a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.

the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.

the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.

the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.

hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.

back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.

the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile

eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.

smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.

relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?

the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.

the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.

blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.

help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.

the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.

the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.

the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.

finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.

the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.

the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.

why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?

but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.

the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.

and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.

and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;

I am starting to write my sequel. Like my previous book, I am not going to start posting chapters until I am completely done with it. However, Like my last book I am going to post teaser chapters for you to read while I am finishing up my book. I would like to thank all the people tagged below for liking one or more chapters from my previous book. For anyone who did not read my previous book you can find it in the link below.

https://theprose.com/book/2163/nia

Her head presses against cool glass, stomach still turning. She doesn’t know why, but one of his favorite games is scaring them. Too many drinks and too late in the night, he pulled the three girls from the party. He woke her violent from her already restless sleep. Too many drinks and a loud, showy repeat of a previous fight. All eyes on him. And him, voice blasting across the party. And mama pulls at his wrist, but he can’t even feel her there. He’s all name calling and feet stomping. Broken bottles and cards strewn across the floor. And she’s all forced laughs, begging, and pleading. Because nothing is wrong. And none of them have ever seen a storm. And nothing is wrong. And he yanks them all past the whispers and pushes them into the car. And too many people watch from the driveway as the car screeches away into the night. Too many drinks, and too cold a night, and he purposefully throws the car in dizzying, lurching circles. Snowbanks dislodge and explode outside her window as the tires tread them, too quick. And she mustn’t cry. Her mama is crying. Her sister is crying. But she mustn’t cry. If she doesn’t cry, the storm will never come. And so she lets the glass ease her turning stomach. And when he asks if she thinks it’s funny, she stares straight into his eyes, silent, wordless. And he laughs like they’re party to a private joke. And she rests her head back against the glass. And she watches the snow rise and fall again like it’s been given a second chance to hit the ground. And she thinks how life is always just repeating. Pounding, angry snowfalls turning to dirty piles, too heavy to hold. And her mama is crying. And her sister is crying. And he’s still shouting and laughing. Great, joyous cries whooping into the bright, white night. And a little prick of her fear slips away as she realizes there’s no stopping the storms. And she can’t help but to laugh at the joke as well.

An old man hobbled

Down a street

Light in his mind

But heavy on his feet

He can’t remember his past;

It’s just as well

He stepped up a kerb

Stumbled, almost fell

He was a sportsman

In his day

Fast and furious

Those who knew him say

An old man hobbled

Down a street

Smiling kindly

To those he would meet

His family love him

Does he know?

He loves them back

But does it show?

An old man hobbled

Down a street

A ready smile

He won’t admit defeat.

And I smiled, too.

My day complete

As an old man hobbled

Down a street.

The room was hollow, dripping with despair, no light to spare. Peace was present, but only behind the apricot fur of the six month old poodle, sleeping without a care in front of the fireplace. Burning oak was no comfort to the man, the woman. Wet cheeks and grief, fear, kept them cold.

“You tell me mother. How am I to explain to a five year old that he is never going to see his mother again?” He held his head in his hands, his crew cut left him without any hair to pull. They had not been home more than an hour when the hospital called to say her heart had stopped.

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Mother! He’s a boy, a boy who probably up until yesterday in his subconscious could still remember suckling her breast. All of that gone now, replaced with what mother? Blood? Twisted metal? Sirens? How can you be so callous about her death, so cruel?”

“Wait a minute, how can I be so cruel? Wasn’t Shana the cruel one when she drove drunk with Graeme in the car. Every day he looks in the mirror, his scar will remind him of what she did to him. She scarred him in more ways than one! It’s unforgivable! She can rot in hell for all I care.”

Wind gusting from the west startled them all with what sounded like a knock on the door, and Booker, only trying to do his job awoke with a bark, his signature, four shorts one long.

“Mother what good does the blame game do now, and will you shut that thing up?”

“Thing! Jake! He’s a puppy! And puppies are known to bark! Com’ear Bookie. Good boy.” Booker jumped up on Nana’s lap and nuzzled in. Her anger and his body warmed her just enough. She pet him from head to tail, tickling him like a concert pianist touching piano keys and talked softly to him. “He doesn’t mean it Bookie. He’s just sad and mad is all.”

“I’m sorry mother. My nerves are shot. I didn’t plan on my wife drinking and driving and I certainly didn’t plan on her early demise. I’m gonna need your help, ya know. A lot of help.”

“I know baby. We’ll get through this together. It’ll be okay someday, you’ll see. I promise. Whatever you need for Graeme, Bookie and I will be here as much as you need us. I’ll move in for awhile until life resumes back to normal, as normal as normal can be.”

The next morning, Jake sat in the same rocker Graeme had been nursed in, watching him sleep with anticipation until he woke up. As soon as Graeme’s eyes opened, Jake leaped into the bed wrapping up his son like a shell to its oyster. If he whispered the words, maybe it would soften the blow? Saying what he had to say softly was all the strength he could muster, anyway. “Graeme, Momma has gone to heaven. She won’t be coming home from the hospital.”

Graeme frowned, with a downturned bottom lip and looked at him blankly for about a half a minute. What he said, said more than what he didn’t say, “Is Nana still here? Where’s Bookie?”

“I think I hear them in the kitchen. Nana’s probably fixing some pancakes.”

“I want to play with Bookie.” And it was then that Jake realized the best medicine for his son’s grief was already in his house. Graeme raced down the stairs like it was Christmas morning to join Booker. Nana too, but mainly Booker. Oh, there would be therapists and guidance counselors and the seen and unseen scars, but there is something to be said about the healing effects of a boy’s best friend.

“Nana. Nana! Where are Bookie’s little balls? He likes the green one best right?”

“They’re in my bag Graeme. I’ll go get them. Yes he loves the green one best.” Mother and son looked towards each other lifting eyebrows and shoulders silently signaling to roll with Graeme’s wishes.

Nana stopped flipping flaps and got the balls out of her bag, little balls that were just the right size for a fifteen pound mini poodle’ s mouth.

“What’s that word you said Nana? He’s abses?”

“Obsessed Graeme. Obsessed. Bookie is obsessed with his green ball and will play all day fetching it, if we let him.”

“That’s what I want to do today. Play ball with Bookie all day, okay?” Sure thing son, said Jake, holding back his tears. “Right after breakfast and after I change your bandage my brave boy, okay?”

“Okay Dad. Anyway, I am abses with Nana’s pancakes, too!” And the three of them were able to let out just a little bit of a chuckle, before big bites of fluffy jacks.

And so it was, the days went on, the scar began to heal and every day Nana and Booker were there for Graeme. Since she had trained other poodles over the years, Nana was in the process of teaching Booker to sit, give paw, roll over and more, but her favorite trick was the cha cha cha. Holding a treat over Booker’s head, she’d make a zig zag motion to a cha cha beat, and he’d stand up and dance for her everytime. But Nana never took credit. She’d practice each day with Booker when Graeme was at school, and when he got in the house, it was always Graeme that believed he was the dog whisperer, positively giddy at feeling accomplished as Bookers trainer.

“God boy Booker, do you want a treat?” Rollover, lay down, cha cha cha, and one day became the next until he came off the bus with his head down and a frown they had rarely seen since his mother passed away. When he got in the house and he didn’t seem interested in seeing Booker, that’s when Nana really became concerned. “What’s wrong Buddy? Do you feel sick?”

“No.” Blopping down on the floor, defeated. “Graeme you know you can talk to me about anything. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

After some hesitation and more prompting from Nana, Graeme finally conceded and said, “Okay. It’s Johnny at school. He said on the bus that I have an ugly Frankenstein face, and I think he is right. All the kids laughed when he said it, and he got in trouble, and had to sit next to the bus driver, but that didn’t make me feel better. And I think all the other kids have mommy’s, because I see them waiting at the bus stop and I don’t have mine, and sometimes that makes me very sad and very mad about what happened.”

Oh, honey, it’s all going to be okay, someday Graeme. I promise. It’s not true that you look like Frankenstein. You are a handsome boy and anyway as time goes on that scar will fade. And it’s true and it’s very very sad that you have no mommy, but I’m here for you and Booker’s here for you. You don’t want to make him sad too, do you? Why don’t we get the green ball and take Booker over to the park?”

“I don’t want to. I feel too sad and mad and now Booker probably won’t like me anymore, either.”

“Oh, that’s not true. Booker loves you,” and as if on cue, Booker leaped across the room and into Graeme’s lap, with a whole lot of puppy dog kisses. As if the conversation never happened, Graeme said, “Where’s the green ball Nana, let’s go.”

When they were walking back from the park, Nana had an idea. “Hey Graeme. What if I call your teacher and see if we can set up a show and tell with Booker and you can show off all the tricks you have taught him.”

“Can we Nana. Can we?”

“I can’t promise, but I’ll call the school tomorrow and ask.”

The school principal was happy to grant Nana and Booker access to the school. The show and tell was all set for Friday afternoon and Grant was so excited he woke up before the crack of dawn, practicing tricks with Booker before Nana could get the coffee pot on. He was happy to get on the bus, but unhappy about having to wait till 1 pm, because in his mind, there was an eternity between 8:30 am and 1 pm, the scheduled event time. In school, he must have stared at the clock every minute, his mind trying to push the minute hand without success. And then finally after eternity less a minute, it was 12:59 and a knock rang the class’s attention. Mrs. Schultz stood before the class, clapped three times, then put her pointer over her mouth with one hand, and with the other she raised her arm high, the signal for the children to pay attention in silence. And then she announced.

“Children we have a special guest today. Graeme’s grandmother is here with his dog for show and tell. I want everyone to sit quietly in your circle spot.” Graeme was so happy that his teacher said his dog and not Nana’s dog. Nana always said that too, and he inwardly embraced her kindness, her generosity, and her promise.

Mrs. Schultz opened the door, and in came Booker on the leash with Nana close behind. She waved at all the kids and they waved back and then Mrs Schultz said, “Graeme, I understand that you have taught Booker a bunch of tricks and you would like to demonstrate what you have taught Booker to the class. Is that right?”

Graeme came forward and said, “Yes, Mrs. Schultz.” And with that Nana passed him the baggie they had packed before he left for school filled with Booker’s assorted treats. She gave him the leash and he took over without hesitation proving that practice makes perfect. One after another, with total concentration, Graeme perfectly executed all of Booker’s tricks in front of his classmates, with a grand finale of a very long cha cha cha, across the classroom floor. There were so many oh’s and ah’s from the dance that Graeme snapped back out of the zone, looking towards his teacher and then towards Nana, not needing to hear that he had done a good job. All the kids clapped a long round of applause and then Nana asked Graeme if he wanted her to sign him out early, or if he wanted to go home on the bus. “I think I’ll go home on the bus Nana.”

And he stepped onto the bus confidently, the star of the day, each and everyone of his classmates, even Johnny, asking questions on the bus about Booker. “That was so cool.” And, “I wish I had a dog.” And, “How did you teach him all those tricks?” And more. Long after that day, eventually Nana did start sleeping at her house again, but without Booker. Booker had found his way into a little boys heart, and down at the foot of his bed each night as they both slept peacefully. It wouldn’t be fair to say Graeme forgot about the love of his mother, but when lost, love has a way of finding us again. In Graeme’s case, it was found behind the apricot fur, gifted by Nana in more ways than one.

I wake up on time for school. I wasn't early like the previous day. I get ready and Katy is actually less annoying. Nia's mother prepared breakfast and I had time this morning to sit down and eat it. She made a fried egg and toast with a glass of orange juice. I could certainly get used to some home cooking. By this time I pretty much knew the drill, once I get out the door Lidia and I walk to school together and talk mostly about boys.

The school is a bit more excited today than the previous few days I was here and I am pretty much sure the cause is because of the dance that is planned for tonight. The girls talk of nothing else than who they were going with and what they were wearing. The guys talk about, well I don't know what the guys talk about because I was stuck listening to what the girls are talking about.

The entire day is a complete waste of time as far as I am concerned. The entire day is filled with dance related drama and I suffer through it the best I can. Lidia is alternating between being okay and breaking down and I do my best to try and prop up her self-worth. The dance is being held in the main gym and the whole village shows up for it. There are decorations everywhere. There is finger food and refreshments and there is more than enough parents to make sure that the conduct by the students is appropriate. The one thing I noticed about this place is that the parents paid a lot of attention to what was going on. They didn't seem self-absorbed in their own lives.

Lidia and I sit in some chairs sipping on punch. I would expect the punch to be spiked but somehow I'm thinking that's not going to be happening here. Lidia didn't really want to come and she is feeling sorry for herself.

A guy named Brad asks me to dance. I don't want to but Lidia pushes me out onto the dance floor anyway. The music is slow and I put my arm on his shoulder and he put his arm around my waist. It was kind of like the dancing you would see in an old movie.

"You look really nice tonight." Brad says paying me a compliment.

"You don't look too bad yourself." I respond. It feels really weird dancing with a guy and I try to play it cool.

"Since you're not with Bobby, why don't we slip out of here?" Brad offers.

"I'm sorry I can't" I answer, "I have to keep an eye on Lidia."

"That's right, I heard Tom really broke her heart. That's tough. Is she going to be alright?" He asks.

"Eventually" I respond.

"Well, you take care." He says when the dance is over. He leaves me and goes over to a different girl and dances with her. I imagine he is giving her the same offer he gave me and when I see them sneak out together my suspicions are confirmed. They aren’t gone long enough for anything to happen though. The parent's here are really on top of things.

I notice that Bobby didn't waste any time. He must have been stringing somebody along to get another date so quickly or maybe he just has them lining up outside his door. The girl he is with isn't as attractive as Nia is but she still looks really good. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and is wearing a blue dress. I walk over to him.

"Hi Bobby" I say greeting him warmly.

"Oh hi" Bobby responds. He seems a little uncomfortable.

"It's okay." I reassure him, "There's no reason why you shouldn't have a good time because of me."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Bobby asks. He must have thought Nia would be upset seeing him here with another girl or maybe he wants Nia to be jealous.

"Of course not but I would be upset if you didn't save a dance for me." I answer. I think I'm really getting the hang of this. Being Nia gives me a confidence that I have never experienced before.

"Sure, I'll catch you later." He says trying to play it cool.

I walk over to where I had left Lidia but she isn't there. I calmly scan the dance floor but I don't see her. I thought the only place left she could be is in the restroom. I hate going into the girl's restroom. It makes me feel really uncomfortable but I go in anyway. I don't see anybody but I hear gentle sobbing coming from one of the stalls.

"Lidia" I call but get no answer.

"I know you're in here." I say again. There is still no response.

"Okay, well I'm just going to have to wait here until you come out." I say in a stern voice.

After several minutes of just standing there. Lidia comes out of the stall. Her eyes are red. I put my arms around her and hold her close.

"Tell me what happened" I say gently.

"I saw Tom dancing with someone else and I couldn't help myself" She says still gently sobbing. Girls are so emotional.

"I'll walk you home." I tell her. Lidia nods her head. With my arm still around her I lead her out of the building and walk her home. When we reach Lidia's house I escort her to her room.

We sit on her bed. I have my arm around her and she is still crying. With her body so close to mine I start to have a hard time controlling myself. The thing is, is that her face is inches away from my face. The scent coming off of her skin is driving me crazy. I am doing everything I can not to kiss her. Then I think I could kiss her on the cheek. That's something that girl's do right? Sometimes they kiss each other on the cheek. I wasn't sure about that but I reach the point where I can't control myself any longer and just reach over a bit and give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. I wait a few minutes to see what Lidia's reaction is. She remains unchanged so I decide to give her another one. I feel really low kissing a girl in another girl's body.

I reach over to kiss Lidia but this time she turns her head in my direction and instead of kissing her on the cheek our lips find each other. Lidia doesn't pull away either and I'm thinking that maybe Lidia has been hiding in the closet. I know she is really shaken up over Tom though so maybe she is just confused. After our lips linger for a few minutes longer I'm the one who pulls away.

"I'm so sorry." I tell her, "I didn't mean to kiss you on the lips."

"it’s okay" She responds, "I kind of liked it." Nia would flip if she knew her best friend had been hiding in the closet. At least I think she would. I was really torn as to what to

do next. I wanted to kiss Lidia so bad but I also didn't want to ruin their friendship.

"What do you mean kind of?" I protest. OMG I'm flirting with Lidia now while she's vulnerable. Have I no shame?

"Maybe you should kiss me again then" She answers. She's flirting back! I should nip this in the bud right now but I don't. I move closer to Lidia and we press our lips together again. I can taste her lipstick.

"How was that?" I ask.

"That was good" She says breathlessly, "You better go. We'll talk about it tomorrow." She isn't crying anymore and she has a nice smile on her face.

"Yeah, your right." I respond, "I'll see you tomorrow."

I walk home. I am feeling pretty amazing and despicable at the same time. I ruined Nia's friendship with Lidia because I couldn't control myself. I am such an idiot. When I get home my parents ask me about the dance. I tell them that I had to leave early because Lidia was upset and they tell me that I am a good friend. If they only knew.

When I go to sleep I wake up in my own room. I check the 'tin can' thing and a new scene has become clear. I can see Nia and Lidia kissing in Lidia's bedroom. Of all the scenes that could have appeared it had to be that one.

I wanted to be invisible, to be as small as the petals of my wishes.

That wasn’t an option, but it was a useful feeling. I twisted the emotion and sighed it out into the room as a need to leave this place.

Closest to me since I was on her face, the giapro mother was the first to act. Pivoting toward the shattered wall, she lumbered back over the debris. Mud bricks cracked beneath her weight as we burst beyond the dust. Harsh sunlight greeted us, and I squinted into the splintered wall in our wake. More giapro dashed through the hole, following their matriarch.

I scrambled onto the top of her head and hunkered between her crown of feathers, though my shoulder, arm, and side protested the effort.

Clay huts crumbled at the touch of a giapro’s tail. Booths flipped, and fires escaped their rings. The brave ran toward us, the wise fled, and the helpless screamed. Chaos still played her game. Smoke and dust stung my eyes.

Leave, now.

The giapro ran. If it was because she received my wish or some other reason, I had no way of knowing, but relief filled me. The wind stroked my cheeks, carrying away my tears. The ground shook with every step, and more structures collapsed, but at least we would be gone soon. The small pack followed their mother, heedless of whatever lay in their way. I cringed as one crashed through what was probably a home.

I didn’t care about these people, I told myself. Why should I? Just a few moments ago, they tried to eat me, and I didn’t doubt they would try again once this bigger problem had passed.

‘You care,’ Alaysq said, ‘because they are useful.’

‘Here I thought you would tell me that I care about living people because deep down I’m a good person.’

‘Deep down, you are curious. I can feel it humming like a plucked string. You want to see what all this eteriq has done, and you do not want it to be easily erased because that reminds you how transient your own legacy is.’

‘Sure it’s not just indigestion?’ I stared at the churning cloud of our wake, watching the distance grow between the last giapro’s tail and the edge of the village.

‘Let yourself accept that you are a hero. Come back now.’

‘No.’

One, this animal ran very fast, this planet’s gravity was strong, and I wasn’t willing to bet I would survive an attempt to disembark right now.

Two, no matter what she claimed or believed, I was not Alaysq’s pet. I had wanted to escape her and the River’s End, and now I had. This situation wasn’t ideal, but if this world had one village, surely it had another, and perhaps there I could find the help I needed. I could message home.

‘Do not be an idiot. You are riding off into a barren desert on the backs of vicious carnivores.’

‘I’m riding on the head of one, actually,’ I countered, ‘and there must be something out here or they wouldn’t be going.’

‘Return, Rose.’ A lightless cloud grew in my mind. It smothered inner me, covering her in an inky web. The vast space inside me filled, and Alaysq erupted beyond it, ilk-like fingers slithering through my veins. With no command from me, my right hand released its grip on the feathers.

Inner me thrashed.

My left hand started to unfurl.

I managed to free my face from her web and sunk my teeth into the mess on my left arm.

‘I. Am. Not. Yours!’ I growled, tearing off chunks of black web with every word. ‘You. Don’t. Belong. Here.’

Both hands free, I yanked at the tethers, pulling them out of my sky. They fell like severed ropes, and when they were all down, writhing like worms on the surface of my lake, I stomped on them, shoving them below the water.

As the last one dropped into darkness, I stood there shaking. Both within myself and in reality, I collapsed.

At least the feathers atop this creature’s head were softer than those flowing out of her cheeks. They played with the light, winking between blue and purple. Spots lined their tips like myriads of golden eyes.

Fluffy down nestled between and beneath longer, thicker strands, pale and much of it loose, threatening to choke me as I panted. It felt as if my insides had been gouged out. I was a husk, a statue fallen in an ancient ruin stuck staring at the heavens.

A sun occupied the middle of the scene above, strong but small and cold. A crimson halo surrounded it. As it stretched to cover the world, the sky faded to pink, purple, then blue. Stars and moons peeked through the gradient.

Moons. Like the sky of my home. It should have been comforting. At least I knew the night would not be dark. But it was still an alien sight. I knew none of these satellites, and it reminded me just how little I knew of this world. How long would the night last? How long before night even fell?

As if I didn’t have enough to process. Another person, someone I barely knew and definitely didn’t trust, had controlled my limbs. Worse yet, I might have made him do it. I had drawn on his energy; that was typical for a vedia. But I had taken too much. Because I didn’t know how to stop. Because I was scared and couldn’t defend myself, I had nearly killed him.

What would have happened had Ishiyae’s body died? Would the part of his mind trapped within me have been stuck there forever? Would I have been able to assimilate his grace and agility? Would he be more cooperative without a body to return to, or would we constantly war within me, my mind a battlefield forevermore?

Finally, I was able to turn my head. Scarlet dunes extended in all directions, giving way to deep blue mountains far off on the right. Some of the sand hills hosted scraggily trees. Their leathery trunks rippled in the wind like hollow sacks, and I suspected they were carnivorous flora. The most robust seemed the least friendly, coated in neon spikes.

Was everything on this world designed to kill? Why would Alaysq bring me here?

With some hybrid of a growl and scream, I flopped back on the giapro’s head. “What was your plan? Try checking if their prophecy ends with the chosen one getting eaten before you try to pass me off as that.”

‘Pompous of you to think you’re their chosen one.’

I sat up quickly, but of course Ishiyae wasn’t there, just his voice in my head.

‘I don’t think I’m their chosen one. If you’re going to spy on me, at least be accurate.’

‘I’m not spying on you. You’re a noisy distraction, and I wish you’d get out of my head already.’

This was the second time he had expressed that this mental space we shared was his, but to me, it felt like he had invaded my mind. Maybe this worked like a transmission, like how I could see someone across the universe, but they had not physically traveled anywhere. He saw me in his mind, and I saw him in mine.

It felt like more than a simple projection, however. What if this bond had erased the line between my mind and his and they were one space now?

These thoughts made my brain hurt, and apparently it was contagious.

Ishiyae’s voice boomed in my head. ‘Whatever you’re doing, stop.’

‘To stop thinking is to be dead, idiot.’

‘Oh look, the rock calls the soil hard.’

The insult stung. He was right. I was an idiot. I didn’t know half the things I should. I was a sarquant. I was supposed to at least be able to act like I knew everything.

I was tired and done, not just physically. My brain throbbed. Staring up at the crimson sky, I folded my arms over my forehead and tried not to think about anything. I didn’t want to fight anymore. If Ishiyae was stuck in my head—against both our wishes—then I didn’t want to war with him all the time.

How could I make peace? I didn’t like Ishiyae. He had done horrible things to Hent and the other Grenswa-nas. He was a villain.

Yet, he had saved me.

Once, I had asked Dollii, “How do you always smile like you’re eating candy even when someone’s being mean to you?”

“I look for at least one inkling of light struggling in the darkness,” she had told me, “one thing that proves they aren’t all bad.”

Ishiyae wasn’t all bad, and I didn’t want to believe he was. He was Fredo’s family, and something horrible had happened to them both. From another point of view, he was amazing. He had survived the same disaster Fredo had despite the injury that had scarred his face. How well could his discolored left eye see?

He had grown among Shlykrii-nas, deprived of the comfort of Seallaii-na company other than the evil Alaysq. The Shlykrii-nas saw him as a mighty warrior, something I had witnessed closer than first hand. He had fought through me.

I doubted even Fredo could have beaten him in a fight. I couldn’t afford him as an enemy.

Determined to say something nice to him, I closed my eyes. ‘Thank you.’

Ishiyae recoiled, squeezing himself into a corner of our shared mind space. I stepped closer to him, hands wringing each other.

‘I admire how you move. It’s like gravity—confident, inescapable, the focal piece of any scene.’

He remained still, spine to me, shoulders hunched, but there was a slight change in the angle of his head. Beneath his plethora of tiny red braids, his elongated ear pointed toward me.

I continued, ‘Bravery etches your every line when it matters most. I felt your fear, but you didn’t let it bind you, and as someone who’s been no stranger to terrifying experiences of late, I think that’s amazing.’

He grunted. ‘You hid like a booger in the giapro’s nose.’

I tried not to frown. ‘If I could learn to move like you, maybe I could save myself sometimes instead of always having to rely on others.’

‘That’s quite the ambition.’ He swiveled toward me, ears adjusting to remain angled in my direction. I marveled at how Shlykrii-na they looked and wondered how they got that way.

As I had discussed with Hent, a Seallaii-na would grow toward his own ideal of beauty, and if that happened to be Shlykrii-na ears and fangs, I hadn’t doubted the possibility, just the probability. To manifest such a drastic physical change, Ishiyae must have wanted to fit in with the Shlykrii-nas from a very young age.

Was it only a desire to fit in, or did he truly wish he was Shlykrii-na?

I bit my lip. ‘Do you resent what you are?’

I felt him unwrap the question and examine all its sides. I wasn’t even sure what all I meant by it. Did he not want to be Seallaii-na? I highly doubted he wanted to be a vedia. Did he wish he hadn’t grown up in such trying circumstances?

My ride’s head inclined, and I slid forward. My feet splashed into a tepid pond before I managed to grab enough feathers to stop my fall.

Scooping up a mouthful of water, the mother giapro threw her head back to swallow it. I flipped, palms burning as the plumes pulled through my hands. When gravity reversed again, my grip was useless, and I dove.

Before resurfacing, I swam to the center of the deep oasis in case any of the giapro thought about plucking me out for a meal. They couldn’t reach me here, not unless they dove in themselves.

Ishiyae laughed, and I stiffened. It was too similar to Fredo’s laugh, but I wouldn’t tell him that. I wouldn’t tell him anything about Fredo, not until he earned it.

But should I tell Fredo about Ishiyae?

I worried that Fredo would want to meet him, and it wasn’t my right to deny him that, even if that meeting would have to take place in my head.

I’ve always told Fredo everything, and he’s never let me down. I shouldn’t keep this from him.

Floating on my back in the middle of the pond, I stretched toward the corner of my mindscape where he belonged. The area was dark and static like an abandoned house. I tiptoed through it, pressing into the fog.

Something called to me, a distant echo. A scene flashed—a purple-haired girl with her hands pressed against a clear wall. I blinked, trying to understand, to get it back, to see more, but whatever it was seemed to have moved, beckoning me to follow.

In my mind’s dark space, I took another step.

A strong hand gripped my wrist. ‘Don’t.’

‘Do you know what it is, Ishiyae?’

‘I’ve encountered them on that planet and’—he adjusted his grip on my arm—‘on a certain ship.’

‘A ship besides the River’s End?’ I pushed as notions he didn’t want me to see leaked into the open. A sizable, beaten vehicle held captive in the bowels of the ark ship. Hours spent fixing it with the goal of freedom, the intent to run away.

The memories were old, the hands in them tiny.

Knowledge is a weapon. The more I know about Ishiyae and the River’s End, the more equipped I am to deal with them.

Ignorance is also a weapon.

Determining not to let him know what I had seen, I turned from Ishiyae and strode further into the darkness. Like a post in the ground, he stayed put. His arm acted like a chain, stopping me.

‘Pay attention to your surroundings in the real world. You’re drowning.’

No, I wasn’t. I was underwater, but I had plenty of air left. The call came from somewhere below me, and judging from the current, this wasn’t a normal pond. Like a fountain, it drained and was refilled continuously. I allowed that pull to drag me deeper, closer to the call. Without words or sound, it promised answers. It said there was more to see beneath this oasis.

Ishiyae kept protesting, but I ignored him.

The deeper I ventured, the more the water squeezed me. My ears popped. My lungs felt like prunes. Just as I burned through my last drop of air, a hole in the floor sucked me in.

My ears rang and my stomach churned as gravity rebelled. In a cylindrical, stone passage, the water separated into spheres. I spun among them, weightless for only a moment.

The spheres knew where to go, each lining up to rain upon the start of a plant-lined creek. I plopped down onto a mortared path, doing my best to land on my feet, but my momentum was too much. I rocked back onto my behind.

I saw two versions of the same room. In one, sunlight formed dusty rays, angled in through windows overgrown with vines.

In the other, bulbs illuminated everything, the vines had not yet grown beyond their pots, and a girl not much older than me stared out a glass wall.

“I want to go outside,” she said, bouncing on her heels.

“Outside is not safe yet, Lily,” warned the one through whom I watched. “We have to give the terraforming plants time to do their jobs.”

“But that is precisely what I want to see, Wis,” Lily whined, face now pressed against the window. “I want to watch them transform the air and soil molecule by molecule, and I wish I did not have to have a microscope or a machine to tell me it is happening.”

Warmth filled my chest so full I couldn’t breathe. Whoever Wis was, she found this notion silly, but she loved Lily with all her heart.

Wis laughed. “Patience, little sister. Why don’t you pass the time refining the codes of those creatures you are working on?”

Lily turned, and as the light glistened in her magenta eyes, I gasped. Purple hair was typical of a vedia, but pink eyes, too? Was this the eteriq who designed this world? She was so young. She didn’t seem jaded at all, just curious and full of wide-eyed wonder.

Seeing her here, I couldn’t imagine she had created the Rablah-nas with any malice. The violent nature of this world seemed incongruous with this smiling girl.

As the memory faded, she grabbed a tablet and explained that a giapro would have teeth longer than I was tall. Did she not mean for them to be violent killers? But she had to have known they would be.

I sat down on the stone path and stared at where Lily had stood…how long ago? What was all of that?

‘It doesn’t have an official name because it’s not supposed to exist.’ Tears choked Ishiyae’s voice.

‘Any possessor of true wisdom doesn’t deny the existence of something just because it doesn’t fit with their beliefs,’ I argued.

‘It’s not supposed to exist because keilan are killed, and keilan are what make these. When something happens that means a lot to them, they leave behind a part of themselves that lures in those capable of forming bonds.’

My eyes widened, and I closed my hanging jaw. ‘Lures, as in, they’re a trap?’

‘I’ve encountered one that was. Alaysq had to break me out of it.’

Paranoid now, I raked my gaze over the ancient bushes and wild vines. They were similar to fruit-bearing flora that grew around my citadel, but life in a foreign environment had wrinkled their leaves and desaturated the deep blue they should have been. If berries had dangled from their branches, would I have been brave enough to try them?

My stomach was a hollow pit.

Crossing my arms over my torso as if that could mute its rumbles, I stood and cautiously picked my way over the giant roots that had all but demolished the stone path. The creeks formed a web, each strand too wide to leap across in this gravity, so I wove from one narrow bridge to the next, recognizing the staggered River Guardian layout.

‘Alaysq told me keilan are creatures of destruction, but I don’t believe it.’ Especially if Fredo was a keilan, but I wouldn’t give that reasoning to Ishiyae. ‘Wis loved her sister. You felt that, too, didn’t you?’

‘Lily was an eteriq. I think Wisteria was the only one who truly understood her.’ The thought was strained, like someone trying to speak past a lump in their throat.

I headed for a staircase at the far end of this atrium, hoping it was an exit. My body was sore and tired, but I bit my lip and pressed on. If as a toddler, Ishiyae could keep going even with half of his face covered in blood, if Fredo could keep running even when every inch of his skin burned, then what was wrong with me that I had to stop now?

I focused on my curiosity. ‘You seem attached to them. What are they to you?’

‘Wisteria and Lily were my sisters. I never met them outside these memory echoes, but...’

‘They’re your family,’ I supplied. ‘I don’t know my older sister well either, but I would do anything to have her notice me.’

I winced at the thought, recalling how that notion had been used against me. My love for Grenswa and my desire to be acknowledged by my sister had turned me into the perfect, ignorant tool.

‘I’d settle for having my family back, even if they hated me.’

As he again folded himself into his corner, a miniscule part in the furthest recesses of my mind said to tell him that Fredo lived, but the rest stomped it down. He hadn’t earned it yet, and besides, knowledge was leverage.

Another, larger part of me wished for a shortcut. Wouldn’t it be easier if Ishiyae moved for me?

This thought, too, was rejected. I wouldn’t do that to him, and I didn’t need it. I needed to be that agile myself. Ishiyae had given me the experience, a sliver of muscle memory, and that was more than enough charity. I needed to make that grace my own, and that would require practice. No shortcut.

Watching the placement of my steps, I tried rolling my stride as Ishiyae did, hips, knees, ankles, and toes bending in tandem. At first, the transition of my weight from one foot to another was a jerky hop, not a glide. I was not a river as I had fancied myself in the battle on Grenswa. I was a flame flickering in the wind. My shins and thighs scraped the roots’ rough wood, and I wondered why shorts were the fashion here when pants would have offered so much more protection.

At least the shoes were flexible, accepting of the movement I asked of them now.

Limbs shaking, I arrived at the stairs, and if I had thought myself tired before, I hadn’t yet attempted to go up on this world.

By the time I reached the top step, I could barely stand, but the slow pace had done me good. When every movement cost me this much strength, I took the time to make every one count, and the flow became rote, the seed of a habit.

Doing this once would not break a lifetime of being a klutz, but it was a start. When I was aware of how I fit into the space and all the things around me, my loose sleeves and thigh-length braid caught on fewer branches. My soft shoes made less noise on the cracked stone. Every part of me throbbed, drowning out the voices of my bitten shoulder, sprained forearm, and impaled side. Everything was a monotonous hum of pain; nothing stood out.

I was thoroughly exhausted as my hands pressed against the door beyond the stairs. It opened with a whine, and I stumbled through, greeted by a frigid wind. It swirled around an octagonal chamber, playing with heat waves rising off crimson sand.

The updraft was so strong, it nearly lifted my thick braid. The loose strands by my brow tore against the flower pieces holding them in place. Slender trees swayed to the same tuneless song, stretching through a crumbled ceiling. Their palm-like fronds sounded like a crowd of snapping fingers.

Yellow orbs clung to the crowns of these trees, and my eyes set on the ones the wind had knocked free. My knees pressed into the red sand as I pounced on a rolling fruit. It was as big as my head and almost as hard.

Its warmth and glow made me question if I should eat it, but that lasted for only as long as my hug took to crack its shell. Once its milky-sweet, cocos fragrance filled my nostrils, all other thoughts fled my mind. I would consume the drupe’s spongy flesh, glowing or not.

As its juice squelched all over me, I groaned in appreciation of its sweet spice. Lady Lokma would have denied knowing me for the mannerless way I devoured the food.

One fruit was more than enough to satisfy my hunger. Its heat spread through my limbs, and every part of me felt oddly weightless except my eyelids. Was it night yet?

I pushed my back against a trunk and declined into the soft sand, curling my knees to my chest. Home was so far away. The giapro, or at least some large beings that sounded like them, still splashed in the pond atop the dune. I couldn’t see them, but some small worry cried in the back of my brain, asking what would happen if one fell down here with me.

Despite the heat, I shivered. My breaths had jagged edges, and my heart was a stampede trapped in a cage, running, panicking, but unable to go anywhere, just like me.

Like a tumbleweed, I rolled onto my side, heavy eyes pointing to the heavens. Home lay somewhere out there, beyond the sight that stole my breath.

Tongues of liquid garnet licked the sky, eclipsing all hints of the tiny sun. I watched their lazy waltz in some mixed state of awe and terror. What was that? Would it try to kill me, too? How could I possibly fight a burning sky?

I wanted to go home. I didn’t think myself capable of missing it this much. I felt empty—as if my shell had exploded and my innermost essence was strewn across the expanse between stars, thin, gossamer, and growing less connected every moment. Yet at the same time, I felt smothered, like I slowly sunk in a pool of slime and nothing I could do would set me free.

Did Fredo feel the same, trapped on Grenswa? Did they treat him as an ally or a monster? Did he and the Grenswa-nas have a plan to rescue us? In which case, I was in the wrong place. If they made it to the River’s End and I wasn’t there…

A scene took shape. Fredo and a band of Grenswa-na warriors forced their way onto the ark ship in some dark corridor. Shlykrii-na soldiers waited for them, led by a masked Ishiyae.

Fredo wouldn’t win that battle, but if Ishiyae saw him, recognized him, what would he do?

That thought paused in my mind, just as gut-twisting as the homesickness. I doubted even Ishiyae knew the answer. He lived on a ship whose stated mission was to destroy what he was. Or what he should have been. Did Ishiyae even consider himself River Guardian?

In his own mind, was he even Seallaii-na?

Again, I pictured his elongated ears and misshapen teeth. Did Ishiyae think of himself as Shlykrii-na? Had he no loyalty left for Seallaii?

The moment Hent told him what I was replayed in my mind. Would Ishiyae have killed me had Alaysq not stopped him? How far would he go to feel like he was one of them?

My gaze slid to my juice-covered hands wrapped around my knees. Had I stayed longer on Grenswa, would I have grown scales of my own?

Something within me burned for that mistreated world. I wanted to protect it. I wanted justice for it, vengeance on any who possessed even a sliver of responsibility for that attack. That included Seallaii and my own sister.

I swallowed, and my saliva felt like gravel. If Ishiyae would fight for his lost Shlykrii-nas, I knew the feeling. I would fight for Grenswa, even if that pit me against my own people.

But if I was to be of any use, I needed to leave here, and to do that required a plan. To plan, I needed information. What supplies did I have to work with? What did I need to build a way back to those who needed me? Could I get those things here? Where was I likely to find them?

As I thought my way through these problems, my muscles loosened. I remained curled on my side, but my lax circle allowed me to sink into the embrace of the warm sand. My eyes half closed, and my breaths softened.

I no longer felt alone, and it took me more time than it should have to realize my thoughts were not my only company. And no, those trapped inside my mind and currently ignoring me didn’t count. The trees passed messages to one another via fine dust. I could see it only in my peripherals, a constantly moving blanket of faint sparkles.

It felt like home.

Charisma.

It wasn’t something I could have defined before leaving on this trip, but now that I had experienced being around others who didn’t exude our pheromones, it was noticeable. It was like sound had surrounded me all my life, and only after learning silence did I know what noise was. And it was loud.

It was a comfort.

But again, Hent’s words bled into my thoughts.

I’m being controlled, manipulated, used. This love’s a fake emotion your charisma’s makin’ me feel.

The charisma from these trees made me feel better. They made me feel safe, but it wasn’t true. I wasn’t safe lying among skinny trees in a desert on a world where it seemed everything was out to kill me. I only felt safe, but that safety was not a reality. The feeling had no basis, and neither did the infant happiness building off it.

It was an illusion, a manipulation.

You feel what you feel, I had told Hent. It isn’t anybody’s choice.

He had called it mind control, and here, knowing danger surrounded me but feeling safe for no good reason, I understood that. It wasn’t right. But was there anything I could do about it?

Continued in chapter 52: A Blade Formed of Ash and Ice

Thank you for reading!

Generally, there are three ways to steal from a bank. If one is prone to violence and lacks subtlety, he carries a weapon and robs them during working hours. If one is prone to subtlety and lacks a capacity for violence, he carries a ledger and embezzles during working hours.

If one lacks both violence and subtlety, he carries a pickaxe and digs a tunnel into the vault.

Ghain was a burglar.

This story begins where so many other stories end: six feet underground. Ghain had been digging his tunnel for several days, and by his best estimates, was immediately adjacent to the brick wall of the bank vault. Ghain was genetically and ethnically predisposed to this kind of work: short, stocky, and coming from a society of deep earth miners. He even whistled while he worked.

Ghain took a deep breath, hefted his pickaxe, and broke through the brick wall.

But the scent which assailed his nostrils was not the smell of success, but a sharp stench of something else.

As the dust settled, Ghain found himself face-to-face with a recently-deceased cadaver.

“Argh,” he thought, with consternation. “Not again.”

Ghain wasn’t easily deterred, however. Holding his nose, he stepped over the body. This wasn’t like any crypt he had ever been in - but thinking it over, he hadn’t been in any crypts before. The body was wearing a suit, but it was dressed in business casual rather than funeral formal. The brick-enclosed space was tiny, and unadorned, and Ghain’s attention was soon focused on the wall across rather than the decomposing corpse below. He scratched his head with the tip of his pickaxe, and then resolutely went to work breaking through the second wall.

This second effort was much more rewarding.

Bricks tumbled forward into the vault, messily and noisily, and Ghain lifted his torch into the dark and dusty interior. Hundreds of bags were neatly piled around the room, bulging with various denominations and currencies. It was a princely treasure, and it brought a crooked smile to his face. He immediately set to work, grabbing a bag and tossing it through the hole in the wall. The sound of loud voices on the other side of the heavy vault door made him pause, however. Had his clamorous activity attracted attention from the bank employees?

Perhaps he shouldn’t have burgled the bank during working hours. As we indicated before, Ghain lacked subtlety.

But he soon realized that the commotion outside was not directed at him, as he heard various shouted threats and commands.

“Everybody on the floor!”

“Stay where we can see you!”

“Give us the money and nobody gets hurt!”

It appeared that a robbery was in progress. Or two robberies. Technically, one robbery and one burglary.

Ghain hustled back into his tunnel, no longer registering the dead banker that he repeatedly had to step over on his way out. The voices outside had gotten closer, and it seemed that they had discovered the vault door - and were intent on opening it. Ghain didn’t really want to meet the robbers. An introduction would inevitably lead to a conversation about splitting the loot into fair and equitable shares, and since Ghain wasn’t carrying any weapons, his share would probably be zero. That would technically count as a second robbery, in his opinion.

He paused at the mouth of his tunnel. Like any good excavator, he had shored up his tunnel with wooden braces so that it wouldn’t collapse during the burglary. But technically, the burglary was over, and collapsing the tunnel might prevent a robbery.

Sledgehammers started pounding on the vault door outside.

Ghain grabbed his money-bag and crawled with much haste through his tunnel, pausing only to kick out the support braces behind him.

*****

This story ends where so many other stories begin: in a street cafe. The next morning, Ghain was sipping his cup of bitter, black coffee when a paperboy delivered the morning journal. Out of curiosity, Ghain paid the kid for a copy, and opened it up to see if there were any reports about either his unsuccessful burglary or the simultaneously unsuccessful robbery. He unfolded the paper and read the headline:

BODY OF MISSING ACCOUNTANT FOUND UNDER BANK

Police Investigate Embezzlement, Cover-Up

Ghain scowled in recollection of the assorted counterfeits that he had found in his single sack of loot last night. He folded the paper back up and took another sip of his coffee, contemplating a career change.

The air leaves me breathless. The light, blind. My senses, over extended. My bones crack under pressure. My hair, whipping like wild fire. Fed by the oxygen and thriving out of control. And everything is ending. And I think that as I fall I will leave you behind. But you fall with me. And you are the wind under my skin. You are the gravity breaking my insides to splinters. The stars behind my eyes. You are the rupture of my lungs. The bursting of my heart, too full. The enveloping waves, crashing through my last thoughts. You are the cement rushing at me. The ground, ready to catch me. And I think I’ll leave you behind. But I’m only diving to meet you. I’m only careening into your arms one last time. And I still feel you in the end.