael when they were alone.

"It sounds really dangerous," he admitted.

"It does, but I was actually asking about leaving Arimbol. If we survive tomorrow, we'll be on a ship heading far away from home."

"I was thinking about that," Michael said. "Home already feels a long way off."

"Right," she said forlornly, "I feel like I'm just getting farther and farther from the people I want to help."

Maya bit her lip. Michael noted she often did that when she was worried. It was endearing even though she was upset. "But this will help them," he told her encouragingly, "and we'll come back for them. I'm sure this is what my father would have wanted us to do."

"You believe in your father, don't you?" Maya asked, placing a hand gingerly on his arm.

"I hate to admit it, but I do," he sighed. "Even though he lied to me and some of the things he did seem crazy, I still believe in him because...I guess...he believes in me— that I'll be a good Creator someday."

"I believe you will be, too," smiled Maya. "I miss my home and family, but I'm glad that I met you."

"I'm glad the demons made you my nurse," he smiled back.

They looked at each other for what seemed like a long time in the dim subterranean hallway before saying goodnight.
CHAPTER IX

ROAK

The trail up the mountain was not particularly arduous, but Michael's muscles were still sore from his beating the day before. They had left the club well before dawn, so barely had time to rest. They needed to reach Caral before the invasion began.

They could not chance carrying a torch as they climbed, as they would have stuck out clearly against the dark mountainside. Michael carefully watched his steps. Fortunately, it was a bright night and the nearly full moon illuminated the ground with its silvery light.

They left their packs behind, taking only their weapons and what they needed to get through the day. They had to avoid extra weight if they were going to use the roak feathers. By the end of the day, they would either be captured or aboard a ship heading for freedom. Either way, they would have no need for their gear.

Daniels led the way up the hill while Grant quietly sang an unfamiliar song about jokers, thieves, and businessmen. Michael assumed that it was something from the mainland.

Then all of a sudden, Grant stopped singing and cleared his throat. "Huh," he mused. "I just realized something. You guys are aliens."

Michael stopped walking for a moment to consider this. "I guess we are," he said.

Sefu walked by them. "It is generally believed that humans on Earth and Geminon share a common ancestry. The histories of Aaru imply that travel between the two was once quite common."

"Whatever," Grant smirked. "When we get to America, I'm going to make a fortune selling photos of you to the National Enquirer!"

"No one will believe you," Sefu said dryly. "We look too human."

"Hmm..." thought Grant scratching his chin, "Do you suppose there's a friendly demon out there who would agree to a photo shoot?"

"What's it like on the mainland?" Michael asked Sefu, curious about the world beyond the Shield Fold. "Will we be able to Move there?"

"People can Move anywhere," answered Sefu. "It's just that the Folds around Arimbol make it much easier to learn. The effects of the Babel Fold will also stay with us for some time."

Michael was glad to hear that. He had managed to learn so much about Moving in the past week that he would have hated to lose it. He had also worried about trying to explain their emergency without the aid of their xenoglossy.

Despite the cool early morning air, the climb made them put up an impressive sweat. Persistent black flies clung to them no matter how vigorously they swatted them away.

"Couldn't my dad have made this place without all the bugs?" Michael complained as he smacked away one determined to discover the wonders of his inner ear canal.

"The birds and frogs need them," commented Grant.

Sefu, meanwhile, charged up his staff and zapped the air around him with an electric field. All of the flies around him instantly dropped dead.

"That will teach them!" he sneered.

"That's a harsh lesson just for being annoying," observed Grant with a smart-alecky tone. "Imagine if we dealt with people that way." He made a deep, doltish voice, 'Did you hear about Billy? He said that stupid knock-knock joke again, so they sent him to the chair!'"

Sefu glanced at Grant. He looked uncertain if Grant actually sympathized with the insects. He spoke plainly, "They're no different than the demons. They're a plague."

•••

Having hiked the Morningstar Range dozens of times, the explorers knew the trail very well. Daniels even claimed to have visited the roak nests on numerous occasions. When Michael asked if he had ever hang-glided using their feathers, he said, "No, but I'm sure it can be done," which was not particularly reassuring.

Michael realized what a big risk they were taking. Besides the feathers not working, they might be flying right into a battle. The boats could all be sunk or burned to cinders before they even got there.

The first beams of sunlight reached out from the east. The morning mists began to clear and to the north Michael could see far across Zion Forest until the trees thinned against the Burnt Plains. He could make out the shimmer of the Hattusa River in the distance as it wound through the land, disappearing and re-emerging behind cliffs and trees like a silver suture.

"We have to hurry!" said Grant, returning Michael's attention to the task at hand.

With the first light, the demons may have begun their assault on the town, so they picked up the pace.

The trail ended at a rocky ridge that extended beyond sight in either direction. Boulders and jagged stone spires worn from the wind and weather clawed at the sky.

"There's the roak nest!" said Daniels pointing to a tangle of bushes and trees amidst the crags.

At first Michael could not tell what he was indicating, but he could smell it― like salt and rotting fish. He watched Maya cover her mouth with her hand. He, too, pulled his collar up over his nose. It helped a little, but his shirt did not smell like petunias either after several days on the run.

He kept trying to see the nest amidst the tangle of branches, but could not make it out. Then he realized the order to the branches. They followed an elliptical whirl, weaving in and out of each other, like a massive basket nestled between two mountain peaks.

"Looks like nobody's home," observed Grant.

Daniels went ahead, crouching as he pushed his way through the undergrowth. It was impossible to see over the tall walls of the nest from where they stood. Michael wondered if the bird could be hidden there, lying down inside.

As Daniels neared it, Michael realized how truly massive it was. The top of the nest stood well above the Kerouac's head.

"All clear!" he called to them. "Mamma's gone!"

The group made their way through the underbrush and up to the rocky peak. Michael walked up to the nest and marveled at its scale. He placed his hand on a rather large tree trunk and wondered at the size and strength of the animal that had carried it there.

Daniels was busy tugging a long feather from the side of the nest. It was even longer than the one at the Kerouac Club. He cleared his throat and spat from the thick stink. "What a nasty nest!" he grumbled.

Michael saw what he was talking about and drew back his hand. With grizzly horror he realized the log he was touching was not wood at all, but a rib bone from some massive beast. Dried bits of flesh and tendon hung off the end. It was probably from some whale or sea carrion the bird had scavenged

Sefu stood beyond the nest looking over the edge of the cliff to the east. Michael joined him. The air was fresher there, as the wind blew in from over the sea, but a new acrid smell tingled in Michael's nose― smoke. The mountaintop dropped swiftly downwards past oak-shaded hills. Michael could see the end of the canyon road as it met the seaside city of Caral where columns of black smoke were already rising from the edge of town. The ocean breeze carried the distant shouts of people running in fear.

"The attack has already begun," remarked Sefu, surveying the distant siege with calculating eyes.

"Should we turn around?" Michael asked.

"Maybe," Sefu contemplated. "Your survival is the most important thing right now. You must fulfill the destiny your father refused. We need supplies and reinforcements and you need time to practice your Moving so when the time comes, you are ready to take up his mantle. If we stay here, we shall be trapped. The explorer's club may be safe for now, but eventually a refugee will give up its location or the demons will catch Harbin or Lopez while they're hunting."

Michael peered over the cliff. It was a long drop― much longer than the building he jumped off of in Alexandria. He looked at the distant rooftops bordering the shore of the Atlantic. At their far end he could make out the masts of several large ships. Their white sails beckoned him like banners of peace.

"The boats aren't on fire yet," he remarked.

"No," Sefu turned to Michael with a baleful look, "they're not." He spoke his next thoughts somberly. "I know this has all been thrust upon you, but you are braver, stronger, and more resourceful than you give yourself credit for. You have progressed swiftly in your training during the past few days. If something happens and you must carry on without me, necessity will be your master."

Michael raised his eyebrows uncomfortably at the thought. In the past few days, Sefu had been his guide and guardian. Despite his encouraging words, Michael considered himself no more than a fledgling.

Sefu continued, "Although I think your father translated the Oracle's prediction in a cowardly, irresponsible way, I still believe that the prophecy is protecting you. There have been numerous occasions in the past week in which you could have been hurt or killed, not least of which was in the river. But you must be careful― Fate has not yet made its choice. It's waiting to see whether it needs you or not. Someone from your line will end the war between Light and Dark, but as long as your father lives, you remain mortal. It is his withdrawal, his refusal to fight that puts you into play. Destiny is waiting to see if you take charge."

As Michael absorbed Sefu's words, a shadow passed overhead.

"It's coming back!" shouted Daniels.

Michael looked up to see the great bird circling, its brown and ochre plumage dark against the morning sky. It was as huge as its aerie implied. Daniels was already running towards the cliff. He leapt off the edge holding onto the feather with both hands. Instead of dropping into the abyss, the feather yanked at his hands and he was borne aloft.

Grant and Maya quickly joined Michael and Sefu at the cliff with their feathers.

"That is really high!" fretted Maya.

Grant stepped back towards the nest, giving himself room for a running start. "When you jump, hold on tight to the feather and whatever you do, don't let go!" He ran as fast as he could towards the cliff and dove off. Like Daniels, he was quickly swept upwards as if pulled by invisible strings, but in a moment, he began to slowly descend towards the sea.

Michael wished he hadn't spent so much time staring out over the drop. The monster bird was descending fast and he didn't even have a feather yet.

Maya was looking a little green. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I just wouldn't mind some practice first," she gulped.

"You'll be okay," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She took a few tentative steps back towards the nest, then charged over the edge. She squealed as she was buoyed upward.

"I'm okay!" she called back as she clutched her feather tightly and began her descent.

Michael and Sefu had to hurry to find feathers before the roak was upon them. Sefu drew one from the side of the nest and headed towards the cliff. Michael grew worried at how few feathers were on the ground. He scanned the side of the nest, but did not see any there either. He suddenly grew panicked that his friends had taken the last ones. Then he realized that the feathers had an uncanny ability to float and must have all blown away. All of the ones his friends found were lodged between the branches and bones.

Michael jumped up and grabbed hold of the top rim of the nest. His injured shoulder burning as he pulled himself up.

"What are you doing?" yelled Sefu. "We have to go!"

"Go without me!" he called back. "I have to find a feather."

"Take mine!" Sefu insisted.

But Michael wasn't listening. He was busy trying not to gag from the overwhelming stench wafting up from the nest. Sitting amid a pile of bones and wolf seal skulls, were three massive blue eggs. Each one looked like a piece of sky made stone. They were as beautiful as the nest was hideous.

Michael heard the beating of the roak's massive wings approaching, but then he spotted several feathers nestled amid the detritus. He ran down the side of the nest and grabbed one.

The roak called out from overhead. Its screech pierced like a siren. Michael prayed it wasn't mad at him for invading its lair. If it was, he had only seconds to spare before it sank its talons into him. He held the feather over his head and ran up the curved bowl of the nest, throwing himself off the edge with a great stride.

Much like his jump off the roof in Alexandria, time seemed to slow down. There was a moment in which he felt frozen between jumping and falling, but before he could hold the thought, he was yanked into the sky.

Even though he had watched his friends do it, the force with which the feather pulled him upwards caught him by surprise. "Woah!" he shouted. But he managed to hold on, and before he knew it, he was gently descending towards Caral. He could see Maya, Grant, and Daniels floating ahead of him like dandelion puffs blown by the wind.

Michael clasped on tightly with both hands, but chanced a glance over his shoulder. Sefu was already behind him, but so was the roak. It landed on the nest and examined its eggs, tilting its head from side to side. It called loudly, like the shriek of a thousand eagles. It did not sound happy.

Michael wondered if there was any way to make his feather move faster. He tried yanking on it to see if it would pull him up again or thrust him forward, but it only threatened to make him lose his grip.

He looked back at the bird. It was now staring directly at him, cocking its pink, featherless head from side to side. Michael prayed that it didn't take off, but of course it did. With a screech, it flapped its vast wings and lurched into the air. With a few powerful beats, it swooped over Michael's head. The force of its wings gusted past Michael, rocking him back and forth. It flew past Maya and Grant, jostling them as well. It then dipped a wing and turned around, flying back towards Michael.

"Look out!" shouted Sefu, but there was nothing Michael could do. The bird plucked him from the sky, grabbing him by the left arm with talons as big as his bicep. Pain flashed in his shoulder and Michael was forced to drop the feather. He watched it sail beneath his feet. The bird was carrying him back to its nest where it would tear him apart.

Sefu reached for his staff with one hand, but there was nothing to be done. The bird whooshed past him, sending him tumbling out of the way. Michael was afraid Sefu would lose his grip, but he somehow managed to hang on. He held out his staff, but did not attack. Michael realized that even if Sefu could aim well enough to hit the roak from his awkward position, he might only make the bird drop him.

Michael had to do something. The bird had him tucked in tightly to its body, so Michael ignored the pain in his arm and reached for the only thing he could― a fistful of belly feathers. The roak screeched in surprise, releasing its grip on Michael as he ripped them away.

The wind whipped in Michael's ears as he plummeted towards the ground, but he held tightly onto the bouquet of short, golden feathers and in a moment was buoyed upwards again. He gasped with confusion― too much up and down too fast for his stomach to handle.

Michael was descending again but much faster than he liked. The small, downy breast feathers lacked the loft of the larger plumes. He skimmed over sharp rocks and had to dodge one especially tall tree top. But then the hills dropped off again and he found himself floating high above the city. Smoke and flames leapt from the windows and rooftops. Demons poured into the streets and ran down civilians. He could hear their screams and the frightened cries of children. He watched a group of soldiers kick down a door and another group drag a family into the streets. One of them threw the mother to the ground and struck her in the head. The father stood up to defend her, but before he could, they brutally slugged him in the face. He collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

Michael was horrified. Is this what his friends and family had had to endure as the demons searched for him? He had to do something. He drew his sword with his free hand and fired upon the demons below. He shot at any one that he could, but most of his shots missed. It was not easy to aim with his left hand, but then he struck a soldier running below him, sending him somersaulting down the cobblestone street and into a heap of boxes on the side of the road.

Michael saw a group of demons chasing a group of children. The lead demon had his arms outstretched, about to scoop up a small straggler. Michael struck him in the back, sending him crashing face first into the cobblestones. The demons running behind him tripped over his body and careened into a furious pile. As they lay there, they finally noticed Michael passing overhead and yelled to their cohorts nearby, who lifted their swords to the sky and fired. A flurry of red bolts zipped by Michael's head. They narrowly missed, but he knew they would adjust their aim and strike him down with a second volley. Before that could happen, Michael passed through a column of smoke rising from a burning building. Beams of red light tore through the smoke, illuminating it like lightning inside a cloud, but they could not find their mark.

Michael could barely breathe. He coughed violently and tears poured from his eyes, but he maintained his grip on the life-saving roak feathers. Finally, he passed beyond the smoke. Through his bleary eyes he could see that he was just above the rooftops. He glimpsed the blue sea and the tall ships ahead, but they were still far away. He would never make it at this pace.

He took a chance and touched down on the flat roof of an apartment building. He did not land so much as be dragged across it, dinging his sword against a chimney and skinning his knee. Warm blood trickled down his shin. He righted himself and ran to the roof's edge, but found that he was still three stories up. He needed to get into the street and run to the docks as fast as he could. If the demons reached the harbor first, his chances of escape would be lost.

With the feathers still in hand, he jumped off the roof and aimed for the wide boulevard below. A melee of humans and demons spread out below him. They were all running towards the ocean.

As Michael neared terra firma, he jogged his legs through the air. He did not want the feathers to drag him across the ground again. His heart pounded with adrenaline and as soon as his feet touched the cobblestones he took off running as fast as they could carry him. He swerved around demons who yelled out in surprise as he shot past. Michael was sure he had never run so fast in his life.

But all of a sudden, it felt like he was slammed by a bull. He was thrown onto the sidewalk, and rolled to a halt. He was about to stand up and keep running, but a familiar voice kept him glued to the ground.

"Look who's here!" declared Drastos with a leering grin. It was the demon captain who arrested Michael at the Crossroads. A white bandage and dark bruises still adorned the bridge of his nose where Maya had slugged him. Another covered the cheek where Acheron cut him. "When you got away from us in the North you got me in a fair bit of trouble."

Michael rose to his feet as the captain brandished his sword.

"You can't kill me," said Michael, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "I heard your orders."

"The rules have changed," he hissed, relishing the words. "We figured out that you're the Creator's only son. We don't have to take prisoners anymore."

With that, he slashed at Michael, but Michael jumped back and parried the thrust that followed. Other demons approached Michael from the rear.

"He's mine!" Drastos commanded. "This one is special!"

He swiped at Michael again, but Michael knocked his blade aside with a resounding clang. He thrust back, narrowly missing Drastos' shoulder.

"Looks like you've learned something since I last saw you," Drastos taunted, "but it won't do you any good."

Michael dodged his next thrust, but not the kick that followed. It landed right on his ragged knee. He almost toppled to the ground, but righted himself just enough to block Drastos' next slash. The force of it reverberated through his arm. Drastos struck again and Michael fell backwards, tripping over the curb. He was on the ground, but rolled out of the way just as Drastos slashed the pavement, spraying gravel like buckshot.

Michael scurried out of reach while Drastos fired red bolts from the tip of his sword. They thwacked against the wood framed building behind Michael.

"I'm going to put your head on a spike!" Drastos threatened. The other demons jeered at Michael and pressed Drastos to finish him.

Michael was out of breath. He was angry that he was so close to the ships yet could not reach them. He tried to recollect everything he had been taught about fencing in the past week, but Drastos was too fast. Michael was fighting more by instinct than reason, almost like Sefu's recent advice had come true― he _would_ have to learn by necessity. He was sick of running and hiding. He was sick of seeing the demons hurt people. Drastos knew how to fight― his scarred and contorted face was a history of the battles he had survived. He maybe had years of practice, but as Michael dodged another blast from his sword, he reminded himself that he knew something that Drastos did not― his own destiny. Whether he was mortal or not, he would take responsibility for the prophecy. He told himself that he was Light and Drastos was Dark and Drastos was going to lose. It was as simple as that.

Michael turned towards Drastos and tightened his grip on his weapon. His knuckles went white with rage. Drastos growled as he lunged again, but Michael was ready. In the blink of an eye, he extended his sword and the demon, unable to halt his momentum, simply impaled himself upon it. Drastos hung frozen on the end of the blade, his own sword raised above his head. His sneer turned to surprise and his growl was replaced by a low gurgling utterance. The other demons gasped as Michael withdrew his bloody sword from the demon's chest. Drastos slumped to the ground, dead.

Michael stared at the crumpled body for a moment. His anger quickly turned to disbelief. He had never killed somebody before. He didn't even like squishing spiders. The other demons were stunned as well, but not for long.

"He slew Drastos!" called one.

"Kill him!" resounded another.

The lot of them charged at once. There were far more than Michael could fend off. His sudden confidence dissipated with Drastos' demise and he froze in place.

As the demons advanced upon him, a shot came out of nowhere and knocked one of them out. Suddenly Sefu rushed between them, whirling his staff. "Run!" he commanded Michael.

"But―" Michael protested. He didn't want to leave Sefu behind.

"You have to go!" Sefu urged him. "I'll hold them off!" He blasted a spray of flames at the encroaching demons, keeping them at bay.

Michael gathered his wits and ran to the ships as fast as he could. Up ahead he could see his friends.

"Michael!" exclaimed Maya. "You're okay!"

"Yeah!" he huffed as he ran, not entirely convinced that he was.

"Look out!" called Grant, but his warning was too late. A squadron of demons charged into their path and blocked the docks. Michael could see that many of the ships were already on fire. Smoke rose from their decks and devoured their sails, their white canvas charred to ash.

The demons unleashed a volley of missiles, but Maya spun her short sword. A thin veil of incandescent filaments followed her blade and deflected some of the shots, but she could not thwart them all. One of the bolts struck Daniels directly in the chest. The force of it sent him crashing backwards.

"Dan!" exclaimed Grant as he dove for his friend. He caught Daniels under the arms as he collapsed, but from his upturned eyes and the crimson that instantly washed across his shirt, it was clear that he was already dead.

The Demons were indeed not taking prisoners. They charged with both swords and eyes ablaze.

The world slowed down for Michael. He was suddenly, desperately aware of everything around him. Flames licked hungrily at the apartment buildings around them. Glass clattered down from the windows above. He could hear the cries of the townspeople and the battle calls of the demons as they cut into the populace. Michael and Maya brandished their swords as the squadron charged upon them, but they were like two pebbles holding back an avalanche.

But then a shadow enveloped the street and the unmistakable stink of sea rot flooded Michael's nostrils. The demons halted their assault. Some even fell back in terror. The roak touched down in the middle of the boulevard, its vast wings spanning from one side of the street to the other. It had to tuck the tips in so as not to scorch its feathers on the burning facades.

Still furious over his incursion to its nest, still eager to protect its young, it reared its awful bald head over Michael and screeched. But all of a sudden, it whirled about and shrieked as the demons stupidly opened fire upon it. They were so surprised by the giant bird that they didn't realize that it was not after them. The roak lunged at one of the soldiers and snatched him up like a grasshopper. His skinny legs splayed out of either side of the bird's massive beak. He screamed as he was lifted into the air.

"Let's get out of here!" said Michael, realizing their opportunity.

"Not without Daniels," said Grant, still clutching his friend.

Michael helped lift the dead man's feet while Grant supported his torso. He was torn between Grant's insistence and their desperate rush to reach the boat. The dead man was heavy, but Michael did not have the wherewithal to argue at this point, especially because Daniels had died trying to help Michael off the island.

They slunk as discreetly as they could around the bird, which thrashed about violently as it attacked the remaining demons. Some of the soldiers turned to flee, while others began shooting more aggressively to try to release the soldier who still filled the roak's maw. The bird was torn between its increasing rage at being shot and its desire to swallow the wriggling demon.

Just beyond this mayhem, they reached the docks. Every boat was on fire except for one. The demons tasked with burning it were probably those distracted by the roak.

The pier was packed with panicked people. Some dragged suitcases bursting with clothes, photos, and documents. Others clutched crying children or huddled with their loved ones. Michael and his friends followed a cue of townspeople running up the gangway. The thin platform bounced and thundered beneath Michael's feet as they pounded up the ramp. As they stepped onto the ship, a man with a scruffy brown beard and blue jacket shouted orders, "Everyone on board! Cut the lines! Set sail immediately!"

A sailor carrying a machete shoved Michael out of the way, causing him to drop Daniels' legs.

Grant shouted at the man, but he paid them no attention as he sprinted over to one of the ropes binding them to the dock. He did not bother to untie it, but simply hacked at it with his blade until it frayed in twain and the boat rocked away from the pier.

"Wait!" shouted Michael. "Where's Sefu? We can't leave without him!" he exclaimed, stepping back towards the gangplank.

Maya grabbed his arm. "You can't!" she beseeched him. "This is the last boat. If it leaves without you, you'll be trapped!"

Sefu was not the only one being left behind. The docks were still full of people as the ship began to roll away. A few managed to climb up the gangplank as it was pulled in, while others toppled into the harbor. There were still dozens of people on the docks who screamed for the boat to stop when the last rope was severed. They begged for the sailors to take their wives and children. Passengers on board reached out for their friends and neighbors. It was heart wrenching, but the captain refused to wait.

Michael pushed his way to the stern to see if he could catch a glimpse of his uncle. He expected to see him running down the pier, victorious, having vanquished the soldiers. Instead, a platoon of demons was charging down the docks. Their long-horned leader barked at them to stop the ship. Michael watched as they forced their way through the panicked crowd, shoving people into the water. But as they reached the end, the boat was already out of reach. The commander scowled in disgust before turning away.

Michael stood at the back of the boat still expecting Sefu to appear. His uncle was cunning. He was sure he would devise some kind of plan to escape, to find another boat, or some way to Move himself to safety, but as the town shrank in the distance, there was no sign of him. Michael watched the giant roak take off, a demon still hanging from its mouth. It spiraled upwards through the columns of smoke before heading back towards the mountains.

Michael watched the city recede in the distance for a long time, hoping to see some sign of Sefu, but no other boat appeared. They were the only ones who had made it― perhaps the only ones who had made it off all of Ennor.

Michael dispiritedly made his way through the crowd. People were softly sobbing while others watched their city shrink in the distance. He found Grant sitting beside Daniels cradling his head.

"He was a good friend," murmured Grant without looking up. "We traveled together for many years. He helped me build the club. He was like family."

"I'm sorry," Michael said hoarsely. "I promise to help lay him to rest."

"Thank you," said Grant as he looked up at Michael with tear-stained cheeks. "Don't forget what I told you last night and don't forget that he died trying to help you. Remember him. When you are king, you have to remember him."

•••

Michael stayed with Grant for some time before making his way below deck. The few small bunks were already filled with refugees, but he found a cabinet and lay down against it. He looked down at the sword still in his hands. He had not let go of it, even when carrying Daniels. It was still smeared with Drastos' blood. He found it strange that the blood was red. Even though these creatures came from an alien world, their blood looked so much like his.

Their escape was miraculous, but Michael was angry at how many people they had left behind, especially his uncle. He felt that the cries he heard as the boat pulled away would haunt him for a long time. He wished he could have saved them all, or even one more. He questioned whether he even had the right to be on the boat. Shouldn't he have stayed to fight?

He recalled Drastos again, his lifeless body hanging from the end of his sword. He remembered the wet squelch of skewered organs as his blade penetrated his chest. Drastos was a spiteful monster, but Michael did not intend to be his judge and executioner. Michael also thought of Daniels with his poor vacant eyes and the red stain spreading outwards from the hole in his chest. It was like Sefu and Daniels' lives were traded for Drastos'― a balancing of the scales― something good for something bad.

Maya came downstairs and sat next to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, but he wasn't really sure.

"I'm sorry about Sefu," she said consolingly.

"Me too. I don't know what we're going to do without him."

"We're going to do what we have to," she reassured him.

It reminded him of what his uncle had said about necessity.

"I spoke with the sailors," she went on. "We're heading to America. We'll find the help we need there and come back with an army. We'll toss out these invaders and get our families back."

But Michael's mind had drifted off.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing his forlorn distance.

"I killed someone today," he confided. "Remember the demon, Drastos?"

Maya nodded.

He described how Drastos accosted him on the boulevard and how they fought. "I think I killed others, too, when I shot them from the air. The world is probably a better place without them, but I don't feel like celebrating. I'm supposed to be a force for good, not a killer."

"You _are_ good," she said, reassuringly taking his hand, "but we're at war. You were protecting yourself and your people. You're going to be king someday, maybe even some kind of god. I saw that river carry you away. I saw that roak attack you. Drastos tried to kill you, too, but couldn't. Each time you should have been killed, but you were protected. I believe in everything Sefu told us. This prophecy is bigger than petty matters of right or wrong― it determines everything."

Michael considered the unlikelihood of his continued survival. He had to acknowledge that against all odds he was somehow still alive and sitting on a boat heading to America next to this lovely, supportive girl.

"You are Michael Endwar," she said, staring into his eyes with conviction, "and after everything I have seen, I believe you are destined to end the war between Light and Dark. Do not feel guilty for who you are or what you must do. You may have to do many more things you never imagined you were capable of before this war is over."

###
About the Author

Mover of Fate is the first novel in The Creator's Eye series by author and artist R.N. Feldman. Feldman lives and works in Los Angeles, CA where he teaches at Otis College of Art & Design and spends as much time hiking through the local mountains as he can. Art, metaphysics, useless scientific trivia, and extensive backpacking treks throughout the world have all been major influences in his work.

Other books by R.N. Feldman

Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by R.N. Feldman:

The Creator's Eye Series

Mover of Fate, Part I

Mover of Fate, Part II (coming October 2015)

Mover of Fate, Part III (coming Spring 2016)

Mover of Fate, Part III (coming Spring 2016)

Connect with R.N. Feldman

Thanks for reading my book! For news about new releases, giveaways, events, and additional maps and artwork, please visit my social media sites.

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