“Arthi! there is a post, go get it” Arthi's mom screamed from the kitchen. “Ok mom!” Arthi replied. The postman ask her to sign in the paper. After doing it she took the post and came inside the house. She noticed that the post was from her school. She opened the post, it was an invitation. she read the content in the invitation and there was a smile in her face. At last her wish of meeting her true friends is about to happen she squealed with happiness and sat on the sofa. It was reunion. She was very eager to meet Kiran and Lakshmi who helped her when she was in depression. She took her phone and was about to message Lakshmi, “Arthi, there is a wedding invitation on the table just tell me when is the reception, so that we can prepare accordingly.” Asked her mother from the kitchen as she was preparing the lunch. “Ok mom” said Arthi. She crouched down the table and took the wedding invitation. Sitting back comfortable in the sofa she opened the invitation, the first word attracting her sense was 'Aiswarya'. Her eyes bulged out, though it was just an invitation with someone named Aiswarya, she was totally distressed. She fell back into her past, and imagined what that name had caused her. " Can you keep a secret?" asked Arthi to her friend Aiswarya. " Yeah, for sure " replied her friend. Arthi is the class monitor for their class XII. She and her friend Aiswarya were very close friends. They stayed, played and studied together as they were studying in the same residential school. Arthi is a very jovial person. She never keeps anything in her mind as she is very open minded. Aiswarya likes her a lot. But she is a short-tempered person and she has certain principles to live her life. She never accepts the playful, funny things of mates as well as friends. Arthi doesn’t hide anything from her friend Aiswarya. So Arthi told the secret about the incidents of the game " Truth or Dare " which was played in their class the day before as she was absent. " You know what! Tom and Jemi kissed each other over a dare!!! " Arthi said. Aiswarya was shocked, she scolded Arthi of her irresponsibility as a class leader. Arthi pleaded, " Aishu, Please don’t make this a big issue, please. " Aiswarya agreed and kept her the secret with her, but she couldn't bear the incident happened in their class. Arthi loved her more than her soul. She had a special place for Aiswarya in her heart. As they were waiting for results of their board examination, the results of the exam was declared, "Hurray! hurray! Aiswarya won with first rank! She got a Gold medal !!!!"  Arthi rejoiced with joy and happiness. But Aiswarya started to move away from Arthi, as she was not able to accept the incidents of the game 'Truth or Dare.' While Arthi was rejoicing over the victory, Aiswarya started talking ill about her best friend to everyone.

" Arthi is too bad.. she has affairs with so many boys..."said Aiswarya to Tittu. " Is it ???.. " asked Tittu. Tittu then spread this rumour to everyone in their batch. They all started to ignore her by mistaking her entire character. At the same time, Aiswarya acted as being very close to Arthi. As Arthi is open minded, she couldn't understand the behaviour of other mates of her class, ‘cause her innocence believed in everyone. "Ma'am , Arthi allowed the students to kiss each other on your absence, Is this the responsibility of the class monitor?" she asked Pramela, a tutor of them in their residential school. "Oh!!! What nonsense you are talking???" "Is that true?" "What are you blabbering?" "Yes ! Ma’am. You can enquire anyone you want" she said. The tutor was very furious with Arthi she wasn't able to to keep mind calm in such an indecent behaviour. She was about to take an action against Arthi, but was stopped by Aiswarya saying that, “No ma’am. not now, please.” Being a favourite student to the tutor, Pramela listened to Aiswarya's words.     Few weeks later, knowing the true nature of Aiswarya, Arthi's friend Kiran talked to Arthi. "are you mad??" asked Kiran. "What?? what happened??" said Arthi "Don't you know? there are things happening around you?. "Everyone is avoiding you. . . Arthi" "No ..no..no.., you must be joking" "Do whatever you want" and he left from that place. Arthi started thinking and walked aimlessly. "Hai ! Mubi"

Mubisina didn't react anything and passed Arthi without saying anything. "Rashika..." "what?" said Rashika. "Why are you all like this?" Arthi became very upset and sat in her class alone.    By looking her, Kiran felt bad and came near her and asked 'did you say about "Truth or Dare" which we had played last year in the class to anyone?' " No. . . ", "Yes. . . to Aishu alone" replied Arthi “Can’t you keep a secret with you Arthi?” "Yes! She is the one creating the entire problem. She said it to Pamela mam and informed it to our principal." he said. By hearing those things, Arthi fainted there itself. Kiran brought some water in a cup and sprinkled few drops on her face.

 "Arthi ! Arthi! What happened? " Arthi opened her eyes and cried aloud.

 "Don’t worry Arthi, Be very careful with Aiswarya. She had created bad rumours about you that, you are going for dating every week with many boys". " What???" "No! Aiswarya will never do like this. You are lying" and she went to her hostel. Had a glee to Aiswarya and she lie on the sofa closing her eyes.

    At that time, Neenu knocked on the room in which both Aishu and Arthi stayed. Aiswarya opened the door and they Chatted for a while. She started to talk ill of Arthi. "Neenu! Do you know one thing? " "What? ? " "Arthi is very bad, I hate being with her," and said many things about her thinking that Arthi was in deep sleep but Arthi was listening everything they were talking.    It's 10.pm Arthi woke up with a new strength and hope, not to believe any human being in her life thereafter and sat on the sofa where she slept. Her heart was broken like a broken glass, but still she loved her as Aishu was close to her heart. The kind heart of her made her forgive and forget the entire matter, yet she did feel sad about the incident, she knew that this incident will remain in her heart forever.   After two months, the sports students of their school were taken to India for the National tournament. Aiswarya and Arthi were there in the team. On first day, they conducted the indoor games like chess, carom, table tennis etc. Aiswarya won the title on the game of chess and the next day, Arthi went for 100 metres, 200 metres and 400 metres running race but she lost it in few seconds. Losing the game made her fake friends make fun of Arthi, and Neenu said "she is tired from dating with many boys" and everyone laughed aloud.

 Arthi was totally broken she wasn't able to hold her anger any more, hence, shouted at Aiswarya

 "you !!!... betrayed....!! Me....!!!.. you can never have a friend like me who understands you and forgive each and every mistake you make. You have hurt me so much. This is all your fault you have done enough for me. Thank you so much for doing this. I just request you not to ever enter my life again.” Aarti went to the hostel room and cries her eyes out. After few days she vacated hostel room and went to live with her parents as she finished her schooling. Days passed she was so much broken from inside that she denied talking with anyone and remained alone for most of the time.

“Arthi, what are you doing I asked you to tell me time for reception.” asked her mother. She was brought back into reality looking at the time for the reception she said to her mother, “5 o' clock in the evening, mom!”. She looked at the reunion invitation in her hand, and thought off all the things Aiswarya has done in her life. With all the thoughts in her mind decided not to attend the reunion. Though she wants to meet her friends very badly, Arthi felt betrayed by her only and one friend Aiswarya. She was not ready to see her. She wasn't able to forgive Aishu for what she has done. Because of her Arthi went to depression and suffered much. Hence, she decided not to attend the reunion and crumpled the invitation and threw the post in the dustbin.    Arthi's mom after finishing her works, came and sat near and asked, “Dear, what was in the post, “ Oh! nothing mom, it’s just an advertisement paper for college admission.” “Ohh, ok ok dear!” said her mom and went to her room. Arthi looks at the dustbin in which she had crumbled the invitation and threw and thinks about the pain that she had gone through.


I knew I had to make it stop. I closed my eyes, breathed in slowly, held it for a short time, and then released it just as slow. Out of instinct alone, I reached for the still cold ground. My hand thrust through the soil and I felt the roots. I started combing them with my fingers. The cicadas yawned from too much sleep and began to sing their song. I opened my eyes and watched them climb up the old oak tree. The one that grew the tallest at the center of the land. ( I don't remember a time when it wasn't there.) I sat on the ground listening to them sing. I usually only hear it at night when they sing me to sleep. I closed my eyes again to speak to the spirit. Breathe. The electric blue clouds come first, then the high pitch tone, and at last, the sound of cicada comes. Since it happened, I hear them when I'm still and I close my eyes. Even when they are asleep in the roots of the trees. My cold sweet prince woke me from my sleep. He's already left and it's my turn. I know I'll see him again, but it's not enough for me. One of us is always dying. I came to the forest because I couldn't be without him. Now I get to see him, but he always seems to be just out of reach. I've been trying to remember how it happened. All I remember is that it used to happen without me. The cicada sound is soothing. I'm drawn to the same path in the woods. Walking slowly through the twists and turns. All the while, shaded by the trees. All of the tree branches holding hands above my head, as I can never do with him. The path looks worn to the width of my feet. What if I have been here forever? As it always does and will again, when I reach the end of this path my life ends. It happens when I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. My cicadas are singing, but it's only in my head. I walked past them some time ago. I take some comfort in the creek that runs across my path. Cool, wet feet are soothing. One day, someone will come and I'll welcome them with open arms. These are things that are known in secret; We are in the forest with intent, this is happening, and one day we will finish. I have company these days. My hawk friend Frederick flies through here every day catching mice along the way. Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal stop by to say hello sometimes. The squirrels think they're funny. They like to throw acorns thru me. The raccoon takes up for me when they can, but I can't expect people to drop their everyday lives just for me, even furry lives. The deer are always careful not to be noticed. Quiet peaceful and solitary. I feel for them the most. I noticed this young couple walking in the woods. That's when I heard them giggling and making sweet little promises to each other. I sent them a warm Spring breeze and lit up the flowers for them. Breathe. An old couple sits on a log, remembering the promises they managed to keep with each other. I sent them a strong whiff of lavender. They're kind of my favorite because they come here a lot. What follows is my confession. I can see it as it happened now. When he ran away, I followed him into the woods. I remember it was cold. Blas froze to death that night. It was me. He only left because I told him that's what I would do. I couldn't leave him there, so I stayed. I tried to hold him to warm him up. I blew warm air in his face. I just kept breathing for the both of us. In the forest, with only him, I wished for the sun to come out and bring him back. Life-giving light please come. When the sun was finally overhead and peaking through the trees, I knew it wasn't enough. I was just a child myself and had never met death before. So I wished even harder. The next thing I knew, I was walking my path through the woods. This is the way it's been ever since; My frozen prince wakes me and fades before my eyes, I wake the forest and walk the path. Always at the edge of the forest, the sun touches my face and I die. Until I realized, this day will last forever. I have to let him go and release us both. I spent time as Spring wishing that I was just a person. And time as a person wishing I was more. I have to fix this. It's easy to get lost in the woods. I didn't know what was going to happen next. I've never gotten this far before. I hope he forgives me but, even if he doesn't I still need to look into his eyes just one more time. I know this will put us in front of each other face to face. I need this to happen, even if it's for the last time. I'm finally not afraid. When I stepped out of the forest and felt the sun on my face, for the first time in forever, I did not die. I felt his warm hand in mine as we walked away together. We were set free. Not being alive any more is a small price to pay. I didn't leave him and he never left me. When we come back to the forest again we'll just be sitting on a log together, remembering. It's not like it was when we were young and walking and giggling together. But, it's my favorite time with him. The great changes have come and gone and the mistakes are behind us. Spring and Winter are returned to their rightful owners, and no one will ever know what happened here.


Although the weather was clear, strong westerly winds made for choppy seas as we sailed towards Granite Vowhorn. The Deer Drum boat, with Alessia’s towed behind, lurched over each wave, a spray of water shooting up into the sky as we ploughed through. Alessia, Xander, Lachlann and I were on the quarterdeck behind the wheel as Eir navigated the seas. “So the island’s at war,” Xander said, his calm voice only just audible over the billowing sails and churning water. “Yeah. Has been longer than anyone alive can remember,” Alessia nodded. I pursed my lips. “Last I heard it was a stalemate. Neither side was making any ground.” Alessia shook her head. “Word on Sneppath Head was that the North has been pushing the South back. The South’s down to two small towns. Everything else been lost.” The boat hit a sharp dip. A plume shot into the air, the smallest droplets carrying the length of the boat and landing on our faces. “So we go to the North then, presumably safer.” Lachlann said, shaking the dew from his hair. Alessia shook her head once more. “The one thing the south does have is the harbour. Unless you wanna be sitting in seas like this the whole time, we need the bay.” “Besides,” I sighed. “Is anywhere going to be safe in a war zone?” Alessia cocked an eyebrow and nodded to me. “He’s right.” “We know what this war’s about?” Xander asked, looking out to the sea as the next wave approached. Alessia shrugged. “Ferdinand?” “Religion was all I heard. Nothing more than that.” “Oh. Well, that’s good.” Lachlann smiled wryly. “Religion always keeps people nice and calm.” The next wave caught us at a three-quarter angle. Water poured down onto the deck drenching Xander’s carrots and cabbages before running off the side. Xander squirmed slightly as though he could feel the vegetable’s pain. “How we doing there, Eir?” Eir turned half a shoulder, getting Xander in her periphery but keeping her eyes on the seas in front. “It’s handling a bit differently than the last rough seas we caught. Lighter load. Need more passengers and more cargo again.” Lachlann chuckled. “The pole beans not creating enough weight for you?” “As much as the seven people who left and all their things? No.” Eir sighed. “We’ll make do though.” Xander took a look at the waterlogged soil beds. “But yes. Let’s head to the bay to the south.” Two days later, we arrived at Granite Vowhorn, most of Xander’s vegetables intact. We were greeted by two long stretches of cliff that stuck out from the southern end of the island like the prongs of a fork. The harbour walls were made of great chunks of chiselled stone and stretched almost the full length of the western cliff, before wrapping round in a curve where the two crags met. At the point, a few small shacks nestled by the water’s edge. Weaving between them, I could see a zigzag path cut up across the hill to a small town at the top, big enough for a few hundred residents. The only other way up the cliff was at the end of the harbour wall to our left. A hill climbed up a gully. Centuries of erosion had carved a smooth run to the sea with steep, rocky banks on either side. We moored the boats a short distance from the harbour and rowed the rest of the way. Xander dropped off Alessia and I first, before returning to fetch Kurbani and Lachlann. The harbour itself was quiet. There were one or two people milling around, and a couple of officers by the shacks at the end, but a port this size was certainly capable of much greater traffic. The fighting had driven much of the trade away, so that now an arriving boat was a rare blessing. As soon as the five of us began walking towards the town we saw a gaggle of islanders sprinting towards us. They were all children. The youngest maybe only six or seven. The oldest in her low teens. “Welcome, welcome,” said a young boy around ten. He puffed his chest out, trying to deepen his voice. “Are you here to buy anything? The war’s slowed down some of our production but we’ve still got plenty of granite available.” “Sorry,” I interrupted, bowing my head. “We’re not traders.” The boy’s frame sagged, his features becoming more childlike, his sales pitch removed. “Have you come to help with the war effort?” the oldest girl asked. “We’re here looking for someone,” Alessia interrupted. “Would’ve arrived maybe two weeks ago, maybe with a few other people.” Young scrawny shoulders rose in sharp pillars. “No idea. But speak to Rory up top if you can,” the oldest girl said in a flat tone. “Rory?” Alessia asked. “General of the army. He keeps tabs on everyone. If you catch him before nightfall he should be free.” “Thanks.” Alessia began picking up her pace with the new information. “Your ship,” a girl said, looking out at the harbour. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Lachlann smiled. “Yeah. We live on it.” “Like. All the time?” the girl asked. Lachlann knelt down beside her. “Yep. We travel around on it.” “Cooool.” Xander leaned over, trying to get Lachlann’s attention, nodding back up the hill. Lachlann glanced to us. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you. I’ll talk to this lot. Little knowledge exchange.” We reluctantly agreed and left Lachlann by the docks, and headed up the winding path up until we reached the town. The ground was worn down to soil, churned up from the endless footprints of the people stacked on top of each other in the cramped space. The small homes were painted white with dark oak crossbeams acting as supports. The buildings stretched back a couple of hundred metres before coming to an abrupt end at a wall made from piles of rock and old debris. On this side of the wall there was a flat section some four feet from the top with planks laid down as a walkway. I watched a man in thick black clothes and a balaclava - too warm for the weather - walk by. He held a small pistol in his right hand. I looked around at the villagers. I was startled by how still everyone was. The children played slowly in the dirt, drawing patterns in the ground with sticks. The adults were quiet. They sat in doorways, looking out at the town with emotionless faces. They glanced at us as though we were a passing moth, a brief distraction, something to concentrate on for a moment, but nothing more. We continued walking through the town, inspecting each of the streets as we passed. As I looked down a road to our left, I could see a crowd gathered in front of a wooden gate built into the wall of rubble. We turned and headed towards the gathering. As we got closer I could see a man standing atop a stack of wooden crates. He was dressed in the same clothing as the man on the wall, except his was dyed a dark red. It was a hue that reminded me of the first light of a sunrise. From someway away I could already hear the man shouting. His hands gesticulated in large mannerisms as he spoke, stretching his arms out as wide as he could, before pounding his fist into his palm, his eyes fierce. As we got closer the inaudible boom became clear distinct words. “Tonight we thank the brave men and women who continue to defend all we hold dear. Though we lose a few true believers each time, we continue to take more of the bastards down with us. If I die, but I kill seven northerners as I do, then that is a victory that God can be pleased with.” Cheers erupted from the crowd. “They do not believe you have the right to worship the God that you know to be true. They do not believe that you should praise the summer solstice. They do not believe in giving to our God when He is at His strongest. They want nothing more than to come through those gates, and slay every last man, woman and child here. Why? Because they hate the unshakable faith that you have. We shall not let them defeat us.” The man pointed to the sky and paused with each word. He waited for the inevitable applause to die down before leaning in, getting closer to his audience. “The summer solstice is two weeks away. They know that. They know how much life and power our conviction will bring us that night. How God will bring us victory. They are terrified. So to our soldiers who enter the battlefield tonight, I want you to remember what we fight for. I want you to remember the slaughter at Camweirr. How they brutalized the bodies. How they murdered children. I want you to remember that and let it fuel your anger. Let it spark your revenge. And go out there and fight for the South. Praise be to God.” The crowd chanted back in unison. “Praise be to God.” “Praise be the sun,” the man shouted with a fist raised in the air. “Praise be the sun,” the crowd replied. The gate opened and a group of men and women splintered from the crowd and headed off through the opening and off to the war. Their marching frames cast long shadows as the sun set to the west. The man who had given the speech jumped off his podium and walked up to remaining members of the crowd, clasping fists with some, embracing others. Slowly, the audience dispersed as the man headed down the street towards us chaperoned by two large guards. Alessia stepped forward as they neared. “Hoping you might be Rory.” The man halted and turned to us. “Well you’re in luck then.” He inspected us with casual glances. “Don’t recognize you. Take it you’re not from here.” The two men beside Rory pulled out long knives from their belts. “No,” I replied. “The North send you?” He smiled a wide grin: a charming, smooth smile. “We’re not from the island at all. We came by boat.” Alessia thumbed towards the coast. “The big one in the cove. You can go look, you can’t miss it.” Rory turned to the two men either side of him. “Calm down boys, if they were gonna kill us they’d have done so already. Besides, this lot don’t look like they know how.” I didn’t want to correct him, but my mind flickered. Here it was again, the world reminding me that I was a killer, even though I hated myself for it. The next bit of conversation seemed to pass in a haze. As though I was a spectator, watching from afar. “We mean no harm.” Xander tilted his head, raising his hands. Rory signalled to the two men. They sheathed their knives and returned to their slouched postures. He stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “Can’t say we’ve had a lot of visitors here lately. But we are always pleased to welcome people to Granite Vowhorn, or at least what’s left of it.” “War will always leave a scar,” Kurbani said, her voice soft, but her eyes steely. Rory looked at her. He paused for a second before the boisterousness returned. “Just like the sun, we will rise again. How can I help?” “We’re looking for someone,” Alessia replied. “Would’ve come by boat, maybe a week or two back. May have come with a small group.” Rory scrunched up his face. “Don’t remember the boat. But ten days ago we lost Camweirr. The survivors flocked here. If they snuck in with them and kept low they could’ve gone by unnoticed. Few new faces.” “So he could be here,” Xander muttered. Rory nodded. “This person you’re looking for. They a friend or someone unsavory?” “The worst.” Xander replied, a contained rage in the undertones of his voice. “Well in that case he probably chummed up with the North. That’s where I’d go if I had no conscience.” My mind arrived back in my body, and I managed to force out a thought that was lingering in the back of my head. “What you said in the speech - about what the North did - that all true?” I asked. I caught Alessia out the corner of my eye glaring at me. I guessed she would be annoyed at me veering off topic, but after a second or two, her face softened, replaced by a smile. I suspected she felt the same warmth I felt as the words left my lips. The comfort of knowing that the inquisitiveness that brought me to sea was returning. “Every word and worse,” Rory snarled. He leaned to his left and spat on the ground. “They caught a whole cohort of our soldiers a few months back. I knew they’d execute them. That’s war. But they chose to build a scaffold few hundred metres away from our front gates, far enough to be out of range, but close enough to make sure we could see. We watched as they hacked off limbs one by one, and then beheaded them, one at a time. They’re bastards.” “We’ve suffered too,” Xander replied. “The man we’re after. He attacked our island. Only a few of us survived. I’ve buried most of my island.” Rory’s mouth fell open slightly, as his head tilted back. “Deer drum?” Xander and Kurbani looked at each other in confusion. “I’ve heard of you. Travelling in that massive boat.” Rory snapped his fingers. “Is that the one you sailed here? It’s here, right now? In our harbour? Oh, you must let me see it sometime.” “How do you know of us?” Kurbani asked. “Word travels. The story of an island on a boat, travelling the seas. You’re all folk heroes. Staying together, after everything you’ve been through.” He paused, a delighted chuckle escaping his lungs. “That’s true resilience. Please, walk with me, I’ll introduce you to some people. Help out in any way I can.” We began following Rory back down the path. “We’re trying to find the person who attacked Deer Drum. We believe he came here,” Alessia said. “Well, if he’s anywhere in the south, we’ll rat him out. I’ll bring you the man’s body on a spike. But, you should go check with the bastards in the North too.” “Is there a safe way to get there?” I asked, taking a couple of paces to get in front. “Sunset right now.” Rory pointed to the orange sky to the west. “That’s when the fighting starts. Go in the morning, wear blue.” “Blue?” I asked. “This is a nasty war, but there are still rules. We have nurses, priests, who tend to those on the battlefield. Blue is the colour of neutrality. You wear that, keep your hands up, travel unarmed, and no one will hurt you. That, and travel during the day.” “Easier to see.” I concurred. “That, and no one wants to commit murder when the sun is up. God is watching.” He nodded to the sky. It seemed strange to me to believe so fervently in your God that you could kill in their name while they slept but not while they were awake. “That stuff you said about the summer solstice…” Rory nodded, understanding where my questioning was going. “It’s the most important holiday of the year. When we make our offerings and celebrate all God gives. The longest day of the year. It is when He is at His most powerful. The time when we must celebrate Him. And in return, He will give us the strength to win this war.” His smooth smile suddenly turned to gritted teeth. “There’s nothing we hold more dear. We will fight to the death for the right to celebrate the summer solstice and the Sun God.” Rory led us through the town and introduced us to a couple of his lieutenants, informing them to help us with our inquiries in any way. We spoke for a while, mostly discussing the war and what happened on Deer Drum. When we parted we had a plan. Two of us would head off the next day to the North. The rest would stay in the South and try to find Sannaz here. \ As darkness fell we found ourselves back on the Deer Drum boat. Whether we were all genuinely in the mood to celebrate each other’s company, or if it was the morbidity of the island making us need to respond with something joyous, we decided a party was in order. We opened a few bottles of rum and sat around a large fire on the quarterdeck. Old planks crackled in the summer twilight as the majority of the remaining Deer Drum residents drank and talked. It wasn’t long until Lachlann had broken out the guitar and was leading the group in song. The old tune of the Nightingale played once more. *My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song?* *The sweet notes where the nightingale flows?* *For to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale,* As he reached the refrain the entire ship sang back. Xander wrapped his arm round Mirai, Alessia raised her glass to the air, Eir sat with a blanket wrapped around her legs and her head held back bellowing the words. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* Lachlann led the second verse. *My trav’lers don’t fail, for I’ll carry your pail,* *Safe home to a harbour we’ll go.* *You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale* Once more, the entire boat sang the chorus. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* The guitar took over again. *I still think of my home, where I’d lands of my own.* Though the chorus did not sing it, I saw Xander mouth the words. *The spirit of Deer Drum’s hard as stone,* *We will hear the fond tale, of the sweet nightingale* The crowd chimed in. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* The guitar strummed again, this time softly. Lachlann leaned in close, his voice like a lullaby. I looked at Alessia next to me as he sang. *Pray sit yourself down, with me on the ground,* *On this bank where sweet primroses grow,* *You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale.* I sang with all my heart. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* Lachlann lifted up his guitar and placed it down on the ground beside him. “Well, that’s enough of that.” There were sporadic jeers from the crowd. Xander bellowed above them. “Thought you said you’d adapted the last two verses Lachlann. Let’s hear them.” The crowd cheered the proposal. Lachlann laughed. “I have. But not yet.” Xander lifted his hands up to his mouth. “Booooooo.” Lachlann shook his head, his tongue bit between his teeth. “I’ll do you a deal. When this is all over. I’ll play them then. Wouldn’t be right to do it before.” “I’m keeping you to it.” Xander pointed to his friend. As the crowd quietened, Kurbani walked up to Alessia and I. She waited till we turned to her before speaking. “I’ve spoken with Xander about it. I want to go to the North. With whoever goes.” I looked to Alessia. “Why?” she asked. “Eir’s been teaching me about medicine. I can help. Plus, it’s my turn.” She smiled. Alessia turned to me. “Fine by me. You and Kurbani head North tomorrow?” I chuckled. “I’m going am I?” “Ferdinand,” Alessia placed a hand on my shoulder. “Which one of us is always dying to go off on stupid, =deadly, trips to see the world?” My face stayed flat for a half a second until a grin slowly emerged. “I am.” “settled then. Xander, Lachlann and I will meet up with Rory’s lot here. You two head North. Now, let’s see what else Lachlann can play.” Alessia headed off to go grab the bard slowly slipping away with his guitar. I turned and looked around at these people I’d met. The friends I had made since I left Kadear. I thought back to my old life where I so tirelessly worked for an impossible dream. During that pursuit of wealth and a home in the Citadel, I had never taken a moment to think of what a home truly was. And I realised in that moment that this place was more of a home than Kadear had ever been.


'Anything can happen now!' my aunt shouts on the phone, and her voice sounds hollow, distant. Well, she is distant from me. She lives far away, in the middle of the huge country. I don't know where she exactly lives, to say the truth, – we hardly met, maybe a couple of times at the family gatherings, in the deep past. Since recently she has kept calling me. She says she must take care of me. Even if from a distance. She and I are the only members of our extended family who remain alive. 'Anything can happen these days!' she keeps yelling at me. “Be more specific,” I ask. “This woman. She can be anyone... Anything!'' “Like who?” “A spy! An agent! She can use your kindness against you!” my aunt says. “Come on. You should have seen her. She's scared, that is all. She fled from the war, for God's sake.“ “It doesn't make her a good person by default.” “Nor makes her a spy.” “Be careful, kid,” my aunt sighs. “Do you know her full name at least?” The lady's name is L. Her kid is in a safe place now. She said she had placed the kid first (“ I know people, too, ” she said) and then traveled further. “I need to find the place where both of us will be happy and secure,” she explained to me. “I figured we were not happy nor secure where we lived before.” For that purpose, lady L. traveled through numerous countries before she got to where we, she, and I, met. She started her journey in a provincial town, it was at the beginning of the war. The lady L. used to own a small shop there. “What did you sell?” “Female stuff, mostly.” “Such as?” “Nail polish, wood polishers, bath polishers. Polishers, yeah, for different use. And, also, rags.” I met her at the grocery store. The lady L. was wandering in the canned food section, trying to figure out what was the difference between one type of canned tomatoes and the other. She struck me as a person with a very little life experience. I offered help. We ended up having a coffee together, which I also helped to choose. My aunt is the elder sister of my mom's and is the complete opposite of the latter. She never had a family or kids of her own, having devoted her whole self to work in the public sector. She built a community sports center in their town, almost literally with her own hands. My mom was proud of her elder sister. Mom used to say she'd go and visit her sister one day. And she never did. No wonder, though: my mother lived like a bird – no plans, no roots, no savings. She worked as a stewardess and then she was an operator in customer service. “When she talks to me, I hear my mother's voice, you know,” I say to lady L. on the next day after my aunt's call. Funny thing about parents – even if they are dead, they somehow have access to your mind, and even when they are dead, you think of them: they mean well. Lady L. and I are at some official place where they get the paperwork done. ''What does she say to you?” asks lady L., using her application form as a hand fan. “Who?” “This aunt of yours.” “Ah. Just usual things – that she misses me and stuff.” Lady L. smiles. “Do you have relatives?” I ask. “No, just my kid. All gone.” “Now, or...?” “Long-gone.” “Okay.” The lady L's face expression is null. Looking at her is like looking at a freshly linen bed sheet – neat, clean, monochrome. “How did you get here, again?” I ask. “I told you already.” “I know, I know. Just I was telling to someone and seemed like I missed a few details. Where did you after...?” She interrupts me: “I'd rather not go there again.” “Okay.” “Sorry. I really don't wanna talk about this.” “Sure. I understand.” Some people in line talk to each other, others remain silent. It's hard to say who's sadder - those that are quiet or those who chit-chat. The lady L. texts, I can't but look over her shoulder. “Just making sure, that they are waiting for me,” she says as if she noticed me peeping. “Who – they?” I ask. “People at my next stop.” “Where will it be?” “I haven't decided yet.” I nod. “You know any decent pedicurist?” the lady L. asks. “Sorry?” “Look at this shame!” she points at her toes – the polish is half ragged. “I can give you, you know, a nail polish remover.” “I am not some lout!” she exclaims. “I used to take care about myself, and I did it alright.” “You're next in line,” I say. “They are waiting for me,” the lady L. says. “Who?” “People that I know.” I dare to ask: “What's your plan, though?” She stares at me bluntly. “I want them red.” “Excuse me?” “Red toes. My turn! Counter number 27”. My mother had a period in her life when she became extremely suspicious. She thought, for instance, that my friends wanted to let me down. She would come up to me and say that I deserved better friends. She wanted to protect me and she never could. “That's all friends I've got, mom,” I, a teenager then, responded. “Better be alone than in a bad company.” “Define bad company,” I disputed. “People who pretend to be someone else,” mother fended. “I've learned human nature, believe me, kid. Flight attendants are the best psychologists ever.” You are not a flight attendant anymore , I wanted to say then. But I didn't. “They might also steal from you,” she added. I didn't know who my mother was at that point. It was a period in her life when she was getting ready for her final flight. She was preparing the ground for an easy take-off. And it didn't play out easy. I missed her dearly until I turned 20 and outgrew my pain. It seemed like I fell asleep, while lady L. was away at the counter. We don't talk much on our way back to the downtown. Lady L. is not such a pleasant lady, after all, and if I think about it, I don't even know her last name. “Let's meet for a drink in the evening,” she said when we were about to split our ways. “Like at 8?” “Are you sure you've got money for this?” I ask her. “I've got some support,” the lady L. responds. “The fact that I fled from the war, doesn't mean I am helpless.” “Why am I helping you then?” I ask. She shrugs. “This is absolutely your choice.” I didn't want to go. She was unpleasant. She was shut. She was ungrateful. Maybe my aunt was right, after all. I went only because my close friend, whom I supposed to meet with, canceled on me. Maybe my mom was right, too. “What about you?” the lady L. asks. “What about me?” “Why are you engaged in all this... activity?” “Activity?” “I mean, in all this helping,” she sips wine. “Good wine, by the way.” “Everyone is helping,” I said. “People are not generous, by nature.” “I believe, people are different.” She smirks. “Tell me about it,” she says. “I was just thinking... I don't trust people.” “Fair enough.” I, too, sip wine. It tastes horrible. “Where do you work?” she asks all of a sudden. “Who, me?” “You, who else?” “I used to work for one NGO and I was... They've let me go recently,” I say. “Where's your income coming from?” she insists. “I've got savings and I rent out a flat.” Lady L. laughs loudly. She is getting drunk so quickly that this is even scary. “Let's drink for a farewell!” she raises her glass. “What farewell?” “I am leaving tomorrow morning,” lady L. says casually. “What? How? Where?” “I told you repeatedly that people are waiting for me,” the lady L. sounds irritated. “Where?” “I will let you know when I am there.” “Did you get a ticket?” She nods. “Do you want me to take you to the airport?” I ask. “Oh no, no,” she says. “No. You've done enough. Enough.” I make a certain effort to take this “enough” in a good way. The same night I check the departure schedule. There is quite a few flights scheduled for tomorrow morning: Naples, Frankfurt, Tel Aviv, Doha, Seoul. She could go anywhere. My aunt calls me again. “What about your new acquaintance?” she asks. “How is she?” I respond after the pause: “She left. She can be in Doha, in Rome, in New York.” “People are unbelievable!” the auntie is almost shrieking with delight. “People are...” I interrupt her: “They really are.” Then I say: “You know, auntie, it won't hurt if I lay low for a little while.” “How is that? Are you in danger?” “I am most definitely not. But just in case. Don't call me until I call you.” Aunt mumbles something and then she says: “Is there anyone who can take care of you?” “Of course.” I look at the departure schedule one more time in the morning. And then again, for no reason, in a week. Lady L. didn't call me, of course. But she can be anywhere.


                        In my family, we have our own holiday. As much cheer, frenzy, and zest put in to it as, say, Christmas. October 30 th  is the day my grandmother almost drowned. She should of drowned, according to logic. She was lost inside the ocean for four hours. To commemorate the miracle of her survival, we eat from the sea. Sometimes crab, sometimes tuna, and I find it all in poor taste. Because of the fisherman. The fisherman lived alone on the coast near a cliffs edge and a wood-line of conifers. His closest neighbor was fifty acres away. A big family. He would salute them as they passed by on the way to the beach. Sometimes he would pick up little pieces of trash that they would leave in their wake. But he enjoyed watching them walk by, and hearing them laugh or yell at each other. They had a formation, the grandmother and the mother linked together at the arm, brothers and sisters to the right and left, and the father leading the front, plowing the way, swiping the air when the path inclined. The fisherman would sit from his top deck and watch them while he smoked a pipe and fantasized about retirement. Of course had respect for the sea, but he wasn’t in love with it. His feet fit fine on the shore. Lately he was having recurring dreams  about the ocean having forests of pine and fur, towering out of the waves. Everyday on the water he would see some piece of garbage floating along, lifeless. And there was nothing left to fish! Only things to throw out. The fisherman’s last catch was an orange road cone. The cone had inside of it, a purple dildo. It was a blatant message—you’re fucked. It was a gift, a last gift from the sea, for a fisherman turning his back on his purpose.

            After this he drove the boat slowly back home with the sun behind him, watching the waves and trying to identify waste— Tuna cans! Shoes and ragged tarps, tires, bottles, and clusters of pieces of that horrible immortal: plastic. “I wont even go for a swim again,” and he swore the ocean off forever.  I hate October 30 th  now. It almost makes me sick. Nobody else on the planet can share this with us, my grandmothers survival and the perennial reliving of her fall and rescue by the lord.  It’s embarrassing for me now to see my father sitting at home on a Wednesday, using vacation time from work, for his mother-in-law. We dress up, fill ourselves with sea food, and hand out presents to grandma. This year, I had a Halloween party to attend, and I was going to wear my costume. My mother called me that afternoon.             “What are you going to wear tonight?” She said.             “The sweater,” I said. “What did you get her?” “A life jacket,” “You better not have!”

After we hung up I put on my costume. The beanie, the woolen sweater, and the rubber bib. I really filled the pipe with tobacco, and smoked it. Before the accident I would see him from a distance, loading his boat or walking the hill to his house, and I could see small smoke clouds hop out from his face, I imagined he was a machine, releasing exhaust, performing a task he’d been ignited for. He would wave to us sometimes, as we took our family walks. One time we met him on the trail, my grandmother was speaking bible versus to him for good fortune. He had been in a slump. “I think I’ve pulled all the yummy stuff out of that ocean. Me and all the other assholes on the sea. What should I destroy next? Maybe I’ll set my sights on the wood line,” said the fisherman. All upon deaf ears apparently. This was a man with something to vent, with an existential hang up, and all he could get in return were non-applicable versus from my grandmothers favorite book. From her mouth, “ ‘Fishermen will stand along the shore; from En Gedi to En Eglaim there will be places for spreading nets. The fish will be of many kinds—like the fish of the Mediterranean Sea.’ That’s a little wisdom from the book of Ezekiel.”             The fisherman said “Yes many kinds of fish, even the plastic ones. I appreciate the support and encouragement.” The poor guy.                         The next day, the accident happened. I was watching the fisherman smoke his pipe on his front porch when my grandmother fell off the cliff. My dad claims he saw her hit the water, that she was caught by a waive that slammed her to the rocky bottom immediately. The jump alone was suicide. Surely she was dead. We had to run down a dirt path to make it to the beach. . When I got to the beach the fisherman was just pulling in with the raft, and he tossed me his pipe. I watched him fight the tide and make a rough way over to the cliff. Then he jumped into the water. We waited and cried for four hours. But just before we gave up all hope,  my purple grandmother washed up, practically right at our feet. She was as purple as cartoon grapes. Her eyes were bloodshot and bulging from her skull, and her body mass had doubled. She was unrecognizable, monstrous. My father hoisted her upside down with a rope that he’d thrown through an exposed wood beam at the entrance to the public toilet. Then my father and mother started pushing against her bloated stomach, then punching it, and finally my father squeezed her. Wherever what’re could exit, it did. It came pouring out of her ears, I’m sure if it.            The fiasco of draining her of water worked! she came back to life coughing and vomiting. Weall hugged and kissed her, while she clutched a cross on her breast. But we didn’t wait around for the fisherman, I don’t remember ever hearing about anyone from my family informing anyone about the missing man either.             When he’d brought his boat to dock, he stepped off empty handed, and walked to his house for a shower. After his dinner he sat on the deck and sipped coffee. “I’m a free man,” he said to himself as his eye caught the family walking down the trail. The grandmother was behind the pack by a few steps, and he saw her  looking over the cliff’s edge. “She’s gonna fall,” he said, and before his sentence was finished, she had.             He stumbled down his stairs, but transitioned to a somersault and opened the garage door. He got the raft, pushed the oars into the locks, and leaned it against his back while he ran with it as fast as he could toward the sea. When he made it to the beach, he took his pipe out his mouth and tossed it to the eldest boy of the family.             The fisherman paddled against and through violent waves and found the spot where the sunken grandma was drowning. Her red jacket, his guide. He jumped and sank. Her leg was stuck in the rocks. He pulled her free, but to get the leverage he’d gotten his own leg stuck in the same trap. The fisherman pushed the grandma up as far as his body would let him. Next he tried to free his own leg, he pulled and squirmed until his mouth was finally forced open and filled with the sea. The last thing he saw was a trash bag floating to the surface, in trail of the grandma.

So on this October 30 th  I was dressed just like him, with his own pipe. When I got to my grandmas house the rest of the family was already inside, at the table, with plates of crab and tuna, and bottles of wine. Everyone all dolled up, and then me, the fisherman.             I knew my mother was furious with my costume because she took a bite of tuna before we had prayed.             “Get that pipe out of your mouth!” My father said, then snatched it.             “Let us pray,” Said my grandmother.             “Allow me,” I said, and commenced. “Lord, we thank you for your great love, your overflowing cup. We praise you this day for the miracle you bestowed on our family. You pulled my beloved grandmother from the depths of the sea, from death. I just would like to know—”             “Louie!” Yelled my mother.             “Dear lord, What about the fisherman?”


Chapter 1: The Weight of the Present James stirred from a fitful sleep as the first blush of dawn crept through his bedroom window. It looked very muggy and overcast. It was probably going to rain again today. His old bed was less forgiving than the memory foam mattress at his studio apartment. Only a few more days. He rubbed his eyes, he swung his legs over the bed and got up. The kitchen welcomed him with its familiar warmth. He went about fixing breakfast for him and his mother. Cracking eggs into a bowl, he then whisked them up with ease. The sizzle of butter in the pan filled the air, sweet and savory like a summer day. Poured a glass of fresh orange juice, its sweet and tangy smell mixing with the aroma from the eggs. As he plated the golden scramble, a spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe today would be one of her good days. He set the table carefully, making sure everything was close at hand. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a soft glow. "Mama?" James called out, his voice gentle. "Breakfast is ready. It’s still nice and warm. Come and enjoy it with me.” James heard shuffling footsteps approaching the kitchen. His mother appeared in the doorway, her silver hair dishevelled from sleep, her eyes clouded with confusion. "Good morning, Mama," he said softly, moving to guide her to her seat. "Come on, let's get you settled." Margaret allowed herself to be led, her movements hesitant and unsure. She sank into the chair, her gaze darting around the familiar kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. James placed a plate of steaming scrambled eggs in front of her, his heart heavy with a mix of love and concern. "Here you go, Mama. Just how you like them." He turned to grab the toast, hoping to coax a smile from her with the scent of freshly buttered bread. But as he pivoted back, he froze. Margaret had picked up the glass of orange juice, her hand trembling slightly. Before James could react, she tipped the glass over her plate, pouring the bright liquid all over the fluffy eggs. "Mama, no!" James started, the words catching in his throat as he watched the juice soak into the eggs, turning them into a soggy, unappetizing mess. James felt his heart sink as he watched the orange juice seep into the scrambled eggs. A wave of frustration crashed against him, but he took a deep breath and pushed it back. Margaret's eyes widened in realization. Her face crumpled, a mix of embarrassment and confusion washing over her features. "Oh, I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to... I thought..." James swallowed hard, forcing a gentle smile. He reached out, placing his hand over his mother's. "It's alright, Mama," he said softly, reassuring her. "Don't you worry none. Accidents happen. We'll fix you up another plate in a jiffy." He squeezed her hand, ignoring the ache in his chest. "How about some toast while we wait? With a little honey, just how you like it." As James turned to the counter, he allowed himself a moment of quiet grief. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When he faced his mother again, his smile was back in place, determined to make the best of the morning for her sake. James cleared the table, his movements mechanical as he scraped the ruined eggs into the trash. Next, he wiped down the counters, his gaze fell on a faded photograph taped to the refrigerator. It showed his father, strong and smiling, with an arm around Margaret. Her eyes sparkled with life, a stark contrast to the confused stare he'd seen that morning. The loss of his father had been a blow, but watching his mother slip away day by day was a slow, aching pain. James leaned against the counter, his chest tight with emotion. How quickly their lives had changed, the roles reversed as he now cared for the woman who’d raised him. He didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes with his mother. He still has a chance to connect with her. He couldn’t let the opportunity fade away like he did with his Father.

He glanced back at Margaret, who sat quietly in her chair, staring out the window. Rain started pattering against the house. A sudden urgency gripped him. Time was slipping away, he had to find a way to show his gratitude, something that would reach her even in her confused state. The thought of her passing without knowing how much she meant to him was unbearable. Chapter 2: Memories and Revelations James walked past the kitchen table, his gaze lingering on his mother sitting alone in the living room. An idea sparked in his mind. He walked over to the living room shelves, running his fingers along the spines of old photo albums. Carefully, he gathered an armful of photo albums, their leather covers worn and faded with time. He took a deep breath as he carried them back to Margaret. "Hey, Mama," James said softly, sitting beside her on the couch. "I thought we might look at some old photos together. Would you like that?" Margaret turned to him, a glimmer of recognition sparking in her eyes. James felt his heart lift. He gently placed the first album on her lap and opened the cover, revealing a page filled with snapshots from years past. James watched Margaret's face as they turned the pages. Her eyes lit up with recognition at some photos, a smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, look at you," she cooed, pointing to a picture of James as a toddler, covered in mud. But as they turned the page, confusion clouded her expression. She squinted at unfamiliar faces, her brow furrowing. He squeezed her hand gently and turned to a page showing his university graduation. ”Remember this day, Mama?" James asked softly. Margaret leaned closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his face in the photo. A lump formed in James' throat as he recalled the challenging years leading up to that moment. Late nights studying, constant worry about tuition payments, and gnawing self-doubt threatened to derail his dreams. "You were there for me through it all," he murmured. He remembered the care packages she'd sent, filled with homemade cookies. The long phone calls where she'd listened to his fears and bolstered his confidence.

James watched Margaret's smile waver, her eyes darting between the photos and his face. She nodded a bit too quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the album's edge. He recognized the signs of her struggle to stay present, to appear engaged for his sake. His heart ached, but he pressed on, determined to make the most of this moment. "Hey, Mama," he said softly. "Remember that summer we went to the lake house? You, me, and Dad?" He pointed to a sun-faded photograph of them standing on a weathered dock, fishing poles in hand. Margaret squinted at the image, her brow furrowing. "Oh... yes," she murmured, her voice uncertain. "The lake. It was...nice." James nodded encouragingly. "It sure was. Remember how Dad couldn't catch a single fish? And you ended up reeling in that huge bass?" He searched her face for a flicker of recognition, hoping to spark a conversation about that treasured memory. Margaret's eyes darted between James and the photo, her smile fixed as she struggled to recall the details he remembered so fondly. James closed the photo album, his heart heavy with a mixture of love and grief. He watched Margaret's face, searching for any sign the memories had reached her. The weight of unspoken gratitude pressed down on him, making his chest tight. He wanted to tell her everything – how her sacrifices had shaped his life, how her unwavering support had carried him through his darkest moments. But words felt inadequate, fleeting. James feared they would slip from Margaret's grasp, lost in the fog of her condition. His mind raced, trying to find a way to honour her that would reach beyond words. Something tangible, something she could hold onto even in her moments of confusion. James glanced around the living room, his eyes falling on the scattered family mementos. An idea began to form, vague at first, but growing clearer by the second. He could create something – a scrapbook, perhaps, or a memory box – filled with tokens of their shared history. Something that would capture the essence of Margaret's love and sacrifice, even when words failed them both. James squeezed his mother's hand gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had work to do on this rainy day. Chapter 3: A Heartfelt Connection James settled into his chair, the glow of the lamp cast a warm light across the weathered desk surface, illuminating a blank sheet of paper. He took a deep breath, pen poised above the page. "Dear Mom," he began, his hand trembling slightly. The words flowed hesitantly at first, then gained momentum as he poured out years of gratitude. James paused, reaching for the stack of photo albums beside him. He carefully removed a faded snapshot – him and Margaret at his college graduation, her face beaming with pride. Gently, he tucked it into the pages of the letter. More photos followed: family picnics, childhood birthdays, and quiet moments of shared laughter. Each image stirred a memory, adding depth to the words on the page. James found himself smiling through tears as he arranged the photos, creating a visual journey of their life. He hoped that even if his mother couldn't fully comprehend the words, these images would spark recognition, anchoring her in the love they shared. After hours of crafting, James held the letter, its edges slightly crumpled from his tight grip. He took a deep breath and stepped into the living room. Margaret sat in her favourite chair, her eyes fixed on the window. Sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow on her silver hair. He slowly approached her and knelt beside the chair. "Mama," he said softly, gently taking her hands in his. Margaret turned, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of recognition. James swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He unfolded the letter and rested it on his knee. "I've written something for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. As he began to read, his words filled the quiet room. "Dear Mama, I've been wanting to tell you..." James paused and squeezed her hand. He looked up, making sure she was still with him. Margaret's eyes were focused on his face, a slight furrow in her brow as she concentrated. James continued, his voice rising. He gestured to the photos he'd included, holding them up for her to see. With each memory shared, he touched her arm or patted her hand, trying to convey through touch what his words could not. James watched Margaret's face intently as he read, his heart racing. Her eyes, usually distant, now focused on him with an intensity he hadn't seen in months. She leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration. As he described the day of his college graduation, Margaret's eyes widened. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, quickly replaced by confusion. James paused, giving her a moment to process. He gently touched her arm, grounding her in the present. "Do you remember that day, Mama?" he asked softly. Margaret nodded slowly, her lips moving silently as if trying to form words. James continued reading, his voice rising with each sentence. He then held up a photo of them at the beach, Margaret's laugh frozen in time. Suddenly, Margaret's hand tightened around his. James looked up, startled. Tears glistened in her eyes, but there was a clarity there that took his breath away. She reached out and touched the letter with trembling fingers. "My boy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "My sweet boy." James felt his heart swell as Margaret's words washed over him. "My sweet boy," she repeated, her voice stronger now. She reached out and cupped his face with a trembling hand. "I am so proud of you." Tears streamed down James' cheeks, hot and unexpected. He leaned into her touch and breathed deeply, savouring the rare moment of clarity. "I love you, Mama," he choked out. Margaret's eyes lit up with recognition and love. "I love you too, James. Always have, always will." They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken years between them. James held his mother's gaze, memorizing every line of her face. He knew this moment was fleeting, but it filled him with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Margaret's hand slipped from his face and came to rest on the letter in his lap. She patted it gently, a small smile playing on her lips. No more words were needed. In that quiet moment, James felt the unbreakable bond between them, stronger than any illness.


Senti mused as the Heshian trireme, the *Centaur*, sped upon the waves. He was two days out from the city of Tesh, that denizen of lawlessness...no, wait, that wasn't fair. The council of traders that ran the city certainly had laws in place. They just weren't *Heshian* laws. Which galled, of course, as it had for the last century and more. Well, no more. Anatoli, King of Heshiot, had dispatched Senti to force the issue. Why His Majesty had decided now to upset the tenuous balance between Heshiot and Tesh, Senti didn't know. He did know that King Anatoli had issued an unprecedented total recall of all mercenaries, which would surely irritate Dilak, Emperor of Jihkama. Compared to the cost of raising, training, and feeding an army, paying the cost of mercenaries to do the same job was cheap. So why would King Anatoli choose *now* to antagonize both Tesh and Jihkama? Senti worried. *** Two days later, Senti stepped off the *Centaur* onto the quay wall and exchanged greetings with the council's unofficial ambassador, Marone - or at least, he tried to. "Good day, Marone. It is my hope that the sun shines on...your...um. Would you mind toning your glare down just a notch, if you please?" Marone was certainly not making any of this easy for Senti; but then, he didn't have to. Without a word, he turned and strode back to the city proper, leaving Senti and his small retinue to find their own way. Senti's teeth ground together...the man was exasperating. Half a dozen times he'd been sent here, and half a dozen times Marone's rudeness had cast a pall on the mission from the first moment. So far, he'd yet to hear a single word slip past Marone's lips. Senti steeled himself, raised his hand by his ear and flicked it sharply forward. His retinue set out towards the Three Swords, his home away from home for the next couple of months. *** Senti's trio of servants entered the Three Swords ahead of him, one holding the door open for him. His eyes darted here and there, checking the darkened corners out of long habit. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased momentarily, only to come back as he thought of his mission again. He watched idly as the innkeeper haggled with Karesh for rooms for the four. Finally, the two agreed and coins clinked as they changed hands. Karesh returned with a pair of keys and a grin. "Sair! Fortune smiles upon you this day! I have gotten your Excellency two rooms for two weeks at five silvers the night, supper included." Senti's eyes darkened as he glared at Karesh. "And what of our lodgings after that? You know as well as I that we are likely to be here long past that time." Karesh's eyes darted to the side, and he licked his lips. "Ah, that is an issue that I am hoping to solve before then. Understand, Sair, that good Bartolemew has already had his inn reserved for other parties beyond that. He does offer to speak to his wife's brother's cousin, who runs the Crook'd Cat, and see if he has space." "What!" Senti felt eyes all around glance his way, and he lowered his voice to a strident hiss. "That place is barely fit to house offal torn from sheep! I made the mistake of staying there my first time here, and my body itches yet after that stay. The only way that place could possibly be cleansed enough is by setting fire to it, *if* a flame can be found that would lower its standards enough to eat it!" Karesh leaned back, away from Senti's vehement outburst. "I see, Sair. My apologies. I will endeavor to find more...reputable lodgings. In the meantime, shall I have the others take your things upstairs?" Senti sighed and nodded, then sat and waved for a bottle of wine. The tart vintage rolled across his taste buds as he brooded over the upcoming meeting with the Council. Should he walk in like he owned the place? Or should he act as a mediator between aggrieved parties? The right tone, Senti knew, was vital. After a few moments, though, a persistent sound intruded upon his thoughts. Senti rose again, and peeked out the window. To his utter astonishment, he saw a pair of ships on fire, and a squad of men battling upon the docks! He threw open the door, his mission forgotten for the moment as he raced down to his ship. From this distance, it appeared that it was safe, but if the captain didn't cast off soon, his only mode of transportation out of the country would go up in flames. Senti's feet thudded upon the wood, warped by the sun, salt and wind, and worn smooth by thousands of feet over the years. He ducked and dodged through the edge of the melee, ignoring them except when they interrupted his path. He'd almost reached the brow of his ship when one warrior turned and, with a calculated thrust, slid his sword smoothly and effciiently through Senti's gut. As Senti dropped to his knees, his eyes wide in shock, he saw the first flames lick at the *Centaur*'s sails. Moments later, Marone knelt over his body. "Only business, my brother. Only business." Marone patted the corpse's stiffening shoulder, then rose, turned, and paced back to the council, leaving Senti's lifeless eyes open to stare at the fully engulfed *Centaur*.


I shouldn’t be here . It’s the stubborn thought that hasn’t left my mind for the past month.

One month since the family of my dreams caught a glimpse of me outside their window and invited me inside. Bram, Lori, and Nell. Bram, with his strong and gentle fatherly spirit. Lori, who’s made me dinner every single night. And Nell. With her auburn hair and sea-green eyes that make me feel like she can see right through me, with the shy smile that sends my heart racing.

I’ve been trying, I really have, but it’s become evident that I don’t belong here.

These three are two good for me, even Nell. Especially Nell. It’s been a good month, but I can’t keep dragging them down like this. The freezing streets are calling me back to where I came from, the deepest shadows in the corner of that dark alley.

Like I told myself when I first looked through a certain window, into this house: there’s two worlds. The inside world, warm with a yellow glow, and the outside, dark with a perpetual chill.

I belong to one of them, and it’s not the first.

I realized it when I came back here after running off for the third time. It wasn’t actually running off—I was just making my weekly visit to the five windows around town, the ones that I keep returning to as a reminder of my old life—but I wasn’t about to tell Bram that. He would pity me. I didn’t want pity. So I hesitated when I opened the door to find him leaning against the wall, giving me a once-over. “Where did you go this time?” “Nowhere,” I mumbled. His eyes came to rest on my tattered hunter-green windbreaker over my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I’d put it on. “That jacket must be special to you, if you’re still wearing it in that condition.” I nodded. The look in his eyes was begging me to explain where I kept going, why I kept bringing the torn windbreaker with me, what had brought me here in the first place, but I had no intention of doing so.

He wouldn’t understand. None of them would. And I didn’t want them to abandon me like everyone else had, which they would surely do if they knew just how broken I was.

Bram sighed at my lack of elaboration. “You’re not planning on telling me anything, are you, kid?” I shook my head slightly. He put a hand on my shoulder, but I could read past the facade. He was disappointed. In me. Anyone would be—I’m me. That’s when it started. Soon, despite their kindness, I found myself drowning in my secrets, drowning in my past. I can’t escape the feeling. Which is why I have to get out. I ease myself to my feet, careful not to make too much noise. I could be sleeping on the plush bed in my room, but I’ve gotten too used to the floor. The sinking of the mattress only worsens that drowning feeling. I find the tiny notepad and pencil I keep in my drawer and scribble out a quick note. I’m sorry, and I know this is abrupt, but I have to leave. It’s nothing against you all—this has been the best month of my life. It’s me. I know I’ve been nothing but a burden, and I’m really sorry about that, too. Don’t worry—by the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Thank you for your hospitality, and for being like the family I never had. I’ll miss you all, but it’s better this way.

Sincerely, Caleb Murphy

I take a deep breath.

No second thoughts. I fold the note, grab my windbreaker and my tennis shoes, and set the note on the kitchen counter on my way out. A gust of wind greets me the moment I step out the door, but the familiarity doesn’t bring a smile to my face.

I have to find somewhere to go. Not my old house, the one with all of the painful memories. I can’t go back there. The alley. The one where I had a week’s worth of canned food stored up, at least before the Nelsons took me in.

I set off at a steady jog. Something weighted in my pocket bounces with every step, and I pause to see what it is.

A few loose coins. Lori gave them to me only weeks ago. “For allowance,” she said. I raised my eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything.” “You helped me with dishes,” Nell said with a grin, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear. “And helped me with dinner,” Lori said, dropping the change into my pocket.

“You shouldn’t pay me for that. You’re letting me live in your house, for goodness’ sakes!” I protested.

“You’re part of the family now, Caleb,” Lori said, turning to leave. “And don’t even think about trying to give that back!” she called over her shoulder. Nell gave me a soft smile after she’d left. “What?” I asked, tucking my clammy palms into my pockets. She shook her head. “I don’t get you.” “There’s not much to get.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know. Something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.” I didn’t have a response. “How’d you end up on the streets, anyways?” “It’s complicated.” “I have time. Unless that was your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it, in which case we can change the topic.” “Second option.”

Nell, of all people, didn’t need to know about my troubled past. How even the people who were supposed to love me left me in the dust. Nell shrugged. “Alright. But if you ever need someone to talk to who isn’t Mom or Dad, you’ve got me.” I glanced at her gratefully. “Thanks, Nell.” She smiled. “No problem. I’m just hoping one day you’ll tell me your story, Caleb Murphy.” Nell won’t get that story anytime soon, or ever, considering I’m not going back.

When I find my alley, my stash of food is gone. A curse slips out under my breath as I slide my father’s windbreaker over my shoulders. I’m going to have to get more, and it would be best to do it before I’m weak from hunger.

It’s not like I had any other plans for tonight.

There’s a supermarket a few blocks down, one that I’ve made midnight visits to so many times I’ve lost count. I can take a pot and some canned soup, and maybe a lighter to warm it up.

I sigh. Just like the old days. Not a prospect I’m excited about, but better than going back to the Nelsons, disappointing them, and being abandoned again. I reach the supermarket in less than fifteen minutes, but immediately duck back into the shadows when I see the scene outside the back entrance.

A group of five. They look about my age, but the clothes, tattoos, and constant frowns give me the feeling that they would gladly rip my head off if given the chance. I risk a peek around the building. From the boy crouching in front of the door, fiddling with the handle, it looks like they have the same mission as me: get in, grab what we need, and get out with nobody the wiser. This just got a whole lot more complicated. I’ll be fine , I tell myself as my stomach turns. I’ve dealt with worse. All I have to do is follow them in unnoticed and lose myself among the tall shelves until they’re gone.

Easy.

The group finally unlocks the door and, glancing around warily, slips inside. I dart out from my hiding place and make it through right before the door closes. It makes too much noise for comfort and I wince before ducking into the nearest aisle. I can hear the whispers of the others on the aisle next to me. “I told you to shut the door quietly!” one hisses. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before!” “Exactly why you shouldn’t have come! This isn’t amateur hour!” “Guys,” a third voice cut in. “Let’s just get the stuff and get out of here.” Now’s my chance. I make my way across the store, to the canned food aisle. Darting between aisles, unseen, unheard by the five who are only paces away at times.

I’ll be fine. Just grab the soup and go.

I pause in front of the cans, breathing heavily. I’m out of practice after a month with the Nelsons. I fight the image of Nell’s sea-green eyes as I reach for some Campbell’s tomato soup. Always good, basically never expires. Perfect for a night—no, for the rest of my life—out on the streets. “Hey!” The shout comes from behind me and I whirl around. One of the boys is standing face-to-face with me, barely two steps away and brandishing what looks like some kind of pipe. I swallow hard and bolt, leaving the soup behind. “Get him!” someone yells.

My feet pound harder, but it’s no use. Two of them appear in front of me and two cover the aisle to my right, leaving me no option but to spin and head back towards where I was.

I don’t even take a full step before running head-on into the one with the pipe. He doesn’t budge as I stumble back, head pounding from the collision. I lock eyes with him and he gives a wicked grin. “Trying to steal from our supplier, are you?” I don’t respond and he lands a punch on my jaw. I step back, one hand reaching up to my face. There’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, for sure. If I even live to see tomorrow. The boy must guess what I’m thinking, because he adjusts his grip on his pipe. “Lights out.” I don’t have time to brace for the hit that comes when he swings his pipe. It connects full-force with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. More hits come, from all directions and all of my attackers, and I drop to the tile floor with a groan. A coppery tang coats my tongue and I can smell blood, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.

Everything hurts as hit after hit lands on my curled body. I can’t do anything but clench my eyes and just wait it out. Something sharp pierces my side and I yelp. “You idiot!” one of them hisses, the beating momentarily stopped. I barely manage to roll onto my stomach, protecting my more vulnerable side.

“I don’t know what happened! There must’ve been a nail in my pipe or something.” “Now we’re going to have to clean this up! If we leave him here with a stab wound someone’ll trace it back to us!” Someone kicks me, the same spot the nail or whatever it was went in, and I groan. “Get up, boy.” I don’t respond. I can’t move. Another kick. “I said get up!” A soft moan is all I have in response. He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine. We’ll just drop him in the middle of the woods or something. I don’t think anyone would care if we killed him, but better safe than sorry when it comes to murder. He’ll die in the woods, anyway, in this condition.” Rough hands grab me and drag me outside, where one of them slings me over his shoulder. I can’t even muster the energy to groan. Everything hurts, and I can feel a warm wetness spreading from the wound in my side. Whatever stabbed me was much more than a simple nail. They jog for a few miles, into the cover of the trees, and drop me there, then leave. I can’t move, can’t open my eyes. Nell . I miss her, right about now. But it’s for the better, I manage to convince myself. They’re better off without me.

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts as my consciousness begins to fade.

“Caleb!” I try to raise my head, try to pry my eyes open, but I can’t. The pain overtakes me and my world goes black. I jolt awake, chest heaving, wild eyes darting around. How am I alive? The footsteps, before blacking out. The shout.

Someone found me. “He’s alive!” a voice shouts. Frantic, I try to sit up, but hands hold me down.

“Where am I? What happened?” “Easy, easy. Take a breath. You’re okay.” I fight harder. “No—I need to—” “Hey. Lay down. You’re hurt.” My gaze finally comes to rest on my savior and my eyes widen. “Nell?” I whisper hoarsely. “There you go. Relax. You’re okay.” She eases me back down onto the couch.

I’m back in the Nelson’s living room.

“No,” I rasp. “I have to go.” “I read your note,” she says quietly. I nod. “I have to go,” I repeat. “No, you don’t.” “I’m nothing but a burden.” I gesture weakly at the bandages around my torso to prove my point. “Do you really think that?” Nell asks. Bram bursts into the room before I can respond.

“Thank goodness,” he mutters, crouching next to Nell. “How are you feeling?” I shrug, wincing. “Good enough to leave, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t believe you, kid.” I don’t say anything. “Caleb,” Nell starts, “you’re part of the family. We like having you here. We need you here.” Her eyes lock on mine, pleading with me to understand. Something tells me she’s saying more with that look than she did out loud. Bram nods. “She’s right, you know. And you’re not going anywhere in your condition, anyways.” I gingerly trace a finger along the bandage at my side. “How long was I out?” “Two days.” “Two days?!” I try to sit up again, but Nell holds me down. “You’ve been taking care of me for two days?” “Of course.” “Why?” “How many times do I have to tell you this? You’re one of us. We’re not just going to leave you to die in the woods.” “You should’ve.” “Wrong. And you’re gonna have to get that attitude out of your head, kid, because you’re not going anywhere.” I open my mouth to protest, but stop. They want me.

They saved my life.

And they weren’t planning on abandoning me anytime soon, not like everyone else.

“Okay,” I whispered. Bram grinned and Nell gave me her trademark smile.

“Let me get you some water.” Bram stood and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nell and I alone.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” she said softly. “Yeah, me too.” “Why did you go?” I shrug. “None of you know where I came from and I figured if you did…you’d kick me out anyways.” “We would never. Unless you’re secretly one of Mrs. Patty’s kids, in which case you’re free to go, but you’re too nice to be one of them.” A grin tugs at my lips. “Thanks.” Nell just nods. “It’s true.” A few beats of silence.

“Mom should be home soon,” Nell finally said. “She was out getting groceries.” My eyes widen as a thought strikes me.

“My windbreaker,” I say. Nell raises an eyebrow. “Where is it?” I sit up, and this time Nell doesn’t stop me. “I don’t know,” she responds. “You weren’t wearing it when you got back.” It’s probably torn to shreds somewhere in the middle of the woods, or in the streets I used to call my prison.

The one material thing I had left from my old life. Gone.

In a way, it makes sense. I’m not going back to my past now—Nell and Bram and Lori made sure of that. It’s only fitting for the constant reminder of where I came from to be gone. But I’ll miss it. “I’m sorry, Caleb,” Nell says quietly. “I know it meant a lot to you.” “It’s fine. Really,” I add when I catch the look she gives me. “It was mostly a reminder of where I came from—where I belonged. But I guess I belong here now, so…it’s okay.” Nell smiles. “I would love to hear that story you keep refusing to tell me sometime.” “You will,” I promise. “And you’re not leaving again?” I shake my head.

This is my home now.


A tall man in a suit walks into a busy building his hair is a mess and his cheeks flushed. As he walks the people around look at him with question like he doesn't belong. He walks very quickly to his destination "Wesley?" the woman at the front desk calls but the man ignores her and continuous walking towards his destination. Finally the man arrives he pushes open a huge wooden door in front of him and walks in to find a group of eight men sitting on a rectangular table. "What is the meaning of this" a man at the end of the table Says. "My my Wesley are you so desperate to join the conversation" one of the men say as  those around him laugh "I will get the last laugh." Wesley says "what?" The man at the end of the table says "I said Gerald, that I will get the last laugh" the man tilts his head in confusion. "It's all wrong." "What are you talkin about" Gerald replies "The train designs they're all wrong" Wesley  throws the papers under his arm on the table. The man at the end of the table walks up and picks one of the papers he looks at them with care and attention "This can't be right, we went over this it can't be right." he said as he looked at the papers "oh yes they're right every last bit of it. 500 people on that train today and they are all going to die all thanks to you. I'll say I'm impressed I'm sure it'll make news like you expected Gerald. But I'm sure you can make it if you hurry now and say..." Wes looks at his watch "20 minutes." Gerald along with the men on the table upon hearing this  get up on their feet and rush out towards the door. Wesley smiles. The men burst out of the building in a bustling street there are people crowded everywhere happy, jubilant and busy Gerald has been running for quite some time his suit is messed up and his cheeks are red. He is covered in sweat everywhere. "Stop!" Gerald said "stop the train." he called out but no one hears him it is a loud City and no one is paying attention to him. In the distance there is a man in a conductors uniform. The  man shouts " last call!"  "No stop the train!" Gerald repeats The Man Standing on the train looks out and Squints his eyes. "Gerald?" He says "Sir we're ready to go" a young man  says to the conductor no no wait a minute the man in the conductor suit walks up to Gerald and waits for him to catch up. " is there a problem."  Out of breath Gerald finally said "you can't... you can't run the train." "Why not it's all fixed up ready to go the people are ready. "  " No, you can't Gerald says as he  pushes past the conductor and walked towards the trains engine. The other men that were sitting around the table finally cought up to the conductor also covered in sweat with their jair in a mess. "What on earth  is going on the conductor asked the calculations... they're all wrong if that thing were to start moving everyone on it would die." A man said out of breath. "How hm did that come to happen?" the conductor said "we're not sure but we're glad we found out." "I'll get the engineer right away" the conductor jogs off into the train with urgency and later on returns with a man covered in soot. Two men stood near the engine and watched the comition unfold. watching as the men gather around in Frenzy one of the two men said should we tell them now?" "No" the other man replied "Wes wants to  make the final bang. the man in soot walks out and smiles at the two men and then quickly hides the smile from Gerald.  The man in soot got  down and started unscrewing some of the gears Wesley finally catched up he looked cleaner  now not flushed hair neat and tidy. "What seems to be be the problem gentlemen?"  The men in suits look at Wesley with a confused expression but then turned their attention back to the engineer. "Gerald do you remember our April first tradition?" Wesley asked again but he got no response. "Well in case you forgot ill have you men know that it is indeed April 1st and I'm sure you know what happens on April 1st." He says with a smile on his face. "April Fool's Day. The man in suit says "winner winner chicken dinner" Weslie says. Gerald turns to look at Wesley "excuse me?" Gerald said "you just got pranked." The man in suit says as he stands up .  "I'll say that's got to be the best one I've done yet." Wesley says. With anger in his eyes Gerald asks "could you be anymore wicked." "This was supposed to be our train Gerald." "you left first or fid you forget. You were going to steal it and keep it all for yourself." "why would I ever want to do something like that.I was a dear friend I would never do such a thing." "And yet here you are." Gerald replied. "Listen here the conductor said I don't care what kind of Child's Play you've had but whatever your problem seems to be you should never under any circumstances include the life-and-death situation of other people in it." The conductor stumped off and  into the train. The fumes from his head almost visible. Gerald in disappointed  walked away with a group of some of the men in suits  while some of them stayed to watch the train. "So the train was never in danger then?" a short man said the rest of the men around and looked at him like he was  an idiot he put his hands up in surrender. "Well I'll say that was a genius  prop could've have fooled me the man said to the engineer as the train roared off in the distance the engineer pooled his eyes away from the moving train and  looked down at his hands to realize he was still holding one of the gear parts the look of shock in his eyes could not be recreated by anyone else he looked at his hands again and then at the train which was now speeding up. "Is it supposed to be going that fast?" a man said. The  color drained out of his face. "stop stop the train."  he said his voice a mere whisper but of course no one on the trains coulf hear him. It was off in the distance now  suddenly they heard a loud crash come from the Train it was going faster now. more and more and more to the point where It got off the rails and crashed into a nearby Forest and then capsided.  The people who were still standing on land rushed towards the train trying to help those who were still inside. "No no!" the engineer said "stop!" but no one could hear him the world around him began to grow slow and slower and the noise from the earth had suddenly just disappeared it was quiet, dead silent and then from depts of the train came the roaring fire which couldn't be heard at first but then it was so loud it was deafening and it consumed everything around it for miles  as it stretched outwards and upwards into a mushroom and that changed the 1st of April as they all knew it.


First Story Give me hell guys =) FOREWORD This short story is set in a world similar to ours during the late medieval or early renaissance period. I am not a scholar of history but I try my best to mimic the feel of the period. In the world of the Fighting Fiefs they are several major powers. The Three Kingdoms- Led by a council of three kings who vote on any issue that arises they are the second largest military power on the planet. They lead the rest of the world in science and the design of their capital, Santuario, is the largest trading hub in the known world. They worship a tree god who they believe watch over their pastures. They are based on the Italian free states or the old Spanish Monarchy. Framani- Led by King Alexander the kingdom is the largest on the planet. They have recently began sending scouts into old Imperium territory to reclaim land lost in the collapse. Their capital Stolzes is a city famous for its large temple in the center. They follow the pantheon of the old Imperium They are based on France and Germany. The main characters of our story hail from Framani. Avalon- The savage pirates of Avalon are famed for their fleet that has never lost a battle. The people of Avalon are rough and speak in a brutish tongue. They were never a territory of the old Imperium and as such lack the sophistication of the late age advances in culture and in science. They worship the harsh gods of the ice and snow. They are based on Norse occupied Scotland and Ireland. The Old Imperium- Once were the greatest might on the planet. The great collapse led to three centuries of chaos in the realm that eventually led to the current age. They ruled most of the known world for over 800 years. All that remains of the old Imperium are their former territories and their extensive aqueduct and road systems. They were based on the Ancient Greeks or Romans. The Waste- A large area covered in sand and ashes due to the great collapse. No life can be sustained in this area due to the heavy amount of soot in the air. Recent efforts by Framani to re colonize these lands are underway but progress is slow. This is the setting for our tale. Chapter 1 They had been traveling for three days and Cesar could feel the slow burn of his feet cramping as they walked through the wastes. “Perhaps we should turn back” he asked. “Don’t be a fool we have ten more miles to scout before morning” replied Jean. Jean was the leader of the group of scouts that were sent to wander into the grey waste and find a place for settlers as part of the King’s new recolonization plan. Cesar was not fond of Jean, in truth no one was fond of Jean, he was a decorated military officer that claimed his fame from the sack of Norgdium during the raid against the Avalonian pirates. He was famed among the women in the nobility because of his bright blond hair and dark blue eyes. “Why Cesar you scared of the spirits in the ashes?” laughed Dorian as he waddled through the sand. “Fuck off Dorian.” replied Cesar. Dorian, in Cesar’s mind, was quite simply a dick. He had shoulder length black hair and a small goatee that made him look as though he was calm and casual. Though Dorian came from nobility he was disowned for a scandal with his family. No one knew what the exact details were but rumors were circling that it involved a suitor meant for his sister that was found in his bed. “Fine we’ll stop here” said Jean “We have to wait for that failure Pierre to catch up anyways. Cesar looked behind him and saw a large shape waddle through the dense smoke and slowly come into view. Pierre was a fat, old soldier he had thin brown hair that had specks of grey in it and a long beard that was mostly grey. Pierre was running as fast as his short fat legs could take him. “My lord my, my lord!” Pierre panted trying to catch his breath. “What is it” spat Jean”Well spit it out gros cul” Dorian laughed at Pierre trying to catch his breath “The fat bastard looks as though he has seen a ghost”. “My lord the ashes…they moved.” “Well no shit” replied Jean “they are falling from the fucking sky!” “No my lord the ashes on the ground they moved” Don’t be ridiculous Pierre everything here is dead and has been for 300 years.” “But you do know what they say of this waste my lord?” “The ghosts in the ashes I know it is no more than superstition from the settlers to scared to move at the kings command.” “But” “Quiet Pierre or I will have Dorian rip your tongue out” “And I will gladly comply” Dorian jested. “We will set up camp here tonight.” “Cesar and Dorian set up the tents, Pierre get a fire ready, you can do that can’t you?” “Yes my lord” said Pierre though he was not quite sure of himself. Chapter 2 “What do you mean it’s gone?” asked Jean angrily. “The water sir it’s been turned to this.” Said Pierre with a look of terror on his face. Pierre tipped the canteen and a thick black sludge oozed out of the opening. “You know what this is don’t you sir?” inquired Dorian. “Yes I do, its ash water, but we are not far in the wastes enough for this to be happening.” Cesar remembered the stories of the wastes of the children who would go in and never return of the souls of the old Imperium warlocks who would cast their dark spells on any one who dared enter their territory. “It’s the ghosts my lord I’m telling you, no, I’m begging you please let us go back. “I will have no more of these talks we will go forward.” Said Jean with a blank stare on his face. Suddenly Cesar saw an arrowhead come out the back of Jean’s skull. “Holy shit!” screamed Cesar as he ducked for cover. “I don’t want to die!” screamed Pierre “I’m sorry”. Dorian already had drawn his sword and shield and was circling trying to deflect the arrows which were no longer being shot. Cesar looked over at the body of Jean the arrow had gone through his left eye and out the back, blood was beginning to pool near the wound. “Shouldn’t we help him?” asked Pierre “No use” said Dorian “he’s dead”. “We should bury him” said Cesar “No need, the ashes will cover him by morning” “He deserves a burial or at least a cremation.” “He was a dick and a terrible commander.” “But he was still our commander and a fellow soldier.” “Look if you want to bury the connard go right ahead I’m going to go fortify our surroundings.” Cesar pulled out a small shovel and began digging a hole to put the body in. “Um…Cesar can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Pierre almost as if he was scared of Cesar. “Of course my friend” replied Cesar as he continued to dig the hole “What did you need”? “It was the ghosts I’m almost certain” “It’s just a story” “No it’s not” “What do you mean?” “I saw them. While I was lagging behind you guys in the first day I saw it. It looked at me its skin was as grey as the ashes around it. It looked into my very soul with its large dark eyes. When it noticed I had seen it, it stared at me for a half a second and disappeared into the ashes around it. The Image is still in my mind Cesar” “And you think it killed Jean?” “I know it did” Chapter 3 It had been two days since Jean was killed and everyone in the camp was hungry and thirsty. They had tried to return the way they came but the wastes always looked the same. “Did you see that!” yelled Dorian. “See what!?” said Pierre. “Nothing.” “Don’t do that Dorian. Do you think this is a goddamn game? Our commander is dead killed by something we can’t even fucking see!” “It was his own damn fault he was killed. He should have turned us back the moment the horses had died but it was his own arrogance that led us further into the wastes than we should’ve been.” Dorian immediately regretted his words and realized what he had said. “He did what?” Cesar said with rage filling inside of him. “He…he wanted to claim more land for the empire”. “And you knew? YOU FUCKING KNEW AND YOU SAID NOTHING TO HIM!?” “I have nothing to live for anyways I have no home to go back to and neither did he why should we care if you two died with us? Even if I wanted to turn him around he would’ve killed me and went anyways.” “YOU BASTARD!” Cesar pulled his sword from his sheath and charged at Dorian. Dorian unsheathed his own sword and blocked the first blow. Cesar swung downwards hard but Dorian moved out of the way. The swipe managed to cut his shoulder deeply. “Cesar, don’t make me have to kill you” pleaded Dorian. Cesar showed no remorse as he cleaved into Dorian’s hand and severed it. Dorian screamed in pain and fell to his knees. “Why?” asked Cesar blankly with his sword’s point to Dorian’s throat. “He. Owed money to a lot of people. He tried to escape by volunteering for the task. It was never personal.” “Cesar. Let him live he knows what he’s done.” Said Pierre “let’s go” They walked away from Dorian and left him to the wastes. Chapter 4 “I never told you about my home have I?” said Pierre “No you haven’t” replied Cesar. “It’s a nice little place in the country I own about five pigs and” “What did you mean by I’m sorry?” interrupted Cesar. “What?” “When Jean was killed you ran away. You said you were sorry.” “It was 45 or so years ago. My first battle just happened to be the day we broke the walls of Santuario.” “You were there during the siege?” “No not during the whole thing only during the sack. My father was the leader of my regiment and he personally took me with him to loot the district. I was terrified. We got to this one house in the western district, which was on fire at the time, and my father saw a woman running. He quickly went and grabbed her and threw her to the ground. He looked me in the eyes and commanded me to go to him. I did as my father commanded. When I got to him he said he was going to make me a man and told me to take the woman. I did.” “You...raped her?” “Yes” Pierre said and then began sobbing uncontrollably.” And when I was done my father slit her throat.” He broke down and curled into a ball. “I wanted to tell her I’m sorry before I died.” Cesar felt a presence behind him he turned quickly. There in front of him stood a large shadow, it had grey skin that seemed to be made of the ashes and dark sunken black eyes, in it’s hand was a cruel spear made of stone and ash wood. “Stand back!” Cesar commanded the creature but it did not listen. It slowly moved closer to Cesar and pointed at Pierre. “Pierre?” Cesar said puzzled. The creature nodded. Cesar then realized that the creature was human. Its body covered in ashes and its eyes covered in a thick black sludge. Cesar held his hand out to the strange man and then saw behind the man more creep out of the ashes. There had to be at least fifty of the strange people. The man nodded behind him and motioned for Cesar to follow. “Pierre get up” said Cesar Pierre got up slowly his eyes red from crying and followed Cesar and the strange people. Chapter 5 They approached the massive walls of the city by daybreak. They had been following the strange people for several days and were fed and given water by them. They spoke no common language but some words sounded vaguely familiar to worlds spoken in the old Imperium tongue. The gates to the city opened and they were received by a man on a horse. “Hail” he said in a hard to understand voice. “I am the king of the city” the rest of the words were unintelligible “Hello I am chevalier Cesar and his is my friend Pierre” The king of the city looked confused he motioned his men who gave them food and water. “Lev you r not welcome here” the king said. “But” Pierre said as he stepped forward. A man drove a spear through his neck. Cesar looked on in horror as he saw Pierre fall to the ground. “Leave” the king said in a harsh voice. Cesar turned and walked back into the wastes as the city vanished into the ashes.