Most parents from the Old Country tell their children that they were a gift from the Angels. My mother, however, had always told me the same story from the time I was an infant. She would say, "Ruth, you were a special child, born of the Earth from a single soup bean." I never truly believed a word of that, but I always knew Mother as the sort of cheery, but foolish, old woman who would.

The Old Country was a stretch of valley from the base of the Northern Mountains to the barren Wasteland that lay into the icy water of the Channel. The air was always cold there, and the tree-barren earth was as flat as the oil paved streets. The fields outside of most towns could stretch for miles in any given direction, but they would never fall away into the Wasteland, which had long ago been cursed by the sea. Or so they say.

The majority of the people here were initially farmers, or sometimes a passing merchant from some rich city-state in the South who decided to open up shop. I always dreamed of going to the South. Then again, most children did. The children of Ren, I being no exception, would flock to the city center to listen to the old men and ladies tell tales of the silver land that they had abandoned long before. There were tales of heroes and great kings who had made their riches through conquest and lavish festivals with cherries and lime, the sort of exotic things no one born in Ren had ever tasted. We would listen for hours, the girls in their coarse grey dresses and the boys in their overalls, and ignore the cold as long as there was a flax golden tale to spin.

However, before the Southerners dared to explore the distant Old Country, the peasant people grew potatoes or carrots or those wretched beans that Mother thought gave birth to little children out of the stony soil which had previously never bore a single blade of grass. The work was hard and the conditions were poor, but soon the land gave way to a hardy, prosperous community. The city of Ren was the first to rise out of the Old Country and that was where I was born, many years ago. It really became a rather lovely place of fountains and shimmering ponds of human design, but I guess I had never been enchanted enough to stay.

Even as the country grew, the people of our community still truly loved the Angels. They were said to be the spirits that played with the children in the streets and kept the old folks company before they entered the Afterlife. Many of the elders claimed that it was the Angels, themselves, who has blessed the land with the abundant harvests each year, despite the terrible growing conditions. They always said we were chosen people, and now that I've had my share of years, I'm inclined to agree.

And this is where my story beings: in a strange blessed country with dreams of a silver city and a tale of an infant soup bean.

Chapter 1

It was the dawning of my nineteenth year when Mother decided to send me away.

I sat staring at the frighteningly white envelope while a resounding sense of impending dread washed over me, along with a bitter-sweet hint of excitement. My finger fumbled over the letter and the dark blue script. The gold seal rested below. I knew she could feel my panic when she put her hands on her hips, even though she was in the middle of washing a sink full of dishes.

"It's for your own good, Ruth," she said with barely a hint of a smile.

I shook my head and placed the letter on the table in front of me. "You know I can't just leave you like this."

"Like what?" She cocked her head a bit to the side.

"On your own. You're getting old, Mum…" My voice dropped as I anticipate her response. I bit my lip, waiting for the scolding I should have thought of before I opened my mouth.

"Don't patronize your elders." She turned back to the half-washed sink of chipped plates and hazy crystal glasses. The topic was clearly not on the table for further discussion, but I felt a need for a say in my own affairs.

"Patronize" is a bit of a stretch. She's almost sixty and lives completely alone, besides me.

Still, I knew I wouldn't be winning that argument, like arguments with my mother in general. I may have thought of her as a naive, traditional woman (besides the whole soup bean thing), but she was a stubborn as a mule and had a will that could put holes in the grey brick walls of our apartment.

"But whydo I have to go away?" I practically whined. Reasoning wouldn't work with her, but good old fashioned emotional pleading could possibly strike a chord of empathy.

"Ruth!" I thought she was damn near slapping me, "You should never take this sort of opportunity for granted. No onein our family has ever had an opportunity to travel south of the Channel! I have always told you: you are special."

She was right; she had always told me this. I never really thought it had anything to do with my whole literary genius thing, so, in all actuality, I never understood what she meant.

"Ruth…" she began again, far more calmly. "This is good for you. This is a chance for you to discover your true potential… plus," she paused and turned to face me, "I know how much you hate this place." She glanced at the barren landscape that lay beyond the window. "Your future lay in the wake of your dreams."

I have always had this bad feeling she knew more than I did about… well, everything. Freycrest lay south of the Channel, in the edge of land between the Sea of Saturn and the river's opening. I decided to take up a university professor's offer and travel to the intellectual capital of that region, an old city named Brideshore, to assist the English department of what was commonly known as the "greatest university of the Continent of Winds". My mother would be fine, I knew that. I just never wanted to be the one to leave anyone all alone.

It was only Saturday and the train on which I was scheduled to leave was not to depart until that Monday. The air was rather warm that weekend, especially for August in Ren. The streets of the Outer City, part of the Northern Residential District, were filled with children playing games or simply chasing one another in the warm afternoon sun.

"Ruth! Ruth!" screamed one child, a little blond girl in a grey blue jumper. She ran over to me and smiled with one of those big, sincere grins children often have smeared across their faces. She hugged my legs and then suddenly looked very grim. "Mommy told me that you're going away…"

I figured my mother had told all of the women of our neighborhood about my work offer, so this encounter wasn't really that surprising to me.

I squatted so I was at her eye level. "Yeah, Grace, I'm really going away."

Tears started to well up in her big green eyes. "But Ruth… I don't want you to go…"

"Grace, stop crying. I promise I'll come visit you."

"You promise?" Her eyes gleamed with a hint of hope.

"I promise."

She clung onto me again for a moment and when she released she instantly replied, "Are you going to grow out your hair? I think you would look really pretty with long hair."

I couldn't help but sigh. Everyone I knew in Ren was always trying to convince me to grow my hair into the popular, waist length style of the time. Most young adults wore their hair back in kerchiefs, but the children preferred brightly colored hairclips and headbands. One day, when I was about eleven or so, my mother had become frustrated with my tangled hair and forcibly cut it into a shoulder-length, black bob. I resented it at first, but I felt it had really come to define me over the years.

I ruffled her hair. "Maybe I will… it'll be a surprise, okay?"

"Okay!" She skipped away cheerfully to play hopscotch with one of the other children. She suddenly stopped and glanced back, tears still shining in her eyes.

Ah, and they tell the tales of the children of Ren.

The edge of the city dipped into a shallow basin where the recreational center was located. The "courtyard", a concrete slab used for leisure sports, glowed in the afternoon sun. I lay on that slab and let my thoughts wander, just as I had every afternoon since I was fifteen.

I wonder if this place will last forever.

With dreaming eyes, I stared at the solemn city line. The blue grey stone of the ancient complexes glimmered in the afternoon sun; the ponds about the city glistened like dazzling silver. No grass grew around me in the hoary grey soil, like almost the entirety of the Old Country. Still, it didn't really matter because the green would only spoil the surrealism of the place.

The wind was far more dynamic in the valley outside the capital than within the walled city itself. The cool air washed over me with a soporific effect. I closed my eyes and watched the orange dance across my darkened vision.

A childhood flashed before my eyes. I was young and innocent with tangled black hair and shining copper eyes, as round as marbles. He wasn't much taller, even though he was two years my senior with brown hair he would one day grow just a bit too long and skin that turned olive in the summer light. He had a home and a loving family, like myself, but most children viewed him as a vagrant. A drifter. A leader of outcasts. And still, I think that's why I loved him.

Loveis a funny word to use. I guess I had always loved him, but what do children understand of love? I think plenty. In some ways, I believe they are wiser than their elders. Love is so simple, so pure, something a child can best grasp without complicating it in and of itself. Love is not limited to romantic love and affection; it is as basic as the indescribable bond that fastens two souls together. It is something that isn't broken.

Or, rather, shouldn'tbe.

Then again, the universe does as it so chooses, something the children of Ren had been taught for as long as I could remember.

I opened my eyes to a bright, slate grey sky that shined painful beams into my eyes through the opacity of the skyline. Suddenly, I remembered why I had left my house in the first place.

I was supposed to pick up Mabel's sister from daycare at least an hour ago.

I shot up from where I was laying and bolted across the courtyard, towards the northern part of the city.

She's only four… she better not have tried to walk herself home. It'll get dark soon and she will wander the streets until dawn, the way she has before when she has gotten herself lost.

I ran past the library, towards home and the daycare. The streets weren't pleasant to run on and I stumbled through the city, nearly crashing into a passing merchant. I hated to disappoint my neighbors, especially the family of my best friend. After about ten minutes I was almost to the end of the street that connected the town center and my neighborhood when I saw a girl sprinting after me.

"Ruth!" She shouted, waving her hands as she chased after me, "Isabelle's home sick! I was going to tell you this morning but you weren't at your apartment!" She immediately tripped over her own feet and skidded to the ground, her khaki skirt making a terrible grinding sound against the pavement.

I knew she was okay, she always was. Being amusingly ungraceful was one of the 1001 talents of Mabel Dawson Scott.

"I'm fine!" She shouted as she flew to her feet, hands in the air although she was obviously bleeding from more than one spot on her arm.

I winced. "Mabel… your shift at the library must be over by now. Come to my house and we'll get you cleaned up." I picked up her wire framed glasses from the street and placed them back on her delicate nose, even though they sat crooked.

She gave me a toothy grin and smoothed her long, grey-brown hair. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

Chapter 2

I hit a switch in the kitchen that turned on the hot water and electricity for the apartment. I sat Mabel down at the kitchen table and bandaged her arm with the last of the gauze from the medicine cabinet.

She made a fist with her hand, checking the binding. "Thanks, Ruth." There was an awkward pause. "Ruth, are you really going away?"

Mabel had been one of my closest friends since I was a frizzy haired, braced faced, fourteen year old outcast at the local educational facility. She shared my passion for reading, but was always far less outgoing than I had become as a teenager. She was serene most of the time; she even worked in the quietest place in the entire city, the four-story, black stone library in the northern district of Ren. I, on the other hand, had a far too zealous personality to handle such a quiet vocation.

"Yeah, I am." I smiled weakly.

"It is going to be incredibly calm here after you leave, but I'm happy for you."

I looked at her and started to giggle.

She cracked another toothy smile. "What?! I mean it, honest."

"I know, I know." I laughed and dropped myself into the chair next to her.

"You're going to do great things, Ruth." Mabel said, seriously. She stared at her lap.

My thoughts shifted inward again.

What is the point of doing something amazing or great or wonderful?Are we not all just temporary blotches on the face of this continent that leave small scars on those we touch until the day we all share the same inevitable fate? 99.9% of us will not leave a single smudge in the great books of history, yet I am supposed to believe that I will somehow challenge my own humanity or possibly my own foreseeable fortune? What make us believe that we are each so special?

"Do you remember Julius?" I asked, staring at the palm of my hands in my lap.

She thought for a second. "…Pollard?"

"Yeah, that's the one," I barely whispered.

"Wasn't he a year or two older than us back in school? I thought he went to Freycrest a year or so ago… military school or something like that."

"It has been a year and seven months," I looked up from my hands. "Military strategy stuff, or whatever. You know, he stopped responding to my letters."

"Is he okay?"

I exhaled and shook my head. "He's perfectly fine, just stubborn as hell. Always thinks he's so much better than me. It's been that way since we were kids. I'm not nine anymore, Mabel."

"He's looking out for you. What you think is arrogance is just his way of caring about you…"

"Than why doesn't he write me back?!" I slammed my hand on the table, hard, and stood up.

She was taken back by my sudden anger. "Ruth, calm down. I'm sure you will see him in Freycrest."

I stared out the window into the darkening streets. The heavens above the city were becoming cold and clear with stars that shone like tiny matches in the night sky.

"He doesn't want to hear from me." I turned around to face Mabel and the tears started pouring from my eyes. I could feel their warmth burning into the cheeks of my face and into my pride, as well.

She shifted in her chair and looked directly at me, which was not typically in Mabel's character. "Ruth, grow up." She took a deep, forced breath. "You are so intelligent and so complex that you never give a second to think about overcoming this sense of childish tenacity. Listen to others for a change! This is what your mother has been telling you. Time away from this town, this life… it will help you become an adult, Ruth."

I stared intently at her and was about to say something in return, but my mother walked in at that moment. "Hi girls. Mabel, are you staying for dinner?" She hadn't heard our conversation, or at least she was pretending she hadn't. The walls of the building were made of stone… but still, one of the things I despise most is letting other people see through to my weaknesses.

I smiled at Mabel to let her know I wasn't mad and it was okay for her to stay. I respected her honesty and, in moments like that, I saw the strength in Mabel that reminded me she was growing up, as well.

"Sure." She smiled. "I guess it's sort of like your going-away party, Ruth."

Mabel left around eight o'clock without seriously injuring herself during her stay. We ate potatoes and a roast my mother had started in the slow-cooker before work and, as we ate, we talked about everything with the exception of my leaving. I helped Mother with the dishes and then quietly hid myself away in my room.

My room was quite a bit larger than my mother's, for she had insisted on taking the smaller room because it made her feel more "secure". The most obvious and striking features of my room were the waist high piles of books in every corner. The books ranged from ancient warfare, to novels, to history, even art and science. My bed was fairly large, something my father had made for me out of Southern wood when he had been working as a carpenter. That had been a long time ago.

I grabbed a book off a dysfunctional pile near my bed and sat on the cotton sheathed mattress. I looked from the cover to the arched window beside my bed. The city streets were quiet, but light could be seen from many of the tall complexes the surrounded our little piece of the conurbation. A light breeze found its way through the open window and proved itself to be a bit cool for my liking. I pulled shut the curtain that hung from the posts of my bed and reread the words that would always remind me of home:

"I have come to believe, in my adventures, that there is no such thing as coincidence, only the inevitable."

This beautiful idea was printed in an ink that refused to bleed on the fine paper that cradled it. The leather bound book always sat by my bedside. It took me a long time to understand those words and even longer to live my life in the aura they breathed. It took longer than my childhood. It took longer than adolescence. It took longer than that night or many nights that would follow.

Chapter 3

I find train stations to be some of the most emotionally conflicting places in all the Continents. Lovers run into each others arms upon arrival; families cry as their beloved ones go off to some cruel war. Then there are people like me, neither knowing if they are parting or arriving to a destination. Some places felt like neither, a sort of stop in the center of a journey that must be left for better or for worse. That morning in Ren felt like a beginning.

Streams of smoke billowed into the air from the center of the city. The wind blew along the platform in a less than apathetic manner that felt like a bidding of good riddance. I bit my lip and hugged my mother goodbye and did the same to Mabel and her family. My luggage sat beside me on the platform as I tightened my knee length trench coat against the chilliness of the morning.

Mabel handed me a book I had seen her reading many times before. It was The Art of the Empires,a rather pretentious book on ancient history and a sorry record of how history never fails to repeat itself. The binding was worn from many readings and the cover was scratched to the point where the title was barely visible. Truthfully, it had no significant value aside from the fact it had become a parting present from my best friend.

I could feel tears in my eyes, but held them back as the train pulled up to the station. A breeze blew my bobbed hair into my face as I boarded the train.

Comfortably in my seat, I opened the book to the title page. Printed in perfect penmanship were three words: "Godspeed, my friend". It was as perfectly cheesy as Mabel could bother to make it. I inhaled my last breath of Ren's chilly atmosphere.

I refused to look back.

The train screeched to a halt and the commotion that followed awoke me from me sleep. I pulled myself straight in my cramped train seat and looked out the window.

The Wasteland.

The militarized zone was heavily guarded by troops from the upper most southern provinces which included Freycrest, Amalon, and West Allaston. The militants from each province were dressed in uniforms that identified their homeland.

A young, brunette man, dressed as from Amalon, walked aboard the train. He was fully armed with a pistol, which must have been bartered for a large sum in the Eastern Trade State. He did a quick sweep of the aisles, obviously looking for wanted criminals and clearly defined bandits who may be trying to breach the security of the gates that lead through the Wasteland and over the great bridge that spanned the Channel.

We appeared to be clear, because he slipped off the train and reported to a Freycrestian officer outside the train's doors.

As I continued to gaze out the window, I saw a few vehicles heading in the same direction as the train, except traveling over the transport road in the direction of the bridge. Vehicles like that were rare and only the military owned them in most districts, except in the richer cities such as Old Wilsaw in Habringvale. However, these were no rich person's toy of choice. They were huge military vans equipped with light but sturdy armor that warded off bandits and supposedly the dirty bombs of militant gangs. The troops must have been headed home, because few were fully armed by the time they stepped foot into the hulking machines.

The train lurched forward and chugged off in the same direction as the vehicles, only to pass them within a few minutes. The horizon was glowing in the afternoon sun as we flew along a makeshift desert that had once been a deciduous forest, many eons before. Abandoned bandit camps and forts of wood and stone darted the landscape and provided a rare break from the hypnotism brought about by miles of sand.

The curse of the sea is a long living legend of the Old Country. This land was once blessed by the Angels, but the people were immoral and preyed upon the weak, so their fertile fields were destroyed by hurricanes and tornadoes and the citizens were forced into a hard, nomadic life. Oppression by external forces is the only way to maintain the peace in the region, but even that is not common outside of the land controlled by the various militaries.

Dwelling on such ancient history tired my weary mind and I quickly fell asleep again. I did not wake up when we hit the bridge or when we passed through a second security check at the opposite end of the militarized zone.

Chapter 4

The train pulled into the station and I blinked at the violent street lights outside the window. A deep purple haze suspended itself over Brideshore and made the night seem mystical and calm. I rubbed my face with the back of my hands and grabbed my bags before exiting the train.

I stumbled onto the platform and noticed how incredibly hot and dry the air was, especially for a seaport town. I pulled off my jacket and stuffed it into one of my bags before taking a thorough look around.

Beyond the train station I could see many high-rises of red and gold-ish brick. These complexes contrasted drastically to the ones back north. They had huge windows and doors that appeared to have fronts of glass, instead of the heavy wood used to keep out the northern draft. The roads appeared to be cobblestone and were kept in excellent condition. Then I saw it, my first real garden.

The garden was beside the train station and contained an assortment of red and white roses that surrounded a silvery, stone bench. I slowly approached the garden and picked a single, white rose from a bush and twisted it in my fingers.

"Miss Bellegreen?" A timid looking boy, perhaps my age, came walking up to me. "Professor Trench has sent me to show you to your apartment…"

I turned to him and lowered the rose to my side. "I… I have my own apartment? I thought I would be living in something along the lines of a dormitory."

He looked a bit sheepish. "Oh, no, no. You are technically workingfor the university which supplies you with free room and board, as long as you remain within Brideshore. Besides, he believes it is important for his colleagues to have an independent working space."

I wouldn't consider myself a colleague to anyone who can call themselves "Professor".

"It's only a short walk this way." He said, turning towards the city. "Would you like help with your bags?"

My mother had sent most of my books ahead of time so I only had a couple of bags of clothes to weigh me down. The boy didn't seem to have the muscle mass to carry even one of the bundles I was burdening.

"I'm fine," I smiled as I followed him several blocks into what appeared to be an old, handsome residential area.

The residential area was really a sort of square cul-de-sac that surrounded another giant garden of every flower I had ever read about. The buildings had the same gold-ish hue as many in the city and were mostly high rise, except for a black and white mansion that seemed to have been transformed into a library of sorts.

The sheepish boy led me into one of the buildings and up to the fifth floor. The interior of the buildings were simple, but highly fashionable compared to anything I had seen before in my life. The floors were a deep red mahogany and the walls were a fairly neutral shade of cool grey. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the hall on each floor. We stopped at room 517 and he handed me the key.

"Good luck. I will be in room 202 if you need anything." He turned back towards the stairs before I could say a word.

I opened the door and nearly passed out from the living quarters I was exposed to. The ornate windows of the main room reached nearly floor to ceiling and gave an excellent view of the garden below. A large, mahogany writing desk that perfectly matched the floor sat right before the great windows. On the far side of the room stood a huge bookcase with all the books I had sent and many strange, foreign books I had never seen. Beside the bookcase was a rather plush couch and matching set of chairs. The center of the room was draped with an emerald green space rug that complimented the hues of the huge room beautifully. A kitchenette with many strange contraptions and a deep red café table with matching chair was nestled into the far corner of the room.

The bedroom contained a queen sized bed, a four poster; another huge bookcase; and a wardrobe large enough for three people. The rug was a miniature of the one in the main living area. A door appeared to lead into a spacious bathroom. I placed my clothes into the wardrobe, and then carefully made my way back into the main room to have a further look around.

On the desk sat a letter. I opened the ivory paper with a bit of hesitation. Inside the envelope was a piece of stationary that matched the paper and a plastic card with a raised identification code. The note read as follows:

"Dear Miss Bellegreen,

I am terribly sorry I could not meet you this evening at the train station; I had some late business that required attendance. I requested that one of my junior assistants, Peter, meet you in my place and direct you to your living quarters. Naturally, if you are reading this, then he has been quite successful in that endeavor.

The card included can be use to purchase goods anywhere in Brideshore. For now, you have unlimited credit for food and $100 a month in personal expenses, which will compound each month. Money from royalties and side jobs you may pursue can be added to the card as needed.

I would like to arrange a meeting with you for tomorrow, August 20th, at two o'clock in the afternoon. If this time is inconvenient for you, you may visit me in the faculty building located on campus or simply telephone me at extension 018. I look forward to our meeting.

Sincerely,

Professor J. M. Trench"

The steel blue seal below was that of the university. I read the letter a second time.

What the heck is "telephoning"?

My eyes darted to a few strange machines in the kitchenette. One was a funny, metal, two foot high cube that was cool to the touch.

It's like the ice chest we keep at home, only it keeps itself cool with no ice.

The next was a rather high tech stove that had flat, glass burners. This was different from the gas burners and iron coils I was accustomed to from the ranges back home.

Finally, there was a box mounted to the wall on which was attached a dial and what appeared to be a wire with a mouth and ear piece.

Oh, I remember seeing one of these in the capital building.

I picked up the earpiece and held it my ear. I stared at the telephone for a while before putting the receiver down.

I have no idea how to use it.

I sighed and made my way back to the bedroom. The bed was warm and inviting so I sunk into the covers without changing into any evening garments. From where I lay, I could see the shimmering moonlight illuminate the enigmatic violet that perpetually claimed Brideshore as its own. The stars beyond twinkled in the twilight of another transient night. I tried to ignore my racing mind as I fell asleep.

But those stars are the same as back home.

I woke up in the late morning in a state of flustered panic. I had failed to recognize my new surroundings and it took me a moment to regain my composure. I tumbled out of bed and checked myself in the mirror.

Really, I hadn't gotten enough sleep in the new environment; this was evident by the heavy look of my eyes and the puffiness of my face. I touched the mirror with uncertainty.

How will I ever hope to succeed if I can't even get enough sleep to cope with this strange new world?

I turned away. Honestly, I didn't want to see myself that way. Or maybe it was that I couldn't bring myself to believe what I was thinking. But quitting wasn't at all in my nature.

I opened the door to the bathroom and stepped onto the cool tiles. A large, claw foot bathtub was at the far end of the room. A closet was quite full of towels as well as soap and shampoo. I slipped out of my traveling clothes and filled the tub to the rim.

The soak was unlike anything I had experienced in a long time. It seemed to wipe away the tension and anxiety I had been storing for the day ahead. I watched the ceiling as the warm water covered my body and lulled me into a tranquil state. I seemed to forget I was in a strange place in a city I had only read about in magazines and history books. I could almost shut my eyes and be back in the familiar surroundings of our complex's bathhouse in Ren.

I snapped to attention when I heard a loud knock in the door. I quickly lifted myself from the suds and wrapped myself in a towel.

There was no one at the door. I guess I was a bit thankful for that, because I hadn't really had the time to find a robe or put on anything besides the towel. It saved everyone a bit of embarrassment.

I was about to return to my sanctuary when I stubbed my toe on something hard. At first I thought it was the doorframe, but, when I looked to my feet, I noticed a brown cardboard box. I couldn't exactly let go of the towel around me, so I gently pushed it into my room with my foot, which was difficult because it proved itself to be quite sturdy.

I shut the door and ran to the bedroom to find a robe in my wardrobe of clothing. When I returned, I put the box on my desk and simply gawked at it.

Who would be sending me packages when I have been in Brideshore for only a day? Also… why is it so heavy?

I pulled a knife from the kitchenette and sliced open the seal. Under a layer of newspaper was an old fashioned typewriter, the kind I had seen in use by certain merchants when I was a child. It was brass and shined magnificently on the center of the mahogany desk, where I decided to keep it for use.

It's so… lovely. There's no note attached and no return address.

I sat at the desk and continued to stare at the keys. I lifted my hand and reached for one of the pieces of paper that had also been supplied in the box. I threaded it into the typewriter and allowed my hands to hover over the keys, but not touch them. I remained motionless.

I have no inspiration.

I didn't move.

No, not now. There will be a time.

I returned to the bedroom and dressed myself. The clock said it was nearly noon. As I left, I took one last look at the typewriter, sitting patiently in the golden light of the windows.

There is a time for everything.

I closed the door behind me and took a breath as I prepared myself to enter a new life that could only offer more than what had ever previously existed.

Chapter 5

The air was hotter than the night before. The buildings must have had some sort of temperature control system, because they had been quite comfortable from the time of my arrival. The curious thing is, even with all the sun the region offered, the people were not particularly tan.

I scrutinized the public about me. Most of them had fair skin and rather light, cropped hair in red and yellow hues. They sat on benches, chatted in the city square, read books over coffee at the local café. They all seemed to live so simply in their bizarre, complex world.

Brideshore may be the capital of Freycrest, but its population is not highly dense. Most people seemed to live north of the commercial bloc, which is north of the university. Here and there, someone would do a double take at me.

I guess I did look a bit outlandish to my observers. I did not just have olive skin and dark hair, but also dressed in knee-length, layered skirts and tights with black strapped shoes. Such things were not just fashionable in Ren, but they were also necessary to keep out the nearly year-round cold. Here, both men and women wore light slacks and patterned blouses and shirts made of thin cotton.

One woman was staring at me, in particular. Actually, to say "woman" was a bit of a stretch. She was only a bit older than myself, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She was dressed as if of the Freycrestian military, but seemed to be engaged in a rather casual conversation with a few likewise dressed, male companions. She wore baggy, starched pants and a tight, green shirt with a high neckline and wide bands at the shoulders. Over that, she wore a knee-length, black jacket. Her hands were on the hips of her cargos, pushing the open coat back from where it would customarily be draped at her sides. Her long, blonde hair was parted to one side and failed to be cropped as most of the citizens had seemed to deem proper and fell in a shining cascade of waves. She kept glancing at me, and she did not seem to be a very warm character.

I tried to look preoccupied with the coffee and sandwich I was eating outside the café. I started at the unnaturally red tomatoes and swirls of beige cream. I shifted in my cast-aluminum seat and looked upward just as she took another glance at me. Our eyes locked. I quickly took a bite of my sandwich and glanced into the café, in the exact opposite direction of the woman.

I knew she was still watching me. I could feel it in my bones.

What is this girl's problem? I hope she understands that staring is often taken in offense.

I tossed my sandwich wrapper into a bin outside the café and handed the ceramic coffee cup to a passing waiter as I stood up. I blinked in the early afternoon light and looked across the street. She was finally gone, along with the other militants who were in her company. I walked away before she could have a chance to reappear.

I quickly came to the conclusion that cobblestone is very pretty, but highly difficult to walk on in chunky heels. The smooth, if not cracked, streets of Ren were always stable for easy walking, although not much to look at. I reminded myself to go clothing shopping that afternoon, after my meeting with the professor.

I crossed the garden in the middle of the residential complex at the university and entered the silent, looming library's front entrance. Professor Trench's office was located on the third floor of the massive structure and which I had to climb two sets of spiral staircases to reach. The old library was dead silent inside, as if abandoned, but very well maintained. The bottom two floors were packed with rows and rows of massive bookcases lined with books, old and new. There were several smaller rooms at the rear of each level reserved for university employees only. The thought of exploring the enigmatic and long forgotten reaches of the library filled me with a thrilling sensation of excitement and familiarity.

I reached the third floor, a long, stuffy corridor floored and lined with doors of dusty oak. I knocked on office 309 and was immediately greeted by a rather flustered older man. He had a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose and a coarse, grey beard that matched his surprisingly full hair. His tweed suit was a bit rumpled and he held a large pile of books under his right arm.

He stopped in his tracks. "Ah! Miss Bellegreen, I have been expecting you."

He escorted me into his office, which was about twice as stuffy as the corridor. Many of the numerous shelves were laid thick with dust and the room reeked of stale smoke, as if from a pipe. The majority of the books that occupied the walls, Professor Trench's desk, and even the floor were yellowing with age and excessive use. I took a seat on a rather overstuffed leather couch before his great desk.

"I hope you will excuse the fact I have not given you very adequate time to settle into your new home," He said as he sat across the desk from me. He adjusted an old table lamp on the desk and then patiently folded his hands.

"It's perfectly fine, really," I insisted. I started to feel a bit nauseated by the atmosphere of the place. "You said you had my first assignment laid out?"

He seemed to be pleased to get to business. "In fact, I do." He pulled out a large, grey file from a drawn of his desk and dropped it on the desktop with a surprisingly dense thud. A bit of dust flittered into the air. He started flipping through the file and didn't look up when he began to speak.

"Frankly, Ruth, I am interested in knowing more about those with whom I have the pleasure of working. You were born and raised in the city of Ren, correct? In the Old Country?"

I was a bit taken back by his directness. "Yes, I was."

He chuckled a bit. "A great country. The people have made it absolutely beautiful over the years. Cold as the Devil's den, though, if you ask me. Then again, I've only visited once in my life."

"Northlyn is colder," I added. "The ground there is always too frozen to grow even the most basic of crops."

"That's why they mine coal and chop timber," Trench stated matter-of-factly. He pulled a single paper from the file and lay it on the desk. "I am particularly interested in some of the ancient folk tales of the region."

"The tales are very similar in both Northlyn and the Old Country. Most of them are centered on the Angels, though."

"Indeed, they are," He smiled. "I would like for you to do some research for me, starting here. This library has a large selection of books on all sorts of myths and legends. Most are in the restricted section, though." He handed me a silver key from the file. His voice suddenly dropped to a low volume. "I think there is more truth to the stories than anyone is willing to admit. Also!" He stood and turned to a world map that hung from the grimy wall behind his desk. "Your work will bring you to many places. Hunting for rare and forgotten books will be another part of the experience. Books are truly worlds within worlds, Ruth, and they are located in many tiny parcels throughout the globe."

I couldn't help but laugh inside. There is no truthbehind the stories. It's just a way to explain things we are afraid of, such as life, death, a poor harvest, or the origins of God-forsaken lands such as the Wastelands.

"Professor," I began. "You seem to be assigning to me a job not unlike that of Fermín from The Shadow of the Wind."

Trench seemed a touch impressed by the fact I had such memory of the novel. "I believe you mean the novel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, no? Not the work of Carax, himself?"

I though about what he had said for a moment. "Carax… he is only a fiction character."

The professor shook his head. "I wouldn't be so confident that there is no truth behind the story our friend Zafón has presented to us."

"So there really is an enigmatic city called 'Barcelona' somewhere in the Continents?"

"I wouldn't take it that far."

I paused. "Professor Trench, why are you so interested in these tales?"

He reached for a pipe on his desk, looked at it with dissatisfaction, and placed it back where it had been resting. "Well, I am a university professor. It's partially knowledge for knowledge's sake. Also, our history is greatly intertwined with these tales. Imagine if we could finally learn from that history. Imagine if we could reduce the number of wars within this continent…"

I realized my professor was a dreamer, and nothing was particularly wrong with that. His ideas just seemed a bit far-fetched. The Continent of Winds was notorious throughout the world as being very bellicose, mainly among its own sectors. It was against international policy to import weaponry to any country in either the North or the South, so most wars were fought with crude explosives and fire-bombs. Law enforcement mostly focused on preventing the trafficking of guns, tanks, and ammunition, so many armies were equipped with swords and knives that somehow managed to slip under the radar. Freycrest was a very desirable land, so, throughout the years, many invaders have attempted to penetrate its borders, mostly unsuccessfully. That is why, when mapped, most countries in the South seemed to bubble out from Freycrest.

"When do I start?" I asked.

He turned to me and a look of unbridled joy crossed his face. "Immediately, if you don't mind! Well, of course, not this very second. Enjoy yourself for a bit and adjust to life in our city, I'm sure there is much you must be interested in exploring. There is always tomorrow to work. In fact, I will have Peter send the list of works I would like you to search for first. It will be at your apartment by tomorrow morning." He stuck out his hand and I stood to shake it.

"Sounds like a plan."

Chapter 6
I stumbled out of the professor's office and down the two flights of stairs, into the path that surrounded the nearest garden. I hadn't realized how suffocating the third floor was until I found myself collapsed on a bench, almost gasping for breath. The summer air was still hot and dry and I quickly realized I needed to do some shopping if I wished to survive in the climate.

It was a five minute walk to Brideshore's market, which was just beyond the library, outside of the university's campus. Rows and rows of stalls lined the gravel streets, selling everything from tea kettles to dresses to small, exotic animals. I stood before a rather large clothing stall that sold a vast quantity of foreign items that could not have been from any local country. Beaded skirts and blouses with large cutouts hung from the rafters of the stall and stacks of china lined the countertop. An intricately detailed teapot sat on a table, out of reach from the counter, along with what appeared to be several silver pocket watches and gold lockets. At first, I could have sworn that no one was attending the stand, but suddenly, a woman stood from where she had been adjusting items bellow the counter and flashed me an over-practiced smile.

"Hello! Welcome to my humble little shop." Her hair was wild and coolly dark with strands that must have been dyed silver, for she was far too young to have graying hair. Her bright blue eyes pierced through me.

"Hello…" I stated. I took a quick look around to see if anyone else was surprised by the woman's eccentricity. No one seemed to notice. "I'm looking for some summer clothes, but nothing too expensive."

The woman looked me up and down. She mustn't have been more than twenty-five, but she seemed to have the eyes of a retail expert. "You are… from the North." She nodded in agreement to her own suspicions. "The Old Country, I take it. No one in Northlyn wears shoes like that, or short skirts, for that matter." She ducked below the counter before I could say anything. When she came back up, she hoisted a heavy trunk over the counter and placed it beside me. She ran around the counter and started to rummage through its contents.

She paused and took another look at me. "My name is Nevaeh, but I should have told you that before I started talking retail. Sorry about that, I just get a little too into my job." As she said this, she pulled out a long blue maxi dress and held it in front of me before shaking her head and tossing it back in the trunk. She laid several items on the counter including pastel blouses, cotton skirts, sundresses, and an impressive collection of floppy hats.

"Oh, let the girl wear pants, will you? You sell clothing only my grandmother would find appealing… well, that would be true if I had a grandmother." I did not recognize the voice.

A woman stood behind us. Not just any woman, thewoman. Her crossed arms were bare and pale where they had been previously hidden under her jacket. She was much taller than I remembered her, sizing up at almost six feet of lean muscle and raw attitude. She stood with a scowl on her face and her eyes set on Nevaeh.

"Oh, hush, Archaea. Just because you're such a tomboy doesn't mean other cannot act with some class." Nevaeh smiled wryly, but in good humor. She turned from her company and pulled a makeshift awning from the front of her structure and two tall stools from beneath the counter. She stood behind the counter and leaned in towards us, signaling for the woman, who I now understood to be Archaea, and I to take a seat. I sat down on one of the stools but Archaea remained standing.

"Planning on staying?" Nevaeh stated coolly as she turned from us and poured three great glasses of sparkling water. Archaea reluctantly took a seat by my side. We received our glasses and I sipped mine to a great relief from the burning heat of day. Archaea just stared at hers on the counter.

Nevaeh leaned on her elbows on the counter and casually asked,"How's the war? I thought you wouldn't be back until winter."

Archaea sighed and shook her head. "I'll tell you, it's a bloodbath. Not much of a 'revolution' as the newspapers like to make it out to be. Our troops are simply cannon fodder and our generals have started pulling almost every soldier we have into combat duty. I lost most of my troops in a battle last month and got beat up pretty badly, myself." She pulled down the collar of her shirt to reveal a great diagonal gash in her chest, just below her collarbone, which was about a foot in length and was healing beneath an intricately woven mass of coarse, medic-made stitches. She just shook her head again. "I honestly don't blame western Allaston for seeking independence from the eastern half of the country, but they are fools to think this would be an easy war. They are also fools because they believe they can prevent the corruption in the new government that they detested in the old."

Nevaeh just blinked sadly and nodded her head as Archaea spoke. "And these alliances pull apart our own quiet country. I could never live my life in the military; I have no idea how you do it, Archaea."

"They would never let me leave. I'm one of the best commanders they have, despite the fact I even rub our own Freycrestian troops the wrong way. Oh, don't look at me that way. You and I both know I'm not the easiest person to get along with." She bit her lip and made circles on the counter with her index finger. "Look. I came to see you because I need some information. It regards the transportation routes of vessels throughout the Channel, as well as elsewhere. Government, commercial, known smuggling routes… I need to know them all."

"I'll have a map drawn up for you by Thursday. Why do you need this information, anyways?" Nevaeh asked puzzled.

"It's supposed to be classified information, but it's no secret that fugitives have been smuggled into the South from the Wasteland for decades now. You're great, Nevaeh, thank you so much, I honestly appreciate it." Archaea stood up to leave and Navaeh reached out to shake her hand over the stall's counter.

Nevaeh smiled and gently added, "What should I be expecting as payment?"

"That's negotiable, but you know I always have something for you. Oh," Archaea paused and looked back to the stall, "I think that white blouse is perfect for the girl. And get her some pants for her own sake." She walked away without saying another word.

Nevaeh turned her attention back to me and topped off my glass with Archaea's untouched drink. "I'm not just a trader. I am also an information broker, of sorts, although most people just call me the town gossip. However, nothing's free, you know." She picked up the blouse Archaea had chosen for me and dug around in an old cardboard box in the back of the stall until she found a few pairs of women's black trousers. "Ugh, these things are ancient. I'll give you them for three each. The blouses are ten, but only because I think you will be a frequent customer."

It was the following morning, a Wednesday, that I finally finished unpacking my last things and had a full opportunity to appreciate my apartment, as well as my new life. I was quite impressed with Archaea's selection of blouse style, even if it was a bit risqué compared to what I was used to wearing. The blouse was fitted throughout the torso and had baggy sleeves that reached just bellow my elbows. Two large cutouts exposed both of my shoulders. The whiteness of the material made my naturally tan skin seem even more exotic than it typically did compared among the fair skinned inhabitants of the South.

I collapsed onto my overly plush couch and cracked open a book from the shelf. It was in a strange language I had studied the past few years, but in which I was only partially fluent. The language was a dialect called Tel, which was spoken only in the Continent of Light. Personally, I felt it tried to cram too many consonants together.

After a few minutes, I put the book down and rubbed my eyes. I looked at my hands to discover they were free of makeup. I hadn't worn makeup in a long time. I decided it was about time to make myself look presentable, for a change.

I walked barefoot into the large bathroom and lined my eyes with pale green shadow and a few thick coats of mascara on top of my skin foundation. I decided to skip the lipstick because it seemed a touch unnecessary, given that I was simply going to the library that day. I stared at myself in the mirror. In it, I saw a girl I had never seen, a girl who bared the essence of everything I wanted to be presented as. She was on the tall side, perhaps five-foot-nine with jet black hair that bobbed where it skimmed her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of coins and seemed to gaze into the depths of eternity. I was a touch surprised to find that girl was me.

A minute later, I found myself to be standing in the main room of the apartment, gazing out the window from behind my desk. Peter had left me the list Professor Trench had promised to send. I couldn't help but wonder how Peter had such extensive access to my apartment, especially when I was not home. The list had the same envelope and handwriting as the note I had received the morning before. I tore it open.

I sighed when I saw how long the list was.

There is no way the university library contains all of the books here… and what about this one? A Northlynian Legacy?I've heard of it and it is impossible to find in anywhere but Northlyn, itself! So, this is what Trench meant by my work "brining me to many places".

Someone coughed from behind me.

Oh, please don't let it be Archaea.

It wasn't.

Julius stood in the doorway. I was amazed by how much he had changed. He was taller, perhaps an even six feet and had his wavy black hair cut Caesar-style. He wore a military uniform similar to Archaea's, only he had no coat and his shirt had short sleeves instead of bands. He mysteriously smiled and held out a large bouquet of wild flower.

"You look… so much older, Ruth," he managed to say, his face blushing a touch. The flowers were Queen Anne's lace with a few sea roses cut with long stems. They looked as if he had picked them himself.

"Julius!" I gasped. I ran over and threw my arms around him.

Generally uncomfortable with physical contact, he hesitantly embraced me in return. As I released him, he handed me the flowers. "A housewarming present, of sorts. I'm only in town for the day; I have to be back on base by mid afternoon."

"Oh…" I said. "I actually have to work today." I glanced at the clock. "But it's only nine thirty. You can stay for a while." I took the flowers and placed them in a glass vase on the café table in the kitchen.

He took a seat on the sofa and glanced about the room. "Mighty fancy place you have here. I've heard all about these apartments. They were originally constructed to be condos for the rich people in Brideshore, but then the project was moved to the western part of the city, along the shoreline, and the university bought up these properties for an excellent price, or so I've heard." He cracked open the book I had left on the couch. "Learning dead languages, are we?"

"Pfft, I already knowTel," I teased. I snatched the book out of his hand and waved it in front of his face. It was so good to have him back in my life. "Besides, the entire Continent of Light is dead, anyways."

"Then they became people like you and me." Julius stared out the window on the opposite wall of the room. "They used up all their clean water and poisoned the rest in their own war. They then traveled to the Continent of Winds and created the northernmost country, Northlyn. Tall people of tan skin and dark hair... sort of odd geographically, don't you think? At least they got smarter. Northlynians are awful stringent with their resources, no?"

"My father was from Northlyn," I said quietly as I sat next to Julius on the sofa. "He never really spoke of his childhood, but I know life is difficult there. It's covered in snow half the year and permafrost the other. His family was from some little village of loggers and foresters."

"You miss him, don't you?"

I felt the resulting silence press against my eardrums and I forced myself to reply. "I was rather young when he died. Thirteen, I believe. The disease that swept thought Ren that winter took the lives of too many innocent people. And Olivia left that spring."

"Ruth, you don't need to tell me this if it brings up such painful memories."

I shook my head and hid my face in my hands. Peeking through my fingers as I stared at the floorboards, I continued my story. "She was six years older than me, you know? She met some merchant from Ashwater and they ran away together. My mother and I never heard from her again."

Another silence crept across the room. Now it was Julius's turn to begin in a soft, deliberate voice. "That was the same winter Celia died." He took a deep breath and turned towards me, looking me directly in the eye. "Ruth, I'm being sent away."

I looked at him through desperate eyes. "Going away?"

"I'm being sent to western Allaston. I should be back by late spring. This... this is the real reason I came to see you today. I just wanted to tell you to take care of yourself." He reached out and gently touched the side of my face.

I sat like that for a moment, perfectly still. Time froze and I found myself in a deep abyss crafted by my own mind. However, a different pattern of thoughts crossed my sight. I remembered Celia Pollard when she was a child with coarse, dirty blonde hair and grey-brown eyes. She was always so happy and full of life, the way healthy children should always be. I could sill see her perched upon a mossy stone in the valley behind the recreational facility. I believe I was only ten, at the time. She must have been eight.

'Ruth, just watch me. I can fly, Ruth, I really, really can.'

'You are going to fall to your death, Celia. Get down from there, will you? Besides, children cannot fly.'

'Adults cannot fly, either.'

'That's not what I mean.'

She jumped from the stone and ran to me.

'I don't feel like flying today.'

'That is because you are not a bird, Celia.'

Three years later the disease made its way through Ren. It was spread through the water. My father was one of the first to die of the infection. Many children became sick and were isolated in their homes until they recovered, or, more likely, died a premature death. It looked like Celia was going to be okay. She was allowed to leave her home and return to school. She played with the other children in the valley. Then one day she collapsed. It was her heart, they said. She was dead before she hit the ground.

"Ruth. Ruth?" Julius pulled me from my daydreams. "I have to get going, Ruth."

The clock read eleven-thirty. I stood and slowly walked to the kitchenette and touched the Queen Anne's lace. My back was turned to him and my voice had just the faintest quiver. "Don't die on me, Julius."

"I have a feeling that's not up to me." And then he was gone.

Chapter 7

I found myself in the library that evening, pouring over pages and pages of ancient folklore from a book with shredded seams from years of being tossed about only to be stored in one of the back most rooms of the Brideshore library. I was working well into the night when a sudden feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed me. Only then did I have my first chance to think since that morning.

It was then I realized that I was alone.

I should stress that I was very, very alone. Mabel. Mother. They were all in Ren, going about their peaceful lives in the city air that would quickly become bitter and frozen, come September. Julius. He was being sent to his death in a far away land. I supposed he was alone, as well. I was in strange land of strange people who spend their days forcing themselves to smile and ignoring the horrors of the world outside their own utopia.

And there I was, dissolving into a gutted mansion that had become a graveyard of the olden days when splendid Freycrest dominated the Continent.

The tiny room I was in was dusty from years of being largely ignored by the library's skeleton crew of a staff. The large oak table at which I was seated and the looming bookcases that encompassed me had many dark grooves that spoke of years of use in private residences. I stood from where I was seated and ran my hand along the whitewashed door at the back of the room. The door appeared to have been sanded and repainted many times over the course of its life. I don't know what possessed me to try the gold knob.

It was locked.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I was tired. I wasn't thinking clearly. Why would I find a need to go into that room, anyways? It must have just been used for the storage of furniture, as it paled in comparison to the other, far more ornate doors that lined the walls of the library's labyrinth of corridors.

I gathered my books in my arms and started towards my residence. I crossed the courtyard and entered the grand, gold brick building. I dragged myself up four flights of stares and opened the door to my apartment.

I almost didn't see her as I placed the books on my desk.

"Looks like you never even bothered to try out the television you have over here."

She pressed a button on the controller and a black box I had never noticed lit in the corner near the sofa. A newscast was being shown.

"No televisions in the Old Country, I take it?" Archaea said to me, her eyes still glued to the lit box.

"How the hell does everyone keep getting into my apartment?!" I demanded, losing my patience from lack of sleep and the sudden shock of the woman's presence.

"You didn't answer my question."

"There is clearly a larger problem for me to be dealing with right now and it involves certain individuals breaking into my property and sitting on my couch, for all the Angels's sake!" I shouted, pacing around the room.

"So Nevaeh's visited you too, then?" She still hadn't turned her attention from the newscast.

"What? No!"

"Not yet? Oh, well. She does as she likes. She's pretty weird, though. I guess everyone from the Eastern Trade State is like that."

I gave up and plopped myself in one of the chairs near the girl. She had forsaken the military uniform for a pair of deep red jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt. A large duffel bag was sitting next to her on the couch.

"You betternot be planning on moving in."

She appeared amused and finally turned her attention towards me. "Now when did you get so mouthy? The bag? Oh, the military's having me take a 'break' to recover from my injuries. Something about not wanting me to bleed out if my stitches pop in combat. I'm staying in town for a bit with a family friend who owes me a favor."

"So why are you here?" I asked, blindly staring at the televised report of the war in Allaston. A middle aged woman with a sunken face was explaining how the conflicts keep getting bloodier by the day.

Archaea sighed and seemed to try to crawl into her sweatshirt as she sunk deeper into the couch. "I think I'm headed to Northlyn soon. Gotta take time to see the world, you know? Plus, Nevaeh was telling me it will be near impossible to get a complete map unless I visit some scrollery up north. I believe you have some business in Stonevale, as well?"

"How do you know about that?"

She smirked. "Let's just put it this way. Nevaeh's the closest thing I have to a friend because I'm so... 'abrasive', as it has often been put. I'm the closest thing she has to a friend because she travels so damn much, buying goods to sell and whatnot, that she can't really form close relationships. That and she's quirky as all hell. She has her sources, as you now. She's willing to occasionally let some information slip if she feels it will benefit her in the long run."

I was still transfixed on the news report. A different reporter was interviewing a female Amalonian general on how the war in Allaston was affecting the security of the Wasteland. The general was a fair woman with near white hair in her late forties dressed in the military color of her country, purple. She had fine creases extending from her mouth and the corner of her eyes. She seemed to be rather tired. "I don't even know if I have to physically go to Northlyn to get my research materials. Can't I just have it shipped by train?"

Archaea shook her head. "It's illegal to transport good between the North and South. Only on passenger train, and all goods must be accompanied by a person who can claim them. You know, in case there's a bomb or anything." She said this all rather matter-of-factly.

I walked to the desk and picked up the paper. "I'll have to go there soon, then. There are a few books I need to pick up." I sighed. "So how exactly did Nevaeh find out about my research?"

"She has her sources. That's all she tells me, anyways." Archaea stood and stretched. "Anyways, I'm leaving in early October if you're interested in accompanying me. Neavaeh said she can get us some tickets really cheap. Probably because it's the beginning of the cold season." She shrugged and started toward the door. She slung her bag over her shoulder and waved with her back turned to me. "I'll be seeing you." Then she suddenly turned. "You also may want to get that lock fixed. Just saying."

I practically flung myself into bed. I was getting sick of this place rather quickly. What right did Archaea have to refer to Nevaeh as "weird" when everyoneI had recently encountered was so strange? Foreign.Well, it is all part of living in a different region than where I had been raised.

The moon was full that night and it cast its dazzling silver beams upon the fine violet mist that slowly circumvented the city skyline. Twenty thousand tiny stars lit the sky beyond. I pulled my sheets up to my ears and felt myself drift to sleep in the dry, warm air of a Freycrestian summer.

Chapter 8

The next weeks flew by at an alarming pace. I truly threw myself into my work and quickly learned what is is to be a so-called "workaholic". There were dozens of books, several bookcases, and this was all in the first pair of tiny restricted rooms of the Brideshore library. I spent hours upon hours at the greyscale mansion or at the desk in my apartment, pouring over thousands of words, from those daintily scripted onto pieces of parchment, to those that were bold and black in mass produced, economically friendly editions of classic folklore and history. Perhaps I was using work as an excuse to ignore the fact my life was unravelling around me. Perhaps. The tiny white door did not enter my thoughts throughout all these weeks. Well, at least, not until that day.

It was just past noon and I was returning from lunch at the little cafe in the town square. I remember that day, faintly breezy with wisps of autumn in the late September air. I could not help but reflect upon what was occurring in Ren during those weeks: the beginning of the Harvest. Despite my stomach being full, my mouth was practically drooling at the thought of the sweet potato pie my mother made each Harvest. My heart ached at the thought of not being with her to enjoy the occasion.

I had just bought a set of sweater the prior week, in anticipation of Winter, but had later been told that Winter in the South rarely dipped below the freezing point of water. I still kept my wool coats from home. Today, I had chosen a white turtle neck with sleeves that reached the tips of my thumbs. I found I was happy to have kept some of my lighter skirts from home which, during the coolers months, did not seems as conspicuous as in the height of summer.

I reentered that same restricted room in which I had been working all week. The air was eerily silent around me, compared to the hustle and bustle of the town square at high noon. I sat at the scarred table and flipped open a copy of A History of Byforge, the computing machine I was given by the University (which I was yet to learn how to use properly) sat attentive by my elbow. I could not find my focus. Thoughts came flying at me like the droves of wasps whose nests occupied the corners of many old buildings in the North.

The house was a home, a stone cottage in the North, the only one for a mile around. Early June brought summer rains that muddied the ashen earth beneath the little girls' feet. The woman sat in her little wooden chair, reading a yellowing book bound in leather. The bearded carpenter said he wasn't feeling well. The water was no good, the townspeople said as they shook their solemn heads. They knew it was too late for that. The woman had a cabinet in which she stored the useless medicines. The cabinet was painted white. There was a little sliver lock. There was a little silver key.

A key.

I shot up from the table and ran to he back wall of the room. The scratched up door seemed to be awaiting my curious return. I fumbled in the pocket of my skirt and removed the little silver key Trench had given me many weeks before. It was already hauntingly tarnished, but it slipped into the golden lock of the door with ease.

The door creaked open with a chilling groan as I stared into the abysmal darkness. I fumbled along the wall close to the open door where there was at least a trace of light bleeding from the anteroom. I found a switch and tried to turn it on. It apparently hadn't been used in a long time, so I was forced to bang it with my fist in order to get any light from the ceiling. A slightly rusted chandelier lit the hallway before me. I glanced into the anteroom once more and then shut the door behind me with a slight thud.

The hallway stretched out before me, at least forty feet of deep grey stone and old, cast iron chandeliers that flickered every few moments. The air was very chilly here, surprisingly cool and crisp compared to the stuffy rooms of the main library. I suddenly found myself questioning what it was I was doing.

I must have been meant to open that door, why else would I have been given this key...? I hadthought it was a bit suspicious when I discovered the librarians had to open the "employee only" rooms for me with those plastic cards that slid into electrical locks... but what could possibly be down here for me? And why did I find a need to try the door for a second time, anyways?

I walked down the hall, my white slip on shoes not making a sound on the hard floors. I stepped myself very slowly and eventually reached a large, wooden door at the end of the hallway. It was crisscrossed by heavy iron bars and bore a single, steel doorknob. I reached for it and realized that it was icy cold.

I've come this far, I may as well go on.

I took a deep breath and turned the knob. This door opened silently on its ancient hinges. In this room, there was no more blackness. I gasped as I took in the sight. The room was a great cylinder, two stories high with walls of glass, thinly framed in deep red wood. It was entirely open, a spiral staircase at the rear for the room led to the second floor, a sort of circular balcony overlooking the ground floor. The first floor was floored entirely in reddish wood and was bare of all furniture, with the exception of a few sofas and many lush plants around its circumference. It seemed to have been a sort of ballroom in its glory days, which seemed to have long passed. Despite this, the room seemed to be free of the ashy dust of age.

The second floor, I discovered upon climbing the massive staircase, was carpeted in black with ivory molding. The bookcases stood fifteen feet high, crammed with a random assortment of novels and dictionaries, encyclopedias and magazines. A few tabled stood here and there, but they seemed to be in far too perfect condition to have ever seen use.

Upon my first look out the glass walls, I decided I wasn't in Brideshore anymore. The fields stretched for miles around the building. They bore a carpet of emerald green grass on which not a single thing grew. There was not a flower nor a weed, a tree nor a shrub. In the distance, cool purple mountains grew into the sky and scraped the clouds with enveloped their tips. This was not Brideshore, I was not certain if this was any part of the South, at all.

I stepped back from the windows, astonished.

Where the hell am I?

Still startled, I quickened my steps and descended the staircase in the back of the hall. When I reached the bottom of the steps I started to make my way to door through which I had entered, but something caught my eye. On top of a wooden pedestal sat a rosewood box, finely decorated in gold etchings. I could feel my heart quicken as I approached. The box was unusually warm under my touch, as if it had a pulse of its own which was giving off a strange heat. The box made a frightening snap as I opened it to reveal a puzzlingly large key. The key was made of silver and brass tendrils which were expertly wound around one another to make the object as long as the palm of my hand.

Well, then...

I still felt another wave of anguishing anxiety that urged me to get out of the room. Its ghostly state of perpetual perfection was wearing at my nerves. Without thinking, I practically sprinted from the room, slamming the door in my wake, the key still in my hand.

Interlude

It was a restless sleep, the kind you never seem to escape. The Earth was far beneath my feet and suddenly my cheek was pressed against its cool surface. I'm running down a hall, carpeted in grass with metal walls that gleam and spin around me. They rotate and spin until I collapse from running and can no longer stand. There I am trapped; I cannot stand back up. I can feel the grass is still beneath my toes. I am paralyzed and made sick by the swirling that continues in my head.

I find myself in places, strange realities that flash before my eyes and all around me. I find myself in small corners, locked in a box forgotten by time. I am bound by invisible chains that cause my wrists and ankles at ache. There is no sound, just stifling silence that rubs against my nerves until I am trashing and thrashing...

I stand at the center of a boundless eternity while the suns and the planets circle around in a great vortex of a galaxy. In this state, it is as if I am all-knowing, observing every detail of the universe around me but incapable of threading them together or acknowledging their greater purpose.

The key around my neck throbs, still made of silver and bronze, but dimming with my emotional agony. I hold it in my hands and it whispers cruel things to me. It tells me that it is my tormentor and my guardian. A piece of a puzzle I will never be able to fully solve. But there are worse things, still, I learn as the key radiates in a bitter tone. My heart races as it tells me the deepest of its secrets. My eyes grow wide and sting as if waking from a deep sleep.

It was made for me.

Chapter 9

"I knew you would be back!" Nevaeh smiled cheerily. Her hair was still long, wild, but pulled into a messy ponytail. Half of it had slipped out and thickly framed her face. She was wearing a fleece jacket and I could catch a glimpse of a space heater in the closed-in portion of her stall. It wasn't thatcold, in my opinion. Just goes to show how sensitive people can be when they didn't grow up in the land of eternal frost.

I blinked slowly from the sleepless nights I had been suffering lately. "Information, this time. Although I really like that tea set." I sat on a stool in front of her stall, just as I had done about a month before.

She smiled again and made a hand gesture to the tea set that showed how proud she was of her wares. "It's from Harbringsvale. Belonged to a rich aristocratic family by the name of Fieldings, I think. Only $35..."

"Nevaeh, I'm not buying it."

"Oh, right. Information." She leaned her elbows on the counter. "What can I do you for?"

I pulled the large key out of my sweater, where I had it tied around my neck. Nevaeh's eyes lit up as I dangled it before her. "What is this, Nevaeh? I haven't found any information on it in all the books in the library." I allowed my voice to drop to a whisper. "And I've been having these weird dreams..."

"I have no idea, Ruth, to tell you the honest truth." He eyes followed the swaying key like a cat that was being teased with a bit of string. "Oh, by the way." Her pulled her eyes from the key and reached below the counter. When she returned she slapped a piece of paper before me. "It's from Archaea. She says you are leaving next week." It was a economy class train ticket to Northlyn, one way.

"How could she assume that I would be leaving with her, just like that? I never gave her a definite answer..." I started. Honestly, I was too tired to argue.

Nevaeh disappeared behind her stall again and returned with a small coffee maker. She started a full pot of dark roast coffee, clearly an import. "I have a taste for the finer things in life," she said plainly. "You do look like death, Ruth. How weird could these dreams possibly be?"

I shook my head. "You could not begin to imagine the possibilities, Nevaeh."

"Where exactly did you find this key?" I noticed her Northern accent for the first time. It seemed that she usually put great effort into masking it while around less frequent customers, otherwise she rolled her r's much in the way my parents had. I had always strived to sound more articulate than that.

"There is no way in hell you would believe me."

The coffee finished brewing and she poured me an oversized mug. "I have traveled the word and have seen things you could not possibly begin to wrap you mind around." She smiled devilishly. "I am from the North, as well."

"Eastern Trade State, I have heard."

"From Archaea, no doubt." She downed half of her own piping hot mug in a single swig. She hadn't even put cream or sugar into it. "But, yes, my family is entirely composed to traders. They wanted me to stay with them, but they move far too much for my liking. I mean, I myself travel for three or four months a year, but I always return to Brideshore... I always feel there is something binding me here, like even if I wanted to leave there is no way I could bring myself to do it. But I digress."

I sipped my coffee, but only after putting four creams and three sugars into the steaming abyss. "The dreams are horrible and nonsensical. But the key, it tells me things about itself, about myself. It seems to know me better than I could ever hope to know myself."

"None of us know ourselves are well was we think we do or as well as we'd like to." Nevaeh gazed over my shoulder, across the street, lost in her own thoughts. "I, personally, fear the things that would become part of my knowledge if I were to truly know myself. We are disgusting creatures, us humans. Just look at the war in Allaston."

"True. Say, where is Archaea, anyways?"

"Beats me, that girl does what she wants. She just stopped by this morning to drop off your ticket. Your train is going directly to the capital, you know."

The industrial capital of the Continent of Wind was the second largest city in the North, founded in the highest mountain range in the entire continent in the northernmost part of Northlyn. It had an ancient name by which its inhabitants still call it, but to most outsiders it is simply "Stonevale". My father had told me of the dirty, sooty streets along which he grew up. Miners, most of them were, but the lucky ones were able to get a job in the logging business. The luckiest were the one who were able to move away. I had no idea what Archaea had plans for in a land even colder than Ren. In fact, the entire region was fabled to be covered by dense snow for at least half of the year.

"I'm going to have a word with her," I announced as I rose from the stool and bid my companion farewell. She waved me off with a flip of her pale wrist. "Just to let you know," she called after me, "I'm traveling come early April; I'll be gone until August."

I waved to her over my shoulder with a quiet smile. She was a peculiar girl.

Chapter 10

The note was written in sloppy lettering and hurriedly taped to my door. It hung crooked and dust was stuck beneath the tape. I pulled it off before examining it.

Miss Bellegreen,

Meet me in my office ASAP. Miss Eberhardt is awaiting you,

Prof. Trench

The letter was peculiarly informal to be coming from Professor Trench, especially with his title abbreviated "Prof.". I decided it would be a good idea to drop off my bag of books in the room and head directly to his office. I figured that "Miss Eberhardt" was most likely Archaea; her recent talk of travel had seem to spark the interest of the university and she had been already given several parcels to deliver to the North.

I entered my hushed apartment and was at first struck by its odd coolness. The power had gone out in my building around six o'clock that evening and my landlord had promised that it would be fixed as soon as possible. But still, the room was awfully cold for fall in the South.

It was already dark and I groped along the wall to find the oil lamp that I had kept under the sink in the kitchenette. I nearly bumped my head in the darkness, for the only illumination was that from the emergency lights that were weakly pouring into my room from the hallway. I eventually found the lamp, lit it, and closed the door behind me. A sudden click startled me.

I turned around to face the doorway of my bedroom in which stood a frighteningly pale girl, paler than nature could ever create. She stepped towards me and was further illuminated by the lamp. Her hair was jet black and her lips near blue, but I could recognize the face after all these years. I fell back, frightened, and dropped the lamp next to me on the carpet. Fortunately, it did not set the floor ablaze, but that thought never entered my mind. I could hear rain begin to pound against the windows of the living space; it was a frantic as my heartbeat.

I picked up the light and held it before me, still partially collapsed upon the ground, for it seemed I had somewhat lost my ability to stand. This feeling... I remember it from my dreams.The girl just cooly stared at me.

"Celia! You should be dead!" I stammered, my lips reluctant to utter the words.

"Well, yes. Er..." she paused "Well, not really." She glanced around my room with a cool stare. "I see you got the typewriter I left you a few weeks ago."
"H... how, Celia? The cholera! Your heart!" I shook violently as I rose to my feet.

She shook her head and looked me dead in the eye, through this required to her look upwards from her short stature. She looked older than before, perhaps fifteen? Sixteen?

She seemed to have read my mind. "Yes, Ruth, I look much older, now... or is it something else?"

"You seem so cold..."

She shrugged and sat at my desk in front of the unused typewriter. "More lonely than anything, Ruth. I can only stay in this place for a short time..."

I stood next to her and gazed out the window. Celia looked up from the typewriter and followed my gaze.

"Don't worry about me," she sadly smiled, "Julius will be joining me soon, but you have known that for a while now."

My face grew cold and I felt my heart once again shrivel within my chest. "No one will survive this war," I whispered. Celia's ghostly appearance began to register in my mind and I was eventually able to shake off the uneasy feeling I had been developing.

"No," she said. "Not a soul."

There was a long pause. "So," she started "Are you wondering how I came back?"

"The library." I knew. The key was the only warm thing in the entire room; it burned against my chest. "That room in the library." It all suddenly made sense. "But how?"

"Time and space are woven like a web. Each thread is a particular place and time, such as modern Brideshore or ancient Habringvale. All of these threads meet at the center and are spun farther and farther apart as the web is extended." Celia explained. "That center is a mystical place, The Mark. There are many doorways to The Mark, for the universe is many webs spun together into a massive ball, understand?"

I nodded. So far so good.

"Many different dimensions can be visited if you enter The Mark. But you have to have a key." She pulled a key of her own from her white dress. It was just like mine, only formed of tiny vines and a large, blood red flower. "This key is from the Kingdom of the Passed, a dimension where you go when you die. Its sort of like purgatory, only less fire." She paused again. "It's where I rest, now."

Her eyes glowed as she held up the key before me and I was compelled to hold up my own. They seemed to repel one another, like magnets. "They don't seem to like each other much," I observed.

"They don't belong together. It' a harsh reminder that I don't belong here, at least not anymore. I was torn from this dimension by a shadow called Death."

"You're awfully morbid."

"Eternal Rest gives you much time to think of macabre things," she sighed. She rose. "Ruth, this key chose you for a reason, just as this one chose me to deliver you a message. Not all is well, Ruth. You were born to span two dimensions, the one from which you came and the one that adopted you."

"How do you know of these things?" I demanded. It sounded preposterous. I was just a girl with a particularly educated mind who was born and raised in a grey city in the middle of a desert that had long ago frozen over. That's all there was to me. Wait. What had my mother told me...?

"This is all I know. I have been only told so much. From the day I met you I have always known that you have a certain aura that sets you apart. I did not understand until I, myself, was forced to leave the place I once loved so much." I could have sworn I saw tears rise in her eyes. "I have come to the conclusion that your mother is no fool, Ruth, and her story of your existence is no fable. That key chose you for a reason. It's now your job to discover what that reason is."

"Celia..." I whispered hoarsely.

"I have to go, Ruth," she said calmly. I watched her image shimmer and blur until I could barely see the features of her face.

"No! Celia! Don't leave me, not again!" I shouted, my body beginning to shake. I reached out for the fabric of her dress but it slipped from my fingers as she faded into the frigid air. I fell to my knees and sobbed. "Celia! Oh, Celia... you died so young. I lost you and soon Julius will be dead, as well! They will all be dead! Has the universe no pity to spare?" I was screaming at this point and the rain outside seemed to be pouring harder and harder in sync with the blood in my head. The door to my apartment cracked open and a figure crept in. She curled her long arms around my body as I cried and shuddered in her arms.

"It's okay," Archaea mumbled. "We all have these ghosts that haunt us."

Chapter 11

Although she hated to admit such things, Archaea had become anxious when I was late for my meeting with her and Professor Trench. She had come to my building to check on me and ended up watching my delirium, although I am not certain if she observed the girl. She eventually picked me up, limp and sodden with tears, and place me in my bed where I slept through the night and early into the next afternoon. She told me the following day that I didn't need to accompany her to Northlyn if I did not wish to do so.

"Please..." I said, my eyes pleading with her own. "Do not leave me alone."

Two days after the incident with Celia, I finally managed to bring myself to have a meeting with Professor Trench. His office was as musty as usual, if not more so due to the fact he now kept the door shut to keep out the draft from the hall. I sat on the overstuffed couch made of that treated cowskin (only the Angels know why Southerners liked such ridiculous furniture). Professor Trench sat behind his desk.

"So, how do you feel about Brideshore?" he smiled.

"I think it's rather nice here," I swiftly lied. "I think I'm adjusting well."

The professor only nodded, perhaps seeing that I had stiffened in my seat. "And I see you have made friends with Miss Eberhardt." He nodded again, consciously agreeing with the statement he had just made. "I think that's good for both of you young ladies. You need some close acquaintances to improve your life here and Archaea... well, let's just say Archaea has always been a difficult individual. She must appreciate your friendship." He smiled kindly, but for some reason I felt slightly on edge.

"She's a touch rough around the edges, but I don't think it's quite fair to accuse her of being 'difficult'."

Professor Trench sighed and rolled a pipe between his fingers. "I think it's fair that you now a bit more about Archaea before you persuit your journey together." He lit the pipe which proceeded to produce a stream of grey smoke. The smell did not improve the quality of the atmosphere in the room. "I only tell you this so you can look out for yourself, and Miss Eberhardt, as well. She was a troubled child, an orphan since birth. A woman from the country claimed she had found the infant beneath a large tree in the middle of a valley. The infant was sickly, perhaps from being left exposed for a couple of days before her discovery. She recovered miraculously and was eventually taken to the capital to find placement in a real home, but was never adopted. She is named for a sort of microorganism that can survive even the most unbearable stresses in life, archaea, or the ancient bacterium."

I nodded. "She seems to be one who can handle the rougher waves in life."

"She tends to live according to her virtue as a survivor. She entered the military when she was only seventeen." He changed the subject. "Ruth, I need you to deliver this to a friend of mine along the way. He lives just outside of Ren, where your train will be connecting. It will also be an excellent opportunity to meet with your friends and family."

I was glad for the opportunity to return home, but inwardly feared that upon arrival at my birthplace, I would not be able to tear myself from its familiar embrace. Sure, the soil was greyer and the stone buildings dirty with the filthy remainders of the toils of hard working people, but it was home. It would always be home. More still, a place where I could escape the ghosts of my past, at least for a while. But wasn't that the sort of relief leaving home was supposed to evoke, not returning to it? Oh, the irony of my life was wearing at my soul.

Archaea and I took the week to prepare for our departure and met on a chilly friday at exactly 7am. We met on the same train platform where I had arrived in Brideshore many weeks before. This place brought back memories of months earlier, but without so many familiar faces to wave me off. At least we had Nevaeh but, in his typical manner, the professor failed to meet me outside of our office arrangements and once again sent Peter with his best wishes for my safety and "success in my endeavor". Peter, Archaea, Nevaeh, and I stood before the great space where the train was to arrive at any moment. Archaea impatiently rapped on the face of her watch.

"Late, as usual." She sighed and flipped her pony tail of blond waves over her shoulder. "This is why I hate trains. Shame they won't let us use any of the military vehicles. Don't want to give any civilians a scare, I guess." Her laugh bordered on sadism.

Nevaeh sniffled her runny nose and turned to her. "That's why I travel by ship."

"Nevaeh, you should let us borrow your ship, then," Archaea snidely replied.

"Still in the Trade State," She said in a cool, distant tone. Archaea gave her a mild look of disbelief hinting at the fact she could not tell is her friend was serious or just outsmarting her. "My mother is probably using it. I hope she knows I need it in the spring." Nevaeh shook her head and it became quite evident that she was practically talking to herself. Peter just looked uncomfortable. I was holding my bag of clothes in one hand and a paperback novel in the other trying to focus despite the squabbling of my acquaintances.

"I- I think..." Peter began to stammer, "I think..." But we never knew what Peter thought because the train pulled up to the station.

I shut my book. "Let's get this over with."

I knew our connection in Ren was destined to be boring; the last event of the year, the Harvest Festival, had already passed and there was nothing of interest to occur until spring. It just would be cold. Dead and cold and I expected Northlyn to be even worse. This trip was to be far from exciting.

Archaea and I shuffled to our seats near the end of the train and Nevaeh rushed along the steel machine outside our window. She had a bright smile upon her face and her skin shone in the early morning light, but something didn't seem to be quite right. Her eyes glistened not with the happiness she wished us, but with a look of worry that seemed to be shadowing her otherwise cheery disposition. She slowly raised her hand as the train began to lurch forward, Peter finally reaching her side from where he has awkwardly shuffled to join her.

I watched them as the train pulled away from the station, but Archaea just looked forward, seemingly engrossed in thought. Her eyes shifted about to make sure there were no other individuals around us.

"About the other night... I didn't quite see everything that happened, but who the hell were you talking to? And then you really started frightening me, Ruth. You were screaming about someone... almost atsomeone. What is going on Ruth? I feel I have a right to know if we're going to be depending on each other these next couple of weeks." she said in a loud, hoarse whisper.

"I have many secrets, Archaea... it's just something I have to take care of on my own."

She just glared at me, annoyed. Suddenly, something inside of her seemed to snap. "You have secrets? Are you kidding me? We all have secrets, Ruth!" She lifted her shirt out of her military fatigues and exposed the pale flesh of her hip and right side. "I know I'm a fool to show you this, but I have a feeling, as someone I trust, that you should know about it." Her side was etched with a spiderweb of pink and purple scars. They were smooth and glossy, unlike the rough one Archaea sported on her upper chest. She pushed her shirt back into her pants and slouched in the train seat. "And I suppose I'm a fool to show you this when I haven't even earned your trust in return."

Then I knew I had to tell her. I had to tell her everything. This is how Archaea Eberhardt, brilliant military commander, the thorn in society's side, learned my life story. About my dead father and runaway sister. About the strained relationship I maintained with my mother. About Celia and Julius and how neither of them truly had a chance to grow up. About how Celia was the lucky one, because she was never forced to abandon her childhood to become the stronger sibling. The only sibling. I told her about moving to the crowded complexes in the heart of Ren and the mind-numbing simplicity in which most people lived their lives.

Then there was the story of my abandonment of Ren and my ironic, borderline prophetic return. I told her how I hated Ren, but how Freycrest was like an empty shell to me. There was nothing to be offered among the hibernating orchids that we were now passing through in the center of the country. There was nothing within Brideshore, itself, besides nameless, faceless people and a plethora of books. But there were always books. There would always be books, even as civilization grow and crumble, the existence of books was one thing in which I could always find existential stability.

Archaea had listened patiently, quietly throughout the entirety of my ramblings. For a moment or two, at the very end, I thought she had fallen asleep but, to my surprise, she looked at me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen in my life. Deep sea-green eyes with flecks of gold. The kind of eyes they say that only dreamers have.

"At least you know what it is to be loved, Ruth." This was all she needed to say.

As if noting the pause that had followed Archaea's declaration, the intercom dinged and a slightly crackled sound filled the air. A woman's voice, cheerful to the point of lacking necessity, spoke over the crackling. "We will be making a brief, somewhat unplanned stop in the border town of Rywyn. We ask you to remain in your seats and thank you for your patience in regards to the inconvenience. Have a nice day and a pleasant journey."

They seemed to be working against their own wishes of a pleasant journey, however, because as soon as the intercom dinged a second time, we were flung about the stopping train, I into the seat in front of me and Archaea into the aisle. Another body was flung over Archaea and halfway landed on my bent back. There was much groaning about the train as people grabbed their sore limbs and smashed head. Slowly, the passenger found their seats.

The person who had fallen onto me stood and started speaking in a quiet, anxious voice. "Do you mind if I sit here?" He pointed to the last seat of our row of three where no one had been sitting.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," I said, cradling my own head. At least I didn't have a problem with it. I didn't know if he would eventually regret sitting next to Archaea, though.

Archaea plopped herself in the middle seat. "I. Hate. Trains." She turned her attentiton to the teenger at her left. "So... you are...?"

"Oh sorry." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Mason."

Archaea shook his hand, but the look on her face seemed to deem she mistrusted him. I pretended to read my book; I knew this was probably going to end in an ugly manner.

Archaea finally spoke. "I'm Archaea and this is Ruth. So, how old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen? A bit young to be travelling between countries on your own, don't you think?"

The boy looked a touch nervous and ran his skinny fingers through his short, spiky red hair. He seemed to have the look of someone who was perpetually sunburnt. "I'm actually almost twenty... I'm just short." He wasn't really all that small, maybe just short for where he was raised.

"So where are you coming from, Mason?" I asked with a smile. I really wanted to put his at ease; Archaea seemed to be frightening him.

"The North. I take it you two are from somewhere in the South?" I didn't really believe he was from the North, even the southern cities of The Old Country. I hadn't seen a single red-haired person until I moved to Bridshore. Prior to that, they had sort of been like unicorns to me. Then again, it is possible he dyed his hair. I shrugged it off.

"Archaea is from Brideshore, in Freycrest. I've been living there for a few months, but I was born and raised in Ren." At this point, Archaea was reclined in her seat between Mason and I and was drooling on the collar of her military jacket. She twitched periodically. "I don't think she sleeps much at night," I said to Mason, nodding in the woman's direction with my head.

"I don't think many of us do these days. Ren is the next stop on this train, right?"

I nodded. "And the last. Is that your final destination?" Rain began to sprinkle outside of the window. We were stilled stopped at Rywyn.

He shrugged. "I have no idea. Honestly, I just want to see where these trains take me."

I looked at the small cloth bundle on his lap. Was this all he had brought with him as luggage? I figured there were two ways I could look at that. Either (a) he was a runaway, lying about his age and charging head first into an horrendous mess he will inevitably regret or (b) he was an utter free spirit with an innate ability to take care of himself and live off of virtually nothing. I had met a lot of people "b" during my years in the North. They never seemed to live past their thirtieth birthday.

I looked outside the window. We were at a train station in Rywyn, located on top of a tall hill. From the window I could see quite a bit of the city. It was not nearly as prosperous as Brideshore, but nothing in poverty compared to Ren. The light green grass was being peppered by the tiny droplets of water that fell from the sky. Buildings of light grey stone in all shapes and sizes were scattered about streets that were wound together in tight blocks. I turned from the window when I heard a man a few aisles ahead shout "Hey, watch it! You wanna knock me outta my seat?"

A huge military guard was pushing his way down the middle aisle of the train. People in the aisle seats were being pushed into the middle seats, on top of whoever was already seated there.

Mason's eyes grew wide as the guard came closer to our row in the back of the train. Archaea made a low sound in the back of her throat. "Stay still, where you are." I could tell by the way she leered that this wasn't a good situation.

I had learned much of the political situation in the South since the day Archaea made herself at home in my apartment. The guard was dressed in the colors of Old Alaston military, the faction of the country loyal to the ancient empire. These men and women were the enemies of the rebels and, by alliance, the people of Freycrest.

Archaea could tell us to stay low, but she couldn't hide, not with the fatigues she was wearing. They made fierce eyes contact, like two tigers preparing to pounce. The air in the train suddenly became cool and thick. I hate cliches, but it was the sort of atmosphere most people claim you could cut with a knife.

The guard paused, his gaze still fixed on the infamous woman. "So it is the great commander, Archaea Eberhardt." He structured his sentences in the strange way of almost all Alastonians. "But I am not here for you." He pushed on.

Mason was still trembling in the middle seat. A cold sweat seemed to be forming on his forehead. "He didn't see me." His voice came out as a soft whisper.

"Why should he care about you?" Archaea snapped. She was doing her best to stare forward and not allow her gaze to follow the guard who had turned around and was heading back towards the front of the train.

"I have a way with making enemies."

Arcahea turned to him. "You better not be any trouble for us. We're not just traveling for fun, you know."

"I'll be leaving you in Ren." The train began to lurch forward. I made a mental note that he didn't confirm he wasn't up to anything questionable.

I tried to break the argument. "I wonder why we had a security check here. We have another forty minutes or so before we hit the gate at the Channel."

"Things are getting worse," Archaea mumbled. She sunk back down in her seat and fell asleep.

Chapter 12

We had a routine security check at the Channel gate, and one again when we crossed. Both of these checks were made by low ranking Amalonian privates. Mason was a bit nervous at these checks, but eventually learned to relax.

"Have you ever been to the North?" I asked him. Archaea was still passed out, her leg sticking into the aisle as an obstacle to any passengers wishing to use the restroom at the rear of the train.

"Sort of, but it's been awhile." I decided to take his word for it.

It took a us several more hours to reach the heart of the Old Country and its capital, my hometown, Ren. I took a good look at it as we pulled into the station. It was still grey. It was still dusty. It was still poor. Surprise.

The passengers on the train stood and stretched. I told Mason to move to the side and gave Archaea a slight kick in the leg with the side of my foot. She grumbled and rubbed her eyes. "Keep your smelly shoes off my uniform."

We exited the train and were immediately confronted by a striking gale of smokey air. Archaea and Mason began choking as I stood and looked around. "Mmm... factories."

For a second I thought I was being dragged to the ground when a solid object suddenly hit my right shoulder. "OOOF," I exclaimed.

"RUUUUUTH!" It screamed. It was Isabelle, Mabel's sister. Grace stood by her side, grinning wildly. "I knew you would come back!"

Grace pipped in. "You really kept your promise, Ruth!" She ran up to me and hugged my around my waist. She pulled back and handed me a piece of paper. "I drew this for you." The paper had a drawing of a flower on it. Poor thing, she never had seen a flower in real life. She must have copied the design from a book or some old tablecloth her mother had.

They took a quick glance at my companions. "Did Julius come back with you?" Isabelle asked.

I stiffened. "No, he didn't. He's been... he's been very busy." I ruffled her short, brown hair. "My friend Archaea is traveling with me, and that is Mason, who we met on the train. Is my mom here?"

It was Grace who answered. "She's cooking at home. She sent us to come and meet you. Mabel is at work."

"What's new?" Chimed Isabelle.

I turned to Archaea, who had finally composed herself from gagging. "Archaea, do you have a place to stay in town? There aren't many hotels."

"No," she replied "Hmm... maybe I should have though this trip through a bit more thoroughly."

"Wait... where's Mason?" I suddenly noticed the boy had disappeared.

"Said he had a place to stay and left before I could reply. I swear, there is something off about that kid."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. He's probably just a drifter. Well, you can stay at my place for a while. The apartment is small, but my room is big enough for the both of us, at least for a few days."

She smiled. "Sure, thanks." She nodded her head and tossed her single bag over her back, the parcel she was supposed to deliver in the crook of her arm. She lifted the package slightly. "This is supposed to go to a... Mrs. Kebbers? At the library, I think."

"Oh!" The younger girls chirped in unison. Isabelle finished the thought. "She's working right now! Let's go there first. Follow us!"

We started our way towards the northern part of the city, Isabelle and Grace leading the way as if I had been away for so long I had forgotten the sterile layout of the streets.

We eventually reached the tall, black building that served as the official library of Ren. We entered the massive wooden archway and were immediately confronted by the general help desk. A middle aged woman, curvy, but not fat, with jet black hair in a loose bun sat behind the desk, chewing on the end of a pen while filling out what appeared to be a never ending stack of forms.

"Miss Kebbers! Miss Kebbers!" Grace nearly shouted. Despite being a librarian, Miss Kebbers did not seem to mind the sudden burst of energy that had entered her sanctuary. She sat up and observed our party with a genuine smile. "Hello, girls. Ruth, it's so nice to see you are home. For a visit, I presume?"

"Sort of. I'm catching a train in a couple of days to Northlyn, so I figured I'd visit visit family while waiting for the connection."

She leaned her chin on her hand, in a position of relaxed interest. "How do you like the South?"

"It's fairly nice," I remarked. "Way warmer than up here. Oh, by the way," I gestured to Archaea "This is Archaea Eberhardt. Professor Trench asked her to..."

Miss Kebbers cut me off. "Oh! My books! My books!" She held out her arms as if she were about to cradle her newborn child for the first time. Archaea quickly handed her the package, thankful to be relieved of the burden she had been carrying. "Thank you!" Miss Kebbers exclaimed, standing while manically shaking the commander's hand.

"No," Archaea began with a grin, "Thank you for taking it away from me! It must have weighed fifteen pounds!"

Miss Kebbers began tearing at the packaging of the bundle. Three hardcover books fell onto her desk. Each must have been no less than six hundred pages. "Let's see... The Flowers that Bloom... okay, that's the novel. Two Hundred Years of Chaos... a historical on the wars that Freycrest had been involved in about a millenia ago... wait." She paused. "What book is this?" It was once creamy, now practically brown and covered in dry, cracked leather. It was the thinnest of the three. "And... it's written entirely in Tel. Actually, its Old Tel. I mean, Tel is already a practically dead language, but this is old. I don't really think this belongs here." She looked up at Archaea. "Could you bring this back to Trench for me? No rush, I just think it was a mistake."

I knew Trench was absent minded, but he didn't come across as the sort of person to make this kind of a "mistake", especially with books. Especially with such an old, most likely valuable book. No, he wanted us to find it. I could feel it in my gut. He knew, as I did, that Miss Kebbers was too honest for her own good. This book was meant for either Archaea or myself.

Archaea paused. "Sure," She smiled. "It won't get there for a few weeks, though." She took the book in her arm.

"And..." The librarian reached under the desk in a very Nevaeh- like manner, "Could you bring these to him, also? I'd appreciate it a ton." She smiled as Archaea's face seemed to go numb. The package was about twice as thick as the one she had just delivered.

"No problem..." She scooped up the package and turned towards the door, anxious to leave before the older woman got the chance to give her any more tasks that may inconvenience our travel.

Miss Kebbers turned to me. "Ruth, Mabel is upstairs if you want to go see her. She's managing the Fiction desk today."

"Moving up in the ranks, is she?" I joked. Mabel was a ridiculously helpful librarian. I was certain she would be running the place within the next five years. I started for the spiral staircase as Archaea sighed and reluctantly followed. Grace and Isabelle had slipped out minutes before, most likely to play before the sunset when the air grew too cold to be outside.

When we reached the top of the stairs Archaea leaned in close to me and almost whispered in my ear, "He did that on purpose, didn't he?" She slipped the book into my hands.

I opened in and took a quick glance at the pages. Yes, I could read it, although the sentences were strung together in an odd manner and the vocabulary was fairly archaic. "I believe so. What's strange about this book, although it is falling apart at the seams, is that the event depicted are only about fifty years old, at least judging from this paragraph I'm reading... wait, I've heard of the Prophetess Aras."

"Who?" Archaea asked.

The voice that replied was not my own. "She was the last Great Prophet of the Goddess. The Great Prophets were Angels who walked among men. She had a legendary vision half a century or so ago." Mabel smiled as she strolled to meet us. She had cut her hair to shoulder length, but not much else had changed.

"Mabel!" I nearly screamed as I ran over to her and threw my arms around her. She almost lost her balance and only didn't hit the floor because she grabbed ahold of a table behind her.

"It's so great to see you, Ruth. How's Brideshore?" She inquired as I released her.

"Pretty nice. A bit too warm, but there are lots of books. You would love it."

She adjusted her glasses. "I'm pretty content where I am right now, thank you." She smiled as she turned to Archaea who was standing awkwardly behind me. "And you must be Archaea. Ruth has told me much about you in her letters."

Archaea reached out her hand and Mabel shook it. Mabel glanced at me inquisitively. Shaking hands upon meeting was not a widespread practice in the North, at least not in Ren. Archaea spoke. "So you know what this book is, then?"

Mabel took the decrepit piece of literature in her hands and flipped through the pages. "Well, let's take a look." She lead us over to the Fiction desk and sat in the leather chair behind the reading light. I leaned on the desk, looking over shoulder. Archaea stood in front of the desk and watched us quietly.

She shut the book and removed her glasses. "It sure does appear to be old. The pages are not just greying, but are turning yellow and brittle. But the story does appear to be that of Aras, and not the abbreviated tales our parents told us as children."

Archaea finally spoke. "What exactly is this story?"

"You're going to have to read the book to find out the full story, but I can tell you what the elders of our city have told us as children. Aras lived in a small village in the north of the Old Country, on the border of Northlyn and at the base of the Sacred Mountains. She lived at a very bad time in Northern history, for it was the height of the Allaston Empire in the South. The leaders of the empire had their heart set on conquering the world, which entailed colonization, starting in rural and isolated towns. Anyways, as an infant, Aras had been blessed by another of The Great Prophets, Siv."

"Did this mark her for some sort of greatness? The blessing by Sive, I mean." Archaea interrupted.

The tone of Mabel's voice indicated she did not appreciate the outburst. "The Great Angel of the North's name is pronounced SEEV. Now let me finish my story."

Archaea turned reddish in the face but kept her mouth shut as Mabel continued. "As I was saying, she was blessed by a great prophetess, and later martyr, Siv. Siv had preached in favor of the Goddess and against the cultish religion of the Allastonian people. She stood for hope and life, for it was said that crops only grew in districts where the Prophets had laid their feet, and Siv had been the holiest of them all. She was later hanged for her defiance by the government that 'protected' the foreign missionaries, but I digress.

" Aras was said to have been called by a whispering voice to one of the Sacred Mountains outside of her village. It was there that she was given a great vision and a message for her people. The message was simple: Aras was to be the last of all the earthbound Angels. There were to be no more, although the Goddess promised to remain firm in her promises to always be with Her people. That year the wheat grew strong. It is said that the wind that sweeps from the mountains to the valleys is Her breathing a reminder of her promise onto the land."

I sat on the desk. "I remember that stories. I thought that was all there was to them, though. I'm guessing this book is the full story?"

"I appears to be," Mabel replied.

"Archaea," I began, "Professor Trench told me that he believes there is more to the old folklore than most people know, or at least are willing to admit." I sighed as I stood and turned toward the staircase. "We may have been fooled into doing something of a much larger caliber than originally implied. Let's get going. We have much work to do when we get home. Thanks for the help Mabel."

Mabel waved as Archaea and I walked down the staircase and towards the exit. Archaea mumbled into my ear once again when we reached the darkening street. "Ruth, you have to tell meeverything."

"We need to get through meeting my mother, first," I mumbled back.

The streets were well lit in this part of Ren. We were on one of the main arteries through the city that connected the train station in the southern part of the city to the northern residential district, where my mother lived. Where I used to live.

There were not many people on the streets at this time of night. Without the sun, it was very chilly and not worth venturing from home. Archaea and I must have been among only three or four others who challenged the night by walking in its shadowy cloak. They used to say that ghosts walked these streets, the sort of ghosts that snatch away little children in the night. I think the cholera had more to do with that.

The oil paved streets were starting to crack heavily, and after every few minutes of walking there would be a series of craters where children had dug up the loose pavement. There wasn't much money allotted to road repair, so they would remain this way for a long time.

We followed this street for a good half an hour before we reached the grey washed apartment complex. As we had walked, the street became narrower and the buildings closer together. The product of our search was plain and dungy looking, more so now that I had been spoiled by the splendors of the South. I sighed as I pushed open the door.

Most people were barricaded in their apartments since the sun had already set. I dragged myself up the concrete stairs to the floor with my mother's apartment. I hated Ren, but I hated the complex most of all. I had missed our cottage on the outskirts of the city since the time I was a child, when my father died. Then we became poor city dwellers and my sister ran off. I bit my lip as I thought of Olivia.

Then again, if we had stayed there, I would have never met Julius or Celia. I suppose sometimes the sincerest form of happiness is born from tragedy. What a sick world.

I had to take another deep breath before I opened the door to the apartment. My mother was slumped over the stove, cooking something for my arrival, no doubt. I sometimes wished she would just take a break. She didn't need to work so hard for me.

"Hey mom, " I said as she turned from the stove to hug me. "This is Archaea. I told you she would be staying here for the next few days while we're in between trains." I gestured to the woman.

My mother nodded. "Archaea, it's nice to meet you." She turned back to me. Her shoulder length, curly hair was sticking to her pale forehead. A pot on top of the rusty stove was steaming heavily. "Why don't you two settle into your room, Ruth? I'd love to chat but I need to really focus on finishing dinner. I'll call you when it's ready and then you can tell me all about your adventures."

"Sure." Archaea and I turned into my room and closed the door behind us.

Chapter 13

Dinner was rather good, at least for late autumn. Most of the fresh vegetables that had been harvested the previous month had either been canned, dried, or eaten. Towards the end of dinner, I figured my mother would be a good place to start my search for information. The old, cheap chandelier flickered from where it hung on the ceiling. Archaea looked as though she were about to pass out over her empty plate.

I leaned back in my chair. "Mom, what exactly can you tell us about Aras, the last of the Prophets?"

She was wiping her mouth with a napkin as I said this. She folded it in her lap in preparation of answering. "You know most of the story, I believe. Aras was known as the Prophetess of the Harvest, because when she descended from the mountain, the crops grew without a need for the constant wandering of the Angels. They used to travel from town to town, and their presence was said what made the harvest prosper."

I nodded. "Why could the crops not grow on their own?"

My mother smiled. "The North does not have a good reputation, Ruth. You know that the Wasteland is where criminals are sent, mainly from the South. The Eastern Trade State functions under virtual anarchy, and much of The Old Country and Northlyn live in crippling poverty. It is said that the reason for this has to do with the ancient people of this land, who were bitter and warlike. The Goddess brought her wrath to that land, which killed all of the grass and trees. Worst of all was the southernmost part of the North, which was said to be cursed by the sea, for it was swallowed in a great flood.

"The Goddess got what she wished for; the people stopped waging war against one another, but this was only because they were striving so hard to survive. They starved and begged Her for forgiveness. The Goddess took pity on them and sent them the first Prophet. Only those who listened to the Prophet's messages from the Goddess would find favor in Her eyes. These were the only ones who survived, for their harvests were fruitful. The wandering Prophets of the North continued to do this for hundreds of years, that is, until the time of Aras. Times since then have become increasingly hard, but still the Goddess promises deliverance. All I can say is that we must keep faith."

Archaea was passed out on the floor. I had offered her half of my bed and she had accepted, but exhaustion took its toll on her and she had fallen asleep with her head on her duffle bag. The silvery moonlight that shone through the open, stone window reflected off of her golden hair. She snored softly in her sleep.

I was still awake, sitting crossed legged on my bed. The old leather book sat open on my lap. On the windowsill I had placed a kerosene lamp. I had become unused to the lack of technology and I yearned for my well lit apartment in Brideshore. I had finished all but one chapter of the book. I was not looking forward to explaining the entire thing to Archaea, who could not speak any language except for that of her native country, let alone Old Tel. I wanted to sleep, but I was determined to finish the book, to know the entire story. It must have been good instincts.

I was in my cold, dark bedroom in the autumn of the nineteenth year of my being that I learned the truth of my existence.

Trench, what the hell are you getting us into?

There was a movement.

The darkened figure appeared on my windowsill. I assumed it had climbed up the fire escape and shimmied from window to window until it reached my own. Its darkened cloak was pulled across its boyish face as it grimaced in the moonlight. I could not see the entirety of the visage in the darkness, but it had teeth that reflected brightly in the soft lamplight.

"So it is you." I plainly stated. I was finished with being surprised. I was well on my way to having all the answers I could hope for.

I could see its face as it turned to me and the lamplight further caught its figure. It vaguely smiled, as if amused. Jumping down from the stone, it was careful to not disturb the girl who was still slumbering on my floor. I remained still, seated on the edge of my bed as it leaned in close to me. Its lips were nearly touching my ear as a cold hand found a resting place on my exposed shoulder.

"It is me, but you do not seem very astonished." I could feel its sickeningly warm breath on my neck. It made my skin form bumps that ran down my spine, beneath the thin fabric of my nightgown. I did my best not to shudder.

"No, not particularly." I kept my voice even. The hooded figure did not move its face.

More puffs of breath pressed against my neck as it chuckled. "In that case, you have read it."

"Why, should I not have?"

"Shouldn't we, as humans, try to avoid involving ourselves in complications, at least whenever possible?" It murmured into my ear. "But never mind that. You have something I want, Ruth. Well, rather, somethings. Some things that do not belong to you."

I turned my head so my own mouth was pressed to my haunter's ear. "And they belong to a bandit like you? Have you not heard? I am a genius. You cannot pull the wool over my eyes, Mason."

The figure from the train pulled back and looked at me. He removed his hood, revealing his flash of red hair. "And you think I am dumb? I managed to not only to smuggle myself into the South, but back into the North as well!"

"Was that really necessary?" I asked. I leaned back to look the standing boy in the face,

He paused. "Not in the long term. I did not know that you were planning on coming back North. I guess Iwas the one who involved myself in unnecessary complications." He chuckled again, amused at his own observation of irony. I wasn't in the mood for joking around. "I figured you would have accessed the Mark from Brideshore, again, but it took you a train ride and a old, crumbling book to figure it all out. Tell me, when did you get that key? Mustn't have been more than a few weeks ago. No, nevermind. There isn't much I don't know."

"You are not getting the key, Mason." I stated firmly. "The price you will get for it in the black markets is not nearly as much as it is worth to the universe." I thought for a second. "You aren't very smooth and you are not very subtle. When you fell on me on the train I noticed you grabbed at my chest. I thought at first you were either a pervert or an idiot, but now I realize you're just a kid who needs some money so he can stay on the run."

"I told you I'm not a kid. It istrue that I'm twenty... almost." He sat on the windowsill again, still facing me as he spoke. He turned his head to Archaea, who had always been sleeping in a field of clover and daisies, for all she knew. "That military girl is scary, but she sure has a killer body."

I started to lose my composure. "Objectify my friends again and I'll push you out the damn window. No one will give a damn if a lowly bandit goes ker-splat on the filthy street. They'll just clean you up like all the rest of the garbage."

"Easy, easy. Just hand over the key and the book and I'll be on my way." He was still as patient as ever with the poker face of an ideal conman.

I didn't even honor this statement with a reply. I turned from the window and stared at wooden door on the opposite wall of my room. It was locked, so I wasn't too afraid of my mother walking in on the conversation I was having with my visitor.

"Oh, daughter of Aras, you should know I hate to use violence. Oh, by the way, how does it feel to be lied to for the entirety of your life? I know a lot about you, you know. I followed you in Brideshore. It is not difficult to remain hidden in a crowded marketplace, just like it is not difficult to slip onto a crowded train, although that extra security check really got me worked up."

It was my turn to smirk. "I was not lied to. I have known for a long time I am not truly a creature of this world. My mother always told me that I had been 'born of the Earth form a single soup bean', well, something like that. The book..." I tapped the cover with the back of my right hand, "It just cleared some things up. Now it is my turn to question you. You were not the one sentenced to live out life in the Wasteland. You do not seem to be a murderer or a mobster and they sure as hell don't send common thieves to rot in that horrid place. Let me guess, your father's fate is your own?"

He was definitely startled by what I had said. "Dead on. I was born in that hell and only stayed so long as my father was alive. I never knew my mother. I've told you too much." He was starting to become a bit flustered. He tried to cover his slip. "And your mother is not the one who gave birth to you. Not even your late father, who everyone says you look so much like, is related to you in the slightest. You were found in the fields, were you not? That book you hold tells of children like you. I must say, the Goddess sure does know how to keep her promises."

I stood and grabbed him by the cloak, pulling him up onto the tips of his toes so his eyes were dead set against my own. "What do you know about this key? The people of this dimension do not simply stumble into places of such universal energy."

Mason laughed again, his lapels still in my grasp. I slapped him across the face. I inwardly reminded myself to later focus on becoming less like an infuriated Archaea. He reached for his belt, but the hand that slapped him beat him to the spot. I held the double edged knife to his reddish throat.

"Tell me. You seem to have done your research. What is there for me in a place like that?"

My captive whispered his reply. "Hope."

I threw him toward the window and he lept out with a grin on his face. For some reason, this one seemed sincere.

I did not sleep well that night. I stared at the ceiling and wished for the moon to set. There was so much work I had to do. The books in my room seemed foreign and no longer comforting; they were just clutter of my former life. I thought of how hollow the South had felt to me and sadly realized it was slowly becoming the only place I could call home. Home had become my amazing apartment and the tired library, empty of people but full of the words spilled from authors' creaking pens. Home was where I had two friends: an "abrasive", apparently narcoleptic military commander, and an enigmatic wares dealer.

The pale sun finally rose over the horizon and dispelled the shadows of the streets. Archaea sat up and stretched. She took one look at me and exclaimed, "You look terrible. Do you even sleep?"

I had been sitting crossed legged on my bed, staring out the window. "Not much, at least not these days."

I showed Archaea the way to the bathhouse our apartment complex shared, but I did not go in. I was in no mood for bathing. I slipped back into the apartment, careful not to wake my mother. I changed into a pair of grey wool pants wrapped my neck in a thick fleece scarf. I waited for Archaea to return before slipping on a black canvas jacket.

"Wear some color, will you?" Archaea joked. She had lightened up so much since we arrived, it was quite astonishing.

I tossed a pair of socks at her. "And I suppose you will be wearing your fatigues?" I teased.

She shook her head. "Hell no. They're all dirty." She slipped on a pair of tight black jeans and a sleeveless green turtleneck. I almost cracked up because it was so unlike Archaea to try to look sexy. I don't even think she was trying. She made the look more subtle by pulling her black trenchcoat over the ensemble. It was the coat she had been wearing across the street from the cafe on the first day I had ever seen her. "So when are we leaving?"

"Right now," I said, walking towards the door.

"Ugh, you mean no breakfast?"

I tossed her a baggy of dried carrot chips from the kitchen counter. As she looked at them in disgust, I taped a note to the thoroughly abused kitchen table, telling my mother we were out and would be back... eventually. I wasn't sure how convincing it seemed, but we needed to get going before my mother awoke and had a chance to question where we were going.

I watched Archaea take a bit of carrot chip as we walked towards the center of Ren, in the direction he had walked the night before. I laughed hysterically as she nearly vomited. She coughed loudly and handed them back to me.

"How do you eat this stuff?" She made several exotic facial expressions as she tried to clear the taste of old carrot from her senses.

"I don't," I laughed. I saw a little boy sitting on the side of the street and tossed them onto his lap. His hair was a greasy deep brown and his skin was dark. Not olive like my own, but it appeared to be coated in dust. No one was on the streets this early in the morning after the harvest took place. That is, unless they were homeless. "A lot of people like dried foods, believe it or not." I looked back at the boy and he was happily chewing on the bits of decrepit vegetable. "My mother lovesthem."

Chapter 14

Archaea was a bit surprised we were going to the library again. She had not realized we were going there until we reached the great entrance.

"We left this early so we could come back here?" Archaea asked with a hint of a whine.

I was silent for a moment. I stared up at the massive black tower and then the sky. It was a solid, gunmetal grey, not veiled and bright like on the day I had fallen asleep on the outskirts of the city. "I have something to show you." I pushed open the doors.

The library was open almost full time, except for holidays. It was even open in the dead of night, so visiting around six thirty in the morning was no problem whatsoever. It was dim, but light poured from the stained glass windows on the first floor. We climbed the spiral staircase up to the seventh level.

It was narrow and old like the uppermost floors at the Brideshore library, but not nearly as stuffy. It was absolutely freezing. Archaea buttoned her coat up to her chin as I looked closely at each foot of mildewy wall.

I had practically lived in this library, growing up. This was the only floor I had never visited. Well, maybe that's not true. I had been on the seventh floor one time when I was nine years old. I had come to get a few bottles of ink for a much younger Miss Kebbers. I thought about this incident as I was searching the walls for something virtually unnoticeable to most human beings. I tried to remember where the voices had come from, all those years ago. The voices that had frightened me into running back down to the second floor, bawling the entire way.

My fingernail hit a dent in the off-purple wallpaper. Without thinking, I pulled Mason's knife out of my coat pocket and sliced down the crack.

Archaea was impressed. "Nice detective skills. And nice knife. Must have cost you a fortune because I think that's Stoneham made. Hard to come by these days." I guess it wasn't too suspicious for a bookworm to be suddenly carrying around a combat knife. She nodded for me to continue my delicate operation.

It wasn't so delicate after all. I tore off a large chunk of wallpaper, about six feet high. It had completely concealed a perfectly flat door that blended into the wooden wall into which it was made.

"I thought so," I muttered.

"Woah," was all Archaea could muster.

I lightly pushed the door and it swung wide into the black abyss beyond.

Well, this is awfully familiar.

Archaea and I stared into the blackness in silence. It seemed to be radiating warmth from within its mysterious cavity. I squinted my eyes in a fruitless attempt to distinguish any shapes that may lay before us. I reached into my pocket and removed a candle and packet of matches.

My comrade was the first one to speak. "What exactly are we doing here, Ruth?"

I fumbled with the matches. "I'm not entirely sure, myself. This area has been here for an awfully long time and it wasn't until I came to Brideshore that I understood its purpose. This is a passageway into the meeting of interdimensional planes. This is the second I know of in our world." I stopped what I was doing and explained to Archaea what Celia had told me during her chilling visit to my apartment. "I don't know what it wants with us. With me, at least. It beckons me into its depths, but now that I know I have the strength of the Goddess and Aras within me, I have no fear." I struck another match and this one lit. I held it to the candle wick as the glow's reach extended around us.

"Let's get going." I muttered. Archaea obediently followed at my heels.

The room was made of the same dark stone as the rest of the building. It seemed to drip with condensation that smelled of light perfume. I walked straight into the back of the room and reached for a door I knew would be there. This antechamber did not dissuade me from proceeding.

We entered the Mark through the same entry as in Brideshore, on the bottom level.

I guess all of those off doors lead to this entrance.

I looked up and down the large room, uncertain of what to do next. Archaea and I walked to the second floor and I pulled a book from one on the giant bookcases. It was inscribed with archaic text that I could not decipher. I looked back down to the nearly empty first floor and then to the paintings and hangings on the walls near where I stood.

Archaea strolled to the giant windows and gazed out into the bright field that lay beyond. "I would say we're in Amalon, if I didn't know better. This sure isn't your Old Country, Ruth," she said, still impressed by the miles of emerald blades that lay before her.

I sat on top of one of the tables on the second floor and looked up into the mirrored ceiling. I closed my eyes to think. I inhaled deeply. Suddenly, another sickeningly sweet scent filled my nose. I opened my eyes and followed the scent to the rear of the second floor, before a mosaic on the wall. It was made of silver, purple, and blue glass in the shape of abstract flowers.

Why hadn't I noticed this last time?

I ran my hand along the mosaic and a great heat pressed against my chest. The key throbbed painfully against my heart until I was compelled to tear it from my neck. I stared at it in my hands. It was metallic and alive, pulsing with the heartbeat of a human. Or of an animal.

The mosaic glowed, my left hand still touching its raised surface. A variety of lights beamed across the Mark as the artificial sky outside grew dim. I found Archaea by my side, grasping my arm. It was then that I realized I was on the verge of collapsing. The lights grew brighter as my vision grew dimmer and soon it was all black.

Chapter 15

"Ruth," a voice hummed.

The blackness enveloped me, pressing against my eyes and ears. The voice was distant, as if at the end of a long tunnel. I tried to bring my head to the voice, but it was as if it was tightly screwed upon the pedestal of my torso. It was only then that I realized I was laying on the ground.

"Ruth... Ruth!" The voice beckoned, more urgently. My eyes ached as a fuzzy image entered my vision. I was looking up at the sky. Something was not right. I blinked.

"Hey, don't you dare die on me and leave me... here. Where exactly are we?" It was Archaea. She was sitting cross legged a few feet from me.

I did not move. I was frozen, transfixed upon the sky.

"Clouds aren't usually black," I said, matter-of-factly.

Archaea didn't lose a beat. "You don't say. Clouds are neverblack, Ruth. Dark grey, perhaps, but not on a sunny day."

I sat up and looked around. We were in a field of short grass among gentle, rolling hills. A few miles to the east, in a small valley, sat a fragile little town. There was an orchid to my right, only a hundred or so yards away. However, these things were of the same gray scale as the sky.

The grass I layed in was black, but the soil into which I dug my nails was white, as if it had been bleached. The coarse powder slipped through my fingers as I held it in my hands. I looked to the village. It was shades of dark grey and black. The road was white.

I stood up. "I think we should get moving." A gentle breeze blew and I closed my eyes. "Let's not go to the village," I looked down at my hands and clothes, which were of normal coloring, "We look a bit suspicious."

Archaea and I walked towards the orchard, into the hills. The trees soon enveloped us. They were of white, chalky bark and black leaves. The fruit of the trees were delicate, and pale. They seemed to almost be made of glass.

We walked for what seemed like miles. The trees continued, further into the hills than seemed possible. The orchard turned into a forest, long neglected by the people who tended the fruit. White briars wound around trees and sometime onto the path. After a couple of hours of walking I stopped to sit on a log, quite exhausted.

Archaea looked surprised that I was so tired. She reluctantly sat besides me. I would have killed for her physical stamina. It was my own fault, though, I had spent the majority of my childhood in the library, instead of the abandoned, dusty fields in which children played. Well, I had given into my habits after Celia had died.

"We are getting absolutely nowhere. I don't think there's another village for miles." Archaea didn't seem physically fatigued, but her voice spoke of mental exhaustion. "We should head back, Ruth."

I took another handful of soil. It was warm to the touch. "No." I said. "No, this is right." I shook my head. The damned scent was filling my senses again. It was so sweet; it was making me nauseous. "This is right."

I didn't turn to Archaea, but I could feel her concerned stare. "Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

She can't sense it.

I didn't reply. I stood and turned towards the path. We walked side by side for about half a mile, the smell becoming stronger the entire way. I was becoming dizzy, the insides of my eyelids orange when I blinked. I staggered on.

We stopped when the path opened into a clearing. The forsaken orchard had long given way to wild deciduous trees, which bordered the space in which we stood. From here I could see the sky. It was as hauntingly grey and black as ever.

"What the hell is that?" Archaea asked, nodding to something before us.

I looked. It towered above the forest around us, a massive tree, inverse from its siblings. The bark was black and the leaves a papery white. One or two were occasionally caught by the gentle wind and slowly drifted to the ground. The black carpet that surrounded the tree was lightly blanketed in these leaves, like a fresh sheet of snow.

We approached and I reached out to touch the tree. The trunk was as hard as stone. The scent was at its strongest beneath the white canopy. The low hanging fruit was not like the ones of the orchard. These were large and plump, like overripe peaches. These fruits were red. They almost looked like they were swollen with blood.

"Boy, am I starving." Archaea reached out and plucked several fruits, stuffing them in the pockets of her coat. She lifted one to her lips.

"Do you always eat strange fruits?" I interjected. "What if they're poison? I have heard of strange plants that are grown to produce pure poison."

Archaea froze and stared at the fruit she held in her fingers. She shrugged and stuffed it into another of her pockets. "Maybe later."

Always so rash.

I shook my head. And she's concerned I'm going to be the one to die on her.I took r another survey of our surroundings. A soft wind blew and I heard a faint ringing sound. I turned my head to the noise and noticed several small, silver wind chimes tied to one branch of the massive tree. Beyond that branch was another path, leading deeper into the forest.

I walked towards it, for it seemed to let off a faint golden glow. Archaea obediently followed, but take a quick glance back at the tree.

This path was narrower than the one we had just left, but it was very well maintained. The canopy of trees was very close to us on all sides, but did not darken the forest beneath it.

"Perhaps we're going to stumble across another village," Archaea suggested.

"Perhaps," I replied. I was far from convinced. I tucked my bobbed hair behind my ears, suddenly very aware, almost paranoid. I tried to shrug off the feeling, but remained quite uneasy.

The path was only half a mile long, straight and graveley. We soon reached what appeared to be a dead end, the light grey face of a mountain. Archaea let out a noisy sigh.

"I knew we weren't going to get anywhere."

I just blinked and began walking along the rock wall. Archaea hesitantly followed a few feet behind. My steps were short, deliberate. No, I had not seen any mountains when I had awoken on the hillside. I allowed my hands to trail along its cool surface.

Where did it come from.

We doubled back. I followed the rock wall in the opposite direction until my hand trailed along a piece of rope. It dangled down from a low ledge that was a few feet above my head. I pulled on it. It didn't budge.

"Are we supposed to climb it?" I asked no one in particular.

It was Archaea's responsibility to answer. "Well, it looks durable."

She grabbed the rope in both hands and scaled the wall with alarming ease. Archaea disappeared from view as she looked around the top of the ledge.

"Hey! Ruth, you may want to see this."

I sighed. Physical activity was not my forte.

"Well, help me up!" I grabbed the rope and tried to lift myself from the ground. I swung and scraped the side of my face against the hard form of the mountain. "Aah, Archaea, will you get over here?!"

Archaea chuckled and peered down at me, over the ledge. "Put your feet against the surface, will you? Walk up as I pull the rope."

It worked surprisingly well and I soon found myself sitting next to her, facing away from the forest. We were both breathing heavily.

"Look," Archaea pointed.

The wall of the mountain suddenly dipped in steeply, forming a cave. The inside was lined with bright torches. The strange thing was, in this world of black and white, the flames were burning emerald green.

I stepped forward, towards the cave.

Archaea reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Are you insane? You chastised me for trying to eat fruit and then you turn around and try to go exploring strange, glowing caves?"

I shook her off and kept walking. She stood firm for a moment, but ended up following a few feet behind.

The cave was not very wide, and it only went forty or so feet into the mountain before coming to an abrupt halt.

"Well that was a waste of time... and torches," Archaea observed.

I pulled one of the torches from the cavern wall and held it up at the end of the tunnel. The wall was perfectly flat, deep grey and cool to the touch. I felt a familiar burning against my chest when my fingers pressed into the wall. I let out a groan. I was in no shape to travel through another dimensional portal.

A hand pressed against my shoulder.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I gestured with my non occupied hand and tried to wave Archaea away.

Suddenly, I was thrown to the floor with massive force, my head hitting a large stone that protruded from the side of the cavern. I blacked out for only a few seconds. I then found myself looking to where I had just stood.

A darkly dressed figure was facing Archaea. She tried to land a punch on him but he deftly blocked and turned her momentum against her. Her arm was wrenched backwards as the figure choked her with his other arm. She passed out within a few second from restricted blood flow.

I was still curled on my side, eyes wide open in terror as the figure returned to me. It crouched down to where I sat, paralyzed. I wanted to cry, but I was too terrified, even for that.

I was more struck by confusion than fear when the figure spoke into my ear.

"Out, out." A loud thump and I was once again surrounded by total darkness.

It was the voice of a young man.

Chapter 16

"Why the hell don't you just kill me already? You're a bandit, a robber, a kidnapper! Why not add 'murderer' to your list of skills?"

Consciousness came rushing back to me, much more quickly than when I had arrived in the valley. I found myself tied to a chair facing a window. The small room that surrounded me, Archaea, and our captor was dimly lit by a light behind my head, most likely a bare bulb. Outside the window, I could see down the side of a mountain, presumably the same mountain from which we has been taken, and into the forest.

Archaea continued her shouting as my vision finished clearing. "Fine! Keep me! Just let Ruth go!"

What the hell makes her think my life is of more value than her own?

The sun seemed to have been setting, for the light outside was growing dimmer as the light bulb struggled to compensate. My captor spun me around.

"Fancy meeting you here," I remarked. "So you have more than a monetary interest in my affairs, Mason?"

The redhead didn't seem amused. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the opposite wall. His hood was pulled over his eyes.

"Ruth, are you okay?" Archaea gasped. She had a bloody nose and a cut under her eye from the struggle before she was knocked out, but didn't seem to have any additional injuries. She was tied to another chair on Mason's side of the room.

"Not dead yet," I replied. I turned to the boy on the wall. "What do you plan on doing with us?"

For once, he didn't smirk. He just stared at me. It took him a moment before he began to speak, cooly. "I wanted to see if you would really come. So, tell me, daughter of Aras, what exactly do you wish to accomplish in this place?"

I paused. He didn't seem to be particularly aggressive, so I calmed down a bit. "I... honestly, I have no idea. I feel like I was drawn here."

"I see," Mason stated plainly. "What do you know about this dimension?"

"Only that its not the dimension in which I belong."

His reply was almost nonchalant. "But it is the dimension in which you were given life."

I watched Archaea's facial expression change to express her confusion, but I was not entirely surprised by Mason. "This is a place created by her, isn't it?" I asked.

Mason nodded. "If you mean Aras, then you are correct. She created, Goddess knows how, a dimension through which the will of the Goddess could be accomplished. The fruits you see growing on the trees... those are Seeds of Knowledge and Courage. Some are of Empathy, Loyalty, or Faith. It's not just the fruit, either. Almost everything that grows from the ground in this world is a vessel of life."

Archaea piped up. "What about those bright red fruit?"

Mason didn't even bother to look at her as he replied. "Those... those are poison."

I could see the color drain from the girl's face.

He kept his eyes on me. "I have a feeling you are not going to do harm to this world, as other have tried, so I might as well untie you... that is, if you promise not to try to slit my throat again."

"Woah, did you really do that, Ruth? I'm impressed." Archaea almost laughed as Mason cut the rope that blinded her. His new knife was much plainer than the last, with a short, slightly rusted blade.

"The truth is, I need your help," Mason began as he started to cut the rope that bound my own arms and waist. "The seal that keeps this world stable, located at the back of that cavern in which I found you, it is crumbling. It is getting worse every day and I'm afraid this world may just slip away any day now."

I stood and faced him. "And why should I care? Why should youcare, for that matter?"

A slight look of pain and sadness crossed his face. "I have live here for the past two years, since soon after I escaped the Wasteland. I originally wasa thief, seeking money and artifacts to pawn so I could eat. About three months after living in Alaston, I stumbled upon an entrance to the Mark through a ruin. I found a different key," he pulled it out of his cloak to show me. It was jet black with raised silver flakes, "This sent me to the tree you passed on your way to the Hill of Aras, this mountain. Here I finally found peace. The people of the town, way down in the valley where your key brought you, accepted me, despite my appearance and foreignness. It is as if my past and the stigma of my life of exile have been erased."

"Who else has these keys?" I finally asked, the question that had been on my mind for many weeks. "I mean, how is it decided who finds them and where they lead?"

Mason was beginning to look tired from all of the explaining. "Why, they bring you home, of course. Well, that is, where you were crafted. I am a child of this world as much as you are. I am a child of the Seed of Courage. I have become convinced that the power of the key, and that of the Mark, returned me here to guard the entrance of this world, and the seal that keeps it stable. That is why I have been following you, Ruth. I cannot do this without you."

I thought about this world and the swirling emotions and sensations I had been feeling since I had arrived. It was as if I was truly one with the energy that flowed through the mountain and valleys, the winding paths and the powerful fruit. I had one more question to ask.

"How do you know that I am one of you?"

He smiled, very slightly. "I can see you were born from a Seed of Knowledge and, given by your complexion, most likely a bean of some sort, sent into the parallel dimension that you refer to as your 'home'. You, like myself, are surely a gift of the Angels, a precious resource that is not to be wasted."

"But how?" I bid him to answer,

"I can see it in your eyes."

Chapter 17

Archaea and I had made ourselves comfortable in the cabin chairs, the same ones in which we had been previously restrained. We had moved them both against the wall near the window, facing a standing Mason.

"There is something I fear," Mason stated.

Archaea was not entirely convinced of his innocence. She glared at him as she spoke. "Yeah?" She snidely remarked,

I whacked her on the arm with the back of my hand. "Behave. We can't go home if this entire dimension crumbles, you know."

Archaea's reply was a slew of disgruntled mumbling.

Mason finally found an opportunity to continue speaking. "The Prophet Aras gave her own life in order to create the seal and protect her kingdom. I just pray that repairing the seal will not require the spilling of blood. A willing sacrifice is just too tragic."

I nodded. Those who had lived their lives in the Wasteland had seen more pain and suffering than any other on the Continent of Winds. I could feel my heart slowly beating in my chest, each throp slightly harder than the last, as if something big was about to happen.

"Come with me, I'll show you how I hid the seal," Mason said.

We stood and waited for Mason to prepare the things he needed to bring. As Mason filled a clay jar with water from an outside pump, Archaea expressed her concerns.

"What if he tries to kill us again?"

I bit my lip. "He never tried to kill us in the first place."

"Well, what if he wants to, now?" She asked in a fast, loud whisper.

"Why would he? He says he needs us, well, at least me. Shut up, he's coming back in."

Mason returned and we soon departed. Archaea shot me a look of concern, to which I shook my head. I mouthed "Would you just trust me?" and Archaea ignored me definitely.

Mason blended surprisingly well with the landscape; his black cloak hid his most colorful feature, his hair. We stumbled among the rocks and down a ledge. I wondered how he had carried two unconscious girls up the mountain. We soon returned to the cavern, still glowing emerald green.

The seal was covered by a thin layer of soil, water, and clay. Mason scrubbed it away with the water he had brought, revealing that seal's shattered, golden face.

The design was a large circles with a series of intricate shapes within it. The outside was undulated in a block-like pattern. The damp stone around it was a darker grey than the rest of the cave and it smelled slightly of earth. There was a large fracture through the face of the wall, with several smaller fissures branching from it. I felt sad just looking at it.

If I felt sad, Mason certainly looked the part. He appeared to be on the verge of tears, although he must have seen the seal dying over the past several months. "It's even worse today," he nearly whispered. "You're of the Seed of Knowledge, how do you think we should fix it?"

I sighed. "I think we should try filling the cracks, but that's only half the issue. It seems to have lost its spiritual energy. Perhaps an enchantment after that?"

Mason agreed, although he didn't seem entirely convinced. He returned to his hut to get some clay, leaving Archaea and me in the cave.

Archaea appeared to have been growing steadily somber since we had uncovered the seal. She may not have been connected to the land as I was, but she seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Because you and Mason are embedded with the spirit of this land... even if we do manage to return home, if Aras' dimension died, you will die along with it, won't you?" She asked, softly.

I could feel my heartbeat growing deeper again. "I was thinking about that during the walk here. I believe you may be correct."

There was a brief moment of silence before she replied. "Please don't do anything drastic, Ruth."

I blinked as I took in her image, but I didn't say anything.

Mason returned and the three of us attempted to patch the cracks in the wall. It took well over an hour and the result was a smooth wall, but with gaps in the lines of the seal. Mason then pulled out a book and said a series of words in an ancient language I did understand.

Nothing happened. He turned the page and tried another enchantment. He repeated this process several time, each time appearing more discouraged. He finally shut the book.

"So that's how it is."

We all stood in silence, staring that the unfinished seal. The lines had been clearly made by some sort of spiritual power, given that they were of a different color than any natural element of the world in which the seal resided. There was no point in connecting the lines.

I felt the key throbbing against my chest again. I was reminded that the power of the keys ws limited. I had been given life in this dimension, but was bound to another. There was no returning home as long as the seal was damaged, for my life would be stolen as soon as the seal disappeared. I looked at Archaea. She easily read my expression.

"No..." She started. "Don't you dare."

I pulled Mason's intricate knife from the pocket of my coat and just stared at it, watching it glimmer in the light of the torches. I brought it to the side of my neck.

Mason glanced at me. "You don't have to do this, you know. Let me give my own life. I am the guardian of this land so..."

I cut him off. "All the more reason for you to live; you must keep this land under your protection once it is saved."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Archaea make a swift move with her arm. I turned to her and watched as she dropped to her knees. I released my knife and the following events swept by in slow motion. I ran to her and fell to my own knees. Her eyes grew wide and her breath choppy. There was sweet smelling, deep red liquid dripping from her lips.

Chapter 18

A slight smile crossed Archaea's face. It was sad, sweet, and entirely honest. She collapsed to the floor and I held her upper body on my folded knees. Several more of the fruits spilled from her pockets and onto the ground.

"I told you not to eat those! Are you a fool? Why would you do this?" I cried. Tears began pouring from my eyes and dripped onto Archaea's sweater.

Her voice was weak and came out in short, raspy intervals. "I had to. You... you were going to kill yourself. I don't want to watch you die, Ruth." She groaned, as if in pain. "I've seen so many lives taken on the battlefield... I... I feel it is finally my turn."

I shook my head from side to side, my tears peppering myself and the floor around me. Archaea reached up and lifted a few strands of black hair that had stuck to my face.

"Hey, it's okay. You're life is worth so much more than my own. Now go."

I started to yell at her. "What makes you think that?! Who is to say that my own mark in the book of history are worth more than your own? Damnit, Archaea! Live!" I should have felt terrible for chastising my friend as she lay dying in my arms. "Archaea, you have so much to live for, we all do. None of this would have been possible... I would still be a recluse, hiding within the walls of my apartment or the university library. This world would have never had a chance without you. Iwould never have has a chance without you." My cries were simmering down to a whimper. "Thanks you," I finally said.

Archaea's breath was growing shallow and her eyes shined an even deeper green due to the ghosty lighting of the cavern. "No, thank you," she managed to sigh.

I felt her go limp in my arms.

...

I opened my eyes and found myself in a very warm place. I could not see what was around me, because the entire landscape was white. I could see my arms and my legs, but that was it. The only other aspect of this space was what appeared to be a wide beam of sunlight. It threw itself across my hair and face. This was what was making me feel so warm. I closed my eyes and soaked in the beam.

A voice came to me in a whisper. Not the terrible haunting sort that I had often heard as a child. This one was soft and yellow, a woman's voice. It was the the voice of the sunlight.

"It seems I have found a believer in you, Ruth," the voice said.

I wanted to melt in the voice, to become one with it. Instead, I forced myself to reply. "A believer in what, my Lady?" It was as if I had always known the voice of the Creator.

"Not only do you believe in me and in the fortitude of your people, but you also believe in the importance of yourself and others. You are becoming the wise woman I have always meant for you to be, Ruth."

I felt a hot tear pour down my cheek in anticipation of what I was about to say. Oddly, however, I felt no sadness. "My Goddess, why did Archaea have to die?"

There was nothing but love in Her reply. "There is no life without death. Archaea has always understood this. But there is also no death where I refuse to permit it. She died in your arms at my holy sanctuary, a humble temple erected by my servant, Aras. One life in my name is enough. It always has been and always will be. You are a way of my will, Ruth. Spread my blessings to your people, for I never forget my promises."

I did not have to wonder what my Goddess meant. It was as if the very sound of her voice had conveyed the entire message, as opposed to the words. The sunlight grew brighter and I figured I was passing into a spiritual nirvana.

It was in this height of ecstasy that I finally woke up.

Chapter 19

I could feel the cool breeze blowing through the window. I sat up in my bed and looked out into the late morning sky of Ren. By the position of the sun, I predicted it must have been around ten o'clock. I was still dressed in my clothes from my escapade in the library... rather, Aras' kingdom. I pulled away my sheets and sat on the edge of my bed, feeling for the back of my head. There was no bump from where I had been stricken.

How long have I been out?

I strode across the room and into the kitchen. Oddly, my mother was not there. Archaea was not, either. I went about rummaging through the cabinet to keep my mind off of my fallen comrade. It was too early for such emotions.

I only found a box of crackers, and I figured they'd suffice. However, after biting into one of the crispy squares, I discovered they were quite stale. I put them back where I had found them.

I descended the main staircase of the apartment building and into the streets. There was a strangely consistent stream of people walking northwards, deeper into the residential district. I looked about. Something was off. Suddenly, I realized. The air was not biting at me, not pushing people back into the corners of their meager civilization. No, it drew us out into the streets. It drew us together.

A little boy and his mother were among the stream of people walking between the massive stone buildings.

"Is it true what they say, Mommy? Is it really true?"

The mother, tall and fair, seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to answer. She had her own look of wonderment on her face, mixed with a hint of disbelief.

They were just then passing an old man who was headed in the same direction, but at a slower pace. "It's true!" He exclaimed. "I was just in the fields this morning. They are saying it's a miracle, and I don't see any other explanation. Maybe we really are blessed people."

I found myself following the stream of people, walking at first but then running. Many of the people watched me as I passed by. There were more of them as I reached the northernmost districts of Ren, which were on the verge of farmland.

Suddenly, the city spilled out into a valley. No, it was not a dust covered plan, the sort my people had cultivated for generations. Every square inch of the earth was covered in thick, green grass. In the distance, on the border of the fields, there grew tall trees. From them hung massive bunches of cherries, among other fruits. The sunlight shined dazzlingly off of the slightly damp carpet that spread before me.

My mother happened to catch my eye. "Ruth!" She exclaimed. She ran to me and hugged me rather unexpectedly. For once, I did not pull away. Actually, I managed to wrap my own arms around her short body.

As we separated, I noticed that there were tears of joy upon her face. "It is a blessing. There was this earthquake, early this morning, when everyone was still asleep. Your friend... Archaea. She carried you home and put you to bed. She claimed you two had fallen asleep at the library, that was why you had been missing for almost an entire day. Of course this was not true. I don't know what you did, Ruth..." She shook her head clear so she would no longer digress. "I have always said that you are a blessed child, Ruth. You are the messenger of joy and the harbinger of the Goddess' love."

I was so confused. "Archaea is here?"

Just then, she appeared before me, completely unscathed. She didn't even have a slight blemish where her cheek had been cut. She allowed her blonde hair to fall over both of her shoulders. She was wearing military fatigue pants and a white tank top. She shone with brilliance.

"Ruth.." she said, walking over to me. She held out her hand, but changed her mind. She suddenly threw herself into my arms and I was embracing her. She whispered in my ear. "I promise."

She suddenly threw herself back and I noticed that she did not have a tear or two falling from her eyes, as my mother had. Instead, there were full streams cascading down both pale cheeks.

"How do they know it was me?" I asked no one in particular.

Archaea held up a small compact mirror. It was difficult to get a glimpse of myself due to the glare of the unusually strong sunlight. I looked closer. Into my forehead was carved a golden crescent, and I knew it was a blessing.