Hi, Nicole Raine here!

First of all, thank you for clicking the link to my story! I hope you like it...

Traveler will be told from five points of view, which, I know, is a lot. Hopefully, it'll be interesting. Each character has a different tone, outlook on the world, and, obviously, personality. They each have a different perspective and way to tell the story, and when five people who are so incredibly different collide, the results can be...well, I'll let you decide.

I LOVE reviews and comments, whether they be negative or positive. All I ask is that you be kind and respectful. So, if you're reading and you have a couple of seconds to spare, write what you think! Thanks in advance for the feedback!

This first chapter is about the Writer. So, without further ado...

~*~*~*~*~

Away.

It was all I knew.

I'd find a family, and take shelter with them for a few days, or even weeks. Once, it had been months before I left.

But then my isolated, restless nature would kick in. I would feel boxed in whenever people started to get close, and I would get snappish. Eventually, the sponsor family would start to feel the same way toward me.

So I would run. I had a couple of pairs of clothes that I traded out every once in a while, when they got too tattered or too small, or simply too ugly for my current sponsor family. In that case, they usually bought me something new. When I left, I would steal a bit of food, only enough to keep me moving to my next stop, and not much at all if my sponsor family was too poor to afford more for themselves. There was a simple plastic bottle for water, and I had a tattered, worn jacket for when it got really cold. But honestly, I didn't care much for any of that, when I had my laptop.

It was an old model, probably from before the Splitting Wars, almost fifty years ago, but it had been built to last, and it had a program that allowed me to write. That was all I honestly cared about, and so the laptop that I had found in an abandoned field was my most treasured possession.

These things were all put into a half-empty backpack, a simple black bag with two worn straps that seemed to hang on by a couple of threads.

Now I rummaged through that bag, to almost the bottom, and found the laptop just where I always put it. Almost at the bottom, between my extra shirt and pants.

It was heavy and black, and the color was nice because it blended with the backpack's fabric, making it less of a target for thugs. Its lid swung open with a too-noisy screech, and I winced even though I'd heard the sound hundreds of times. Every time it brought back the spark of fear that someone would steal it, and I would once again be left with nothing, not even my writing.

I put my fingers on the keys, and just let them rest there for a moment, a blank new page ready to be typed on in whatever font fit best with my current mood, whatever words best fit with my current mood.

I stared out at the moving landscape from the boxcar I'd hitched a ride in, the familiar pang of longing that came every time I left a sponsor family aching in my chest. But I didn't cry. I'd trained myself to not do that. Ever. Because if anyone saw, I'd be toast.

So I put it to words instead.

 

~~

 

I'm running,

Again,

But I can't get free.

 

It's me,

I know,

And it burns inside me,

 

Reminding.

 

I can't stay

Put,

But it hurts to run.

 

Why is this

Always

Happening to me?

 

Reminding.

 

~~

 

I saved, and shut the laptop, wondering why I even bothered. It wasn't like I'd ever be good enough or brave enough to share this, anyway.

Instead I pondered my words a bit, because I had learned that what came out in my poems usually had more than a sliver of my true feelings behind it.

My philosophy had been that if I found the right family, I would get over my fear of being too close to too many people, of losing myself in the crowds.

But I had tried that, year after year, and it was always the same. Find a family, stay for a few days or weeks, leave for the fear and discomfort.

I guessed that some people were just not meant to have someone who genuinely cared about them.

And I watched the landscape roll by lazily once again, wondering where the train would take me this time.

~*~*~*~*~

2: Musician

~*~*~*~*~

The land had changed again.

That was the first thing I noticed, apart from my own growling stomach and parched throat when I again blinked open my green-tinted, gray eyes. Neither of those issues measured up to the strangeness of the changing landscape, however.

Back in the City, everything was green and healthy: the trees, the grass, even some of the rocks. They had said that it was like that everywhere, so there was no reason to ever travel. Everyone was happy. They stayed.

Now the landscape was changing, right before my eyes. I saw, for the first time, soaring and steep cliffs that made my stomach drop with a sense of vertigo, barren, hot, and dry wastelands where it seemed nothing grew at all, and rolling, layered green hills that faded into the distance as far as I could see from my little boxcar. I never knew what to think. The City didn't lie; it had been drilled into my mind enough as a toddler.

But, then, what was this?

The more immediate problems were my thirst and hunger, but when those were compared to the sharp, sandy cliffs rolling by at the moment, I felt the situations warring for my attention even out just enough to render my brain immobile. So I just stared out at the land, puzzling over food, water, and the landscape around me.

The next thing that registered in my tired, sleepless mind was a sound. It was drifting down to my little boxcar from the travellers’ car, and I closed my eyes in concentration, trying to drown out the roaring, thundering noise of the train and focus only on the reverberating sounds.

A voice drifted into my awareness, saying something, but somehow in varied tones, so that it flowed with the other sounds that I couldn’t identify. There was a low, steady beat that I found myself drumming on the floor of my boxcar. Boom, boom-boom, boom-boom-boom. I also heard a ringing, a bit like an alarm, but in varied tones that somehow fit together into something beautiful. There were dozens of other pieces to the overall sound that I couldn’t identify, all mixed together into the beautiful chorus that fascinated me so much.

Suddenly something rang out, interrupting the beautiful sound. A bell. I recognized the ringing, resonating sound, and braced myself, remembering with a smile the first time that I had heard the bell ring.

I had just run away, and was attempting to sleep in the boxcar, feeling every little bump that we hit in the tracks. The rough, rusting metal dug into my body, and I lay half-awake, exhausted, and sore in a dingy train.

Suddenly a high-pitched ringing sound had gone off, and I bolted upright, every possible scenario and reason for the sound running through my mind at once. They had found me. The City was going to come after me. The train had broken down, and I was stranded in the middle of nowhere. None of them were good.

The train started to slow with a jerk that almost threw me from my boxcar, which simply served to reinforce my panicked theories.

But its stop was graceful after that initial jolt, and the train pulled into a dark tunnel. When it stopped, I realized that ahead there was a building carved into the stone, just as the tunnel had been. My boxcar stopped a little ways from it, so I was forced to jump out and walk to the building as quickly as I could without tripping in the dark, hoping the train didn't start up again and run me over.

There I asked a few questions to the crowds of people, as subtly as I could, about the ringing noise and the sudden stop. There were a lot of confused glances my way, and some looked a bit worried for me. Eventually I gathered that the ringing was called a bell, and we had stopped at the station. The train would start again soon.

The "bell" had rung again, and I hopped aboard the boxcar as it passed by, still moving slowly.

Now the train jerked, and my arms caught me, held out straight and stiff to wedge my body between the sides of the little boxcar. My backpack slid, and I caught it with a leg slammed solidly in front of it, a split-second reaction in a moment of tension. The initial jerk lasted little more than a few seconds, but I had quickly realized that it could be dangerous. Once, my pack had almost been thrown out, full of food, water, and clothes, my only possessions aside from an empty journal that I had kept for reasons I couldn’t understand.

It was made out of some pale wood with dark engravings that spelled out my name. The pages were lined with a metallic gold, and a golden clasp kept it closed and locked. I was the only one who could open it, thanks to the City's advanced technology. Out here, the journal was my only reminder that that kind of advanced society existed.

The train came to a slow stop, and I waited a few moments for it to halt entirely before hopping out, the simple brown pack slung over my shoulder.

I hopped into the station and glanced around for food or water. My stomach growled at the tantalizing scents and my parched throat ached with the need for water.

A stand sat nearby, advertising fresh fruits for a dollar fifty apiece. I dug through my pack and found the tiny wad of money I'd grabbed before leaving the City.

I plucked out three dollars and handed them to the man, who tossed back two ripe, red apples. He looked at me for a moment more as I turned to leave, and I heard his rough voice call out behind me.

"Hey, Kid!"

I turned around slowly, and more than a little nervously. "You a City kid?" the man asked.

I nodded, swallowing.

The man grunted. "You City kids. Never know how to take care of yourselves." He dug through the cooler in his cart, mumbling about us "City kids," and how we were so uneducated.

I had started to take offense to his comments when he took out a bottle of water and tossed it to me. I caught it, fumbling for a moment, and before I could nod a thanks or even look up, the man had been swallowed by the crowd. My quiet "thanks," was lost in the sea of people, and instead I started running to catch up with the train, suddenly aware that it would be leaving now.

My two apples and the bottle of water had been hastily tucked into my backpack, and I ran, dodging crowds of people milling about. I caught the boxcar just as it started to pass me by, and grabbed the handle as it sped past. I hauled myself inside, watching the speck of light at the other side of the tunnel, and could have sworn that I saw a girl climb into the car before me.

Then I was safely inside, breathing hard and painfully thanks to my aching throat and empty stomach, fumbling to open the water. I would eat the apples later, but for now I gulped the water, realizing as I did that it was dangerous to do so due to the tiny amounts of liquid I’d been living on lately, and not honestly caring about that.

I almost didn't notice the tiny slip of paper attached to the side of the bottle, and when I felt it shift beneath my fingers, I peeled it off to read slowly.

“City kid.

Find your way home.

-86754”

Even as I read, the chorus of sounds started up again, and I pushed the note’s strange, cryptic meaning from my mind, closing my eyes to listen. Boom, boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom.

~*~*~*~*~

3: Artist

~*~*~*~*~

Heart pounding, I shoved the piece of ragged paper under a book. Not a moment later, a girl burst into my room, short brown hair bobbing.

I sat back, pretending to be relaxed. In situations like these, there wasn't much choice but to lie.

"Hey," I greeted her. "Something wrong?"

"You'd better not be..." she leaned closer to hiss the word to me melodramatically. "Drawing."

I pointed at the book in answer.

She gave me a disappointed look, or as much as she could, as a girl of hardly nine or ten years. "You know Ma and Da don't like it."

I sighed with something between regret and exasperation. "I'm very aware, Jaiye. That's why I read, remember?"

She looked skeptical. "Yeah, but..."

"But what?" I asked, a bit annoyed and more than a little defensive now.

"Come on." She rolled her eyes. "We both know you don't read half the time you're in here."

I shook my head resolutely. "Yeah, I do."

She shook her head right back at me. "The sooner you stop, the better for all of us."

I stared at the book until the sound of a shutting door told me that my adoptive sister had left.

My 'Ma' and 'Da' were a couple who had taken Jaiye and I into their already-busy family of three. Before, we'd been roaming the streets on our own, just two little girls who depended on each other for survival. Jaiye'd adjusted well to life with a family, bringing in money for Ma and Da from her little jobs. I would've done just fine, were it not for a nasty little habit I'd developed during those lonely nights on the street.

I drew.

I drew the cityscape, and what I imagined the sky'd be like without its polluted glow. I'd heard of stars, but had never gotten the chance to see them. So I drew them.

I drew Jaiye and myself, begging for food and jobs on the street, and I drew our new family once, just to please Ma and Da.

It didn't work.

They lived for things that were practical, and drawing was simply not. It didn't bring in money for the family, and it cost money to get the paper and pencils. I'd argued that I could use coal on rocks. They said it'd take up too much time. I said I'd do it during my free breaks. They said I should be reading.

So I “read”.

Jaiye, the little traitor, agreed with them. She hounded me just as much as my "parents" did. A couple of times, she outright snitched on me, and those were the nights that I refused to let her sleep with me for refuge from the nightmares.

I always let her back into my room the next night, because I had them too.

She'd stopped snitching on me after a while, but that didn't mean she didn't constantly remind me that I wasn't supposed to be drawing. I could have sword that girl had some sort of telepathy. She always knew.

I sighed and pulled out the piece I'd been working on before my adoptive younger sister had so rudely interrupted me.

It was the train.

As far as I knew, there was no true government where I lived. Some cities set up temporary, tentative governments, but nothing gained power or stayed for long. So our railroads were run-down and rusted, still running on the same technology they'd been running on before the Splitting Wars.

My picture showed the train in all its run-down glory, and I could almost hear those squealing tires, metal against metal, nearly drowning out the signal bells.

A long time ago, the trains were used to carry cargo. Not anymore. Now they carried people. Sure, there were the actual passenger-cars, but more often than not the normal boxcars were filled with runaways, outcasts, and travelers who simply didn't have the money to travel legally.

Luckily for them, “legal” and “illegal” were practically the same thing here.

I'd heard of cities, big ones, further along the tracks, but honestly, I'd never been brave enough to try to find them. Rumors said that these other cities had technology so much more advanced than we could even dream about here, and a society that fit together perfectly. It was heaven, they said.

I decided to draw it. My hand moved along the page, the lead tip of my pencil sketching lines, circles, and dots. Slowly my fantasy became real.

White buildings kissed the sky, which was tinted magnificent shades of indigo and deep blue in my head, but was just dark shades of gray on the paper. On the neatly paved, clean streets, people walked, laughing and joking to each other. Being happy.

The things that struck me most, though, were the stars. Little specks of white in the dark sky. I stared at them for a while, imagining what shapes I could make of them just like little girls did with clouds. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of stars dancing across my landscape like glittering diamonds in the sky, but they were so much more beautiful.

Finally, I drew myself into the landscape. I was alone, but I was happier than I'd ever been in reality. I stared up at the stars, leaning up against the wall of one sleek white building. There was a pad of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other.

Suddenly I just needed to see the stars. I didn't care how long it took me, how far I would have to travel. I didn't care how much I'd have to lose.

I wasn’t a metaphorical, deep person. But I needed to go. I needed to see.

~*~*~*~*~

4: Reader

~*~*~*~*~

I stepped inside the door that loomed so magnificently above me, framed in a dark mahogany that contrasted beautifully with the birch-colored engravings along its length. It reminded me of a portal, and as beautiful as the door was, I knew that what lay inside it must have been even better.

It was.

The room had walls of birch with mahogany engravings that portrayed stories. Maybe they were just swirls and floral designs, things that seemed to be common here. But to me, the "swirls" took on the shape of a mother and her daughter, lying on the floor together and laughing down at a book. The sharp-edged designs showed peril and danger. A man lost at sea in a storm.

My violet-tinted eyes scanned the walls, awe taking over.

The walls weren't even the best part.

Below that rested tall, dark bookcases. I felt my breathing grow shallow simply at the sheer number of books that rested on their shelves, hundreds upon thousands, all in different sizes and colors and yet somehow fitted together beautifully and perfectly.

The room was circular, and the bookshelves seemed to be fitted to the walls, wrapping around the room smoothly and leaving as much space as possible in the middle of the huge library.

There, several tables of dark wood rested, each with four cushioned chairs around it. The chairs had a base of some wood even paler than the birch, and dark cushions that matched the table.

I realized suddenly that I could live here for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy.

As I stared in awe at the magnificent array of books, a voice sounded from behind me.

"Like it, dear?"

It took a moment for her words to register, but I didn't wait, caught entirely off guard. "Wha—oh, yes," I replied softly as I spun around to face the voice.

An elderly woman smiled up at me. Her white hair was pulled back into a braid, and she was paler than anyone I'd ever seen. In fact, the only things about her that weren’t white were her eyes. They were a beautiful chocolaty brown, and I just had to wonder how they still were as clear as they seemed to be.

She was smiling knowingly at me, and I couldn't help but smile back. "It's...beautiful," I added, suddenly at a loss for words.

The woman nodded, her eyes lighting up. "It is." Then her gaze darkened. "And yet they try to take it away."

"They? Who's 'they?' What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "That I cannot tell, but you will know. Oh, you will know when you see them." Then she started mumbling, almost to herself, "They try to take away the books, but they do not know the power words hold. I must protect them...” she continued in her mutterings, and I stood off to the side, a bit awkward but mostly still in awe of the magnificent library.

"Do you have any favorites, dear?"

The sudden question threw me off guard again. I started before answering. "Oh! Um, no, actually. I...I didn't really grow up with books like these."

She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Oh, dear, that won't do."

Before I could even open my mouth, she had moved away from the desk and was scanning the vast isles of books, running her hand along their spines as she walked, muttering the names to herself. "The Messenger, Legends, The Searcher..."

Finally she let out a little cry of happy recognition. "Yes! Here we go."

She pulled down a book with a deep red cover and handed it to me. I took it, blinking in surprise. "You'd just...give this to me?"

"Well, now, every reader needs a favorite book. I think that this one may just find a place in your heart." As she said it, she gently placed one papery hand over my heart.

I blinked and smiled. "Thank you."

She simply waved my words away. "Now, take that and go do something beautiful."

When I left the library, I tried to turn around to wave at the woman, but she had already buried her nose in a book. I smiled and headed out. Maybe I’d do something beautiful, like she said. But for now, I was going to settle down someplace and read.

~*~*~*~*~

5: Speaker

~*~*~*~

My eyes scanned the streets warily, the dusty landscape familiar yet somehow concealed. Someone slammed into my side, spinning me around slightly.

"Watch it!" he called roughly.

Anger rose inside me, but a quieter, stronger side of my personality shoved it down. Instead, I shuffled on through the heat, ignoring the man.

Finally, I reached my home and entered, the thin wooden door automatically swinging shut behind me. My mom looked up from her cooking, and I couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. I put my arms around her in a bear hug, and she weakly held on to them.

"How was school?"

I shrugged, untangling myself from her. "Okay. I guess."

She tilted her head, searching my eyes for what had gone wrong. She didn't even need to ask the question.

"Just more of the same. It's nothing, Mom."

Her eyes got sad. "The threats?"

I nodded.

Our society was sad. Not in the way someone might think, though. It was maybe a little depressing, but what I had decided was that it was just ridiculous. There was no government to speak of, and therefore no law, so people ran around doing whatever they wanted. They could threaten people, carry out on those threats, and do pretty much whatever they wanted to do without any consequences at all.

There were the good people, like my mom and maybe a few others, but when people were let loose to do whatever they wanted, naturally there wouldn't be too many "good" ones.

Everyone knew that my mom was sick. And everyone knew that it took its toll on me, too. Most of all, everyone knew that I didn't have a dad. That made my little family a target for every thug within at least twenty-mile radius.

Not that we had much to give. My mom was a baker, and so we lived mostly on leftovers from her work. If we had a lot of food, it meant that business was bad. If we had only a little, it meant business was good. I never knew which to hope for.

Today it looked like we had plenty of food. I sighed, staring at it. My mom followed my gaze and smiled weakly. She put a hand on my shoulder and I just looked into her blue eyes.

Finally she broke and looked away with a sad little huff of breath. I watched as she navigated her way toward the couch, lowering herself onto the worn cushion even as she patted the area beside her. I sat down beside her obediently.

She grabbed my hand and stared at it, deciding something difficult. I wished I didn’t know what it was. Finally she spoke. "I know you love me, and that's the best thing a mother could ask of her son. But honey, you need to go."

I shook my head resolutely. "You need me. Those threats may be empty now, but as soon as I leave, they'll be very real."

My mom nodded. "I know. But I'm not giving you what you need. I can't. You may not like having to go, but you have talents. Skills. Things that could be used. You could change our world."

I shrugged silently.

"Maybe you don't like it, or want to help at all. But the world needs you. Something needs to be done, or we'll die off just like we did fifty years ago."

"The Splitting Wars are a horrible example, Mom," I protest.

"But a true one."

I shook my head firmly. "I'm not leaving. I can't leave. Plus, where would I go? Not much I can do, anyway."

My mom's eye sparked mischievously, so full of hope I found it hard to argue. "Oh, you'll find a way."

She left to the kitchen again, finishing our dinner. I sat on the couch still, only just realizing how exhausted I'd been.

That was when our door exploded.

~*~*~*~

6: Writer: The Boy on the Train

I hadn't seen the boy before he saw me, and it really pricked at my pride. I had trained myself all my life to stay vigilant, and yet here I was without any clue that there was a boy in the next boxcar who'd seen me when nobody else had.

I finally looked up from my laptop’s illuminated screen just enough to notice his face staring at me through a slitted window. I jumped almost a foot off the floor and slammed the computer shut.

His eyes darted away.

I glared. "Why are you watching me?"

He shrugged, dodging my question. "Nice poems. Kind of sad, though."

I opened my mouth to reply before deciding that he didn't need to know my life story. Instead I settled on my original question. "Why are you watching me?"

"Not watching. I'm listening."

“Last time I checked, listening required the ears, not the eyes. Nice try.”

He rolled his eyes halfway, before stopping himself. My own hazel eyes narrowed into angry slits. “I’m not listening to you.”

"You’re still staring at me," I argued.

"No. I'm...thinking."

I snorted. "There's nothing to listen to, anyway."

"Yeah, there is," he pressed. "You try."

I rolled my eyes, but stayed silent. Nothing pricked my ears. The roaring of the railroad, the screeching as the metal wheels ground against the rails, and the wind’s screaming were as vicious as ever, but nothing unusual. Then I heard the prick of a measured note from the cars ahead of us, and realized both what the boy was listening to and where he was from. The City didn't have music. Naturally, if that was where he’d come from, it would fascinate him.

I turned back toward him. "You've never heard music?"

"Well...no." He shifted uncomfortably, then his gray eyes lit up a little. "That's what it is?"

I nodded sarcastically. "And I'm a girl. And this is a train."

He glared at me this time, which was a nice change of pace. "You're quite annoying, you know."

I shrugged. "Not my problem." Maybe that's why I'm here, I added reluctantly to myself.

Finally the boy sighed and shoved a hand through the bars of his little window. "Can you figure out what this means?"

I grabbed the tiny paper flapping in his hand, clasping tightly so it didn't go spinning away. But my eyes were still trained on the boy. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “You’re obviously from here. And there’s nothing private about it. I just…think it’s important that I know what it is.”

I read aloud. "City kid. Find your way home. Dash 86754." I inwardly congratulated myself for correctly guessing his hometown before turning to him.

"I think it's kind of for you to decide. He might've been trying to get rid of you. Send you back to the City. Or..." I glanced at the paper again.

"Or, what?"

I pulled out my laptop again. "That's an address. It sounds to me like he was trying to send you somewhere."

We still had Internet, though it was mostly for wealthier people. Thankfully, one of my sponsor families had set it up on my laptop. I typed in the address and pressed enter, tapping my fingers impatiently until a location popped onto the screen. I smiled, more than a little pleased with myself. It was an easy place to get to, and I'd been there before. But...it wasn’t so easy for a City boy. I winced for him inwardly.

"It's an easy get-to," I told the boy. He looked relieved. "For me," I finished.

He looked up, startled for whatever reason. "What?"

I shrugged. "You'd probably get hopelessly lost there without help. It's a big area."

"Are you offering?" he asked skeptically.

My eyes widened. "No! I'm hardly surviving on my own. And you're not in great shape, either. Sorry." That had sounded harsher than I’d meant it.

He bit his lip and pulled out a wad of green paper money. For whatever reason, we still used currency from before the Splitting Wars. It was only slightly modified to survive the harsh conditions.

My eyes widened. "Are you offering?"

He hesitated, but nodded. "I guess."

"How much?" I asked skeptically.

"As much as you need."

I bit the inside of my cheek for only a moment. "Fine. I'll take you."

I was pretty sure we both winced at those words.

~~

We didn't talk until the train stopped. Then I hopped out of my boxcar and waited for him to join me. As we walked to the station, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Laika."

When I didn't return the question, he answered it anyway. "Mine's Casen."

I nodded curtly. "City-like."

He shrugged. "I guess."

I was carrying my worn backpack, the laptop stuffed toward the bottom as usual, and I could almost feel his prying eyes on the torn fabric. Finally I stopped walking. "Okay, City-boy—"

"Casen," he muttered.

I glared. "I never claimed to be as rich as you obviously are. So stop your staring. I'm not half as poor as some of the people here, and some wouldn't take it as well as I am. Just look ahead. There's a stand with food and water. Get some. I'll be on the train."

I stormed off, leaving Casen bewildered in my dusty trail.

7: Artist: Stars

That night I tied my unruly ginger hair back with a bright blue ribbon, the last I figured I would see for a while. I packed a crimson bag with food, a refillable thermos, extra clothes, a light, matches, and a kitchen knife, a last-minute thought. It also contained a tiny bag that I considered my art kit. Truthfully, it was just a pad of paper and some pencils, but there was absolutely no chance of me leaving it behind. On a last-second impulse, I shoved the book Jaiye'd been nagging me about in the pack among everything else.

I stood up, careful not to disturb my sleeping sister, and tiptoed to the door. Tactlessly, I'd not counted on the huge noise that would make when opened.

"Rayven?" Jaiye called, sounding sleepy. I shifted anxiously.

"Right here," I murmured.

"Where are you going?"

I cursed myself silently. "Just to get a drink, Jaiye." I hated lying to her, especially about something like this.

"With that bag?"

I winced. She obviously knew I was up to something, and wasn’t about to let me off the hook. I crossed the floor and knelt down beside the bed we unofficially shared. It had been a bad idea to let her sleep with me tonight. "I'm not going anywhere," I told her in my most soothing voice.

Jaiye snorted. "Please don't lie about it, Ray. I knew you were going to try. I knew you didn't like it here."

I closed my eyes for a few moments. "I'm sorry, Jaiye. I just...can't stay. I have to go."

"No, you don't." She grasped my hand, blue eyes barely visible in the pitch-blackness. "Please stay."

That's all she said. Not I love you, not I need you. Just please stay. But I heard what she couldn't say aloud. I knew Jaiye well enough to find the hidden messages behind that request, the hidden terror and desperation behind her voice.

I winced and sighed. "I—"

"Can't. I know. But just for one more night. Please, Ray."

I closed my eyes for a moment and let out a long, slow breath. "One night."

Jaiye could affect me like no one else, and she knew it. But I loved her like my own blood sister. I couldn't leave with her begging me to stay.

"But I'm leaving tomorrow, Jaiye. You can't tell anyone, either. ‘Kay?"

She nodded. "Okay. I promise."

She fell asleep almost instantly after that, but I knew that if I tried anything, she would be wide-awake again in an instant. So I stayed, stashing the pack of survival equipment under a loose floorboard. There was a tiny cavern under our house that I'd noted for its convenience long ago. Now the backpack would take up that space, because not even Jaiye knew of my hiding place.

I jumped as she emitted a tiny huff from behind me, tossing restlessly. But then she drifted back into whatever dream she was currently facing, never having fully woken. I let out a huge sigh and climbed into bed.

Why did I let her convince me so easily?

I was scared.

I had to face it. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of being alone with only my impulsive self and my artwork for company.

Underline, impulsive.

I almost felt glad that Jaiye had stopped me from doing something so stupid. I still wanted to run, but maybe a bit more planning would have been helpful. Most likely, I would have been killed before the week had passed.

My thoughts were too discomforting. I tossed myself onto a side, closed my eyes, and drifted back into the world of my own nightmares.

 

~~

 

I grin and laugh back at Jaiye's joke. At seven years old, she's a little brunette ball of fire, but I can't imagine not having her by my side.

She's incredibly young, but somehow she's just as responsible as I am. She works with me during the day for money, and really tries not to eat too much. Sometimes it's too hard. Those are the days I simply let it go.

Tonight, there are plenty of scraps. Jaiye and I are filled to the brim with food, and chatting happily by the fire, letting the flames cast our faces in dancing shadow. I doodle as we joke around, not sure what it is, but not truly caring, either.

Suddenly Jaiye sits up, eyes wide and spooked. Before I can even open my mouth to ask what's wrong, something hot and powerful throws me to the ground. An explosion.

Dust rains around me. I can't find Jaiye. Another flash blasts nearby. A rock hits me right above the eye. I touch the wound reflexively. My hand turns sticky and red.

A man walks out of the dust, holding Jaiye with both hands in his one. I cry out, scrambling toward the girl. The man's arm moves.

I don't feel the pain at first.

Then I am on the ground. How'd I get there? That's when my chest starts throbbing.

I don't care.

I shove forward, toward the man, just as two more figures step from the falling rubble. I stumble back, sobbing as Jaiye cries out involuntarily.

"Jaiye and Rayven. You are coming with us."

I shake my head, lunging and grabbing Jaiye's ankles. She yelps as the pressure hits, and I let go without realizing. The man drags her off, leaving me sobbing in the dust.

His buddies grab me roughly. I bite one. The other bites me right back, leaving several small bruises lined up along my arm. I yelp weakly.

Something materializes from the darkness, and I cry out again. It has to be someone else, helping the kidnappers. A voice speaks from the darkness. "Ceyli Nightshade..."

That's when I lose consciousness.

~*~*~*~

Here's a little author's note to my awesome, awesome readers who have stuck with me thus far. Sorry for the slow updates; life has been crazy and not given me any time at all to write lately.

I hope you liked this new chapter, and please, please give your tips and feedback. It really does help, and thank you to Danny Powers for his amazing review and comment. It really does help; my chapters are going to hopefully be longer in the future.

Anyway, thanks again for the wonderful reads and comments, and I hope to hear from you soon!

8: Speaker: Everything Has Changed

Traveler Chapter 8 (Speaker)

Everything Has Changed

 

I couldn't see anything. It was all a dirty brown color, drifting along in lazy clouds. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea of what that could be.

An insistent ringing in my ears slowly dragged me back to reality. An explosion. Someone had tried to shatter our house. Judging from the heat, they had almost succeeded. Luckily, I was still alive, so that success wasn't entirely complete, assuming they had done it to kill us.

Someone screamed, and instantly I was on my feet, running through the veil of dust. Only a few moments later, it cleared, settling as suddenly as it had risen. I stared at the scene before me, starting to tremble in rage and horror.

My mom was on the floor, painted red with her own blood. A huge man stood above her with a knife big enough to cleave me in half. It was stained crimson.

Slowly, he turned toward me, grinning madly.

I did the only thing left to do when my mother refused to take in another breath.

I ran.

~~

That night found me alone, on the streets. Darkness had come all too fast, and I was left starving, cold, and thirsty, in the shadow of the day.

My mom was dead. That's all I cared about, anyway.

And I ran.

There was no choice, I told myself.

What if she had been holding on? What if she still had been alive?

I had no answer, so I let myself release all of the fury, despair, terror out before falling asleep at last. It was nearly dawn when my eyes closed.

~~

I jolted awake with the image of my mom burned into my retinas, stained red with her own blood and lying helplessly on the ground. I had begged her to get up in my sleep.

Nothing.

I cried to get her attention, like when I was younger and would go to her for relief from the nightmares.

No response.

Just a horrible stillness that grew and settled on my home.

A loud sound finally brought me back to reality. I glanced around in a panic for a moment, before my mind had woken enough to realize that it had been my own strangled sob.

My face was crusted in dust, because I'd slept outside, mud, because I'd been crying, and salt that the tears had left. I wiped it off as well as I could, looking around for the first time.

I was at the very edge of a tiny, dirt-encrusted road that seemed to run from Nowhere to Nobody. Its edges were sloped and spilled crusty dust, so I had been hidden throughout the night in the trench it created.

Honestly, I didn't care for the stroke of luck.

The only other person who'd chosen the place to sleep was a teenage girl in City clothes who had her nose deep in a book. She didn't seem to be in good condition, and I doubted that she'd notice, anyway, if I asked her for food or water.

I continued on my way, passing a few feet from the reader. She didn't look up once as I passed.

I had no money and no elements of survival. But still I walked, because in the wake of my mother's death, I had no idea what else to do.

~~

            Hours later found me at the market. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten there, or why I was there. But I was. The only issue was that I hadn't brought any money, and I was still dazed and miserable from yesterday's horrific events. A man brushed by me, fierce and intent on his way. I didn't even flinch, twisting away mechanically to avoid him.

Vaguely, I noticed that the same girl from before was also here, buying a sandwich with a wad of money I assumed she'd brought from the City. They didn't actually use any money for what it was meant for, but they certainly used it for viewing purposes. From what I'd seen, it also wasn't heavily guarded, because most City kids had their own stash of it.

I saw the sandwiches and immediately regretted my own lack of money, my stomach growling a fierce protest. But there was nothing to be done about that, so I simply headed on my way silently.

I was a good ways away when a gentle tap on the shoulder made me whip around, my guard immediately flaring up.

It was the girl. She stared at me uncertainly, and I noticed an unusual indigo tint to her eyes. "Are you following me?"

I stared back incredulously, almost tempted to laugh at the question. "Why in the Splitting Wars would I follow you?" My voice was dry and croaking from last night's crying.

She shrugged shyly. "I don't know. That's why I asked. People seem...different here."

I glanced down at her clothes. "So you are from the City," I murmured, mostly to myself.

She nodded uncertainly. I bit the corner of my lip for a second before leaning forward. "Take the train. Don't stay here; it's too dangerous. Stay on the train until you find a place that's better."

"Why are you here, then?"

I hesitated. Why was I still here? "I can't leave. Not yet. This is still my home."

She didn't ask the question I had figured was coming. What happened? Instead, she nodded and strode away, scanning the market. To my own bewilderment, I felt sadness well up inside of me as she walked away.

9: Musician: New Lands and a Newbie

Traveler Chapter 9 (Musician)

New Land and a Newbie

 

I obeyed Laika, though honestly I didn't know why. I managed to hop aboard my boxcar just as the train was leaving, the City-issued backpack containing two newly-acquired sandwiches and bottles of water.

 

At least, I'd thought it was my car, until Laika glowered down at me from a corner of the box. I sighed, climbing to my feet. "Whoops."

 

She rolled her eyes and held out a hand reluctantly. I plopped a sandwich and a water into it sarcastically.

 

I sat in the other corner of the boxcar and slowly picked at my own sandwich, staring out at the landscape.

 

Suddenly Laika spoke. "What do you know about us?"

 

I glanced over; she was staring straight ahead at the passing landscape. "Us?"

 

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated gesture. "The people who live outside of your Splitting City."

 

“Splitting?” I knew I must’ve sounded like an idiot, but none of what she was saying made any sense.

“It’s an expression. And not a fond one, in case you were wondering that, too. Back to my question.”

 

"Oh. The land changes here, and you have something called music. Also, we are in the middle of nowhere.” I felt the urge to meet her scathing comments with my own.

 

She glared at me, then slowly softened into confusion. "What do you mean about the land changing?"

 

I shrugged. "They told me it was the same everywhere. There was no reason to leave. No mountains, or natural landmarks or waterways, or anything at all, really. Just flat, green land. They said it had all been leveled by the Wars."

 

She looked at me strangely. "What else did they tell you?" The question sounded very cautious.

 

I glanced at her without moving my head, and this time she was staring at me. I looked away uncomfortably. "Does it matter?"

 

Laika glared. "No, I'm just asking because I have absolutely nothing better to do."

 

"Sarcasm?" It was a somewhat new concept to me, and one she seemed fond of.

 

"Uh, yeah."

 

I stared into my lap. "Nothing really. We never asked, and they never shared."

 

Laika nodded, contemplating. "You know of the Whispering Rocks?"

 

I shook my head slowly. She looked into the distance again. "Well then, that's where we're going."

 

"Wait," I protested. "You said you'd take me to the address."

 

She bit the corner of her lip for a moment. "Trust me, I'm helping you. If you want to get anywhere here, you can't seem like a complete newbie."

 

I looked over at her again. "You? Helping me?"

 

She rolled her eyes. "Don't think too much into it. I just don't want to be the cause of your death. Laika, accused of the murder of Casen by leading to a strange house." She spread her hands in the air as she spoke, as if pantomiming a headline. And for the first time, she flashed a quick smile. I couldn't help but notice how pretty it made her, but banished the thought with a vengeance almost before it had time to cross my mind.

 

Instead, I tried to keep the conversation going in a positive direction. "And I don't want to be dead.”

 

I caught a hard exhale that hinted at laughter, but that was it. We sat in silence after that, until finally Laika pulled out her black laptop. "Look at it and you just might be," she warned, hazel eyes already scanning the screen at an impossible rate. I didn't dare even shift my gaze, instead watching the land again and listening for the music.

 

Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I'd thought. Or, maybe… it would be worse.

10: Reader: The Splitting Wars for Dummies

Traveler Chapter 10 (Reader)

The Splitting Wars for Dummies (Part I)

 

I had followed the boy's instructions, and now I regretted it.

Stay on the train until you find a place that's better, he had said. Now I was stuck, broke, and had absolutely nowhere to go. The train wouldn't allow me on without any money, now, would it? So I was stranded here, in some piece of the Outside completely unknown to me.

My mind ran over a list of possible actions that may or may not help my predicament. Mostly, they tended toward the latter side.

I could contact that boy again.

Impossible. And what would I do with that, anyway? Chewing him out really would not help.

I could sneak onto the next train.

I would be fortunate if I didn't go to jail first.

I could...read.

Sure.

The train stations were little more than huge spaces carved into the hills, with vendors' carts crammed together, and as such, they were extremely noisy. And crowded.

I snuck outside, clutching my book in one hand and my pack in the other. There wasn't much left inside anymore, but the last few days had left me wary and closer to paranoid than I had ever been before.

I glanced around again as an effect of this unfortunate condition and plopped myself down without any further ado. Apparently, benches were a foreign concept to these people, because they seemed to be absent everywhere I had even the slightest urge to find one.

Thankfully, the words printed on my very own book were sufficient distraction from my predicament. I buried my nose in its pages, so close that for a moment I could smell the musky odor of the paper. This was the book given to me by the librarian, and indeed, it had wormed its way "into my heart," as she put it. I had absorbed its content somewhere around nine times already...but who was counting, as they said?

I was close to the blessed relief of pulling my mind away from the dusty world and the hot sun, into the rich forest of the book, when a resounding bang caused my head to shoot up. My book slammed shut before I could mark the page. "Aww," I whimpered. The page numbers counted around one thousand, five hundred, twenty-seven pages. There was almost no way I'd be able to find that page again unless I read the entire book over again.

I shoved the slight disappointment away, focusing in the direction I thought the sound had come from. I didn’t find anything at all, until a merchant came down the road, rolling his cart along by the handles. Unfortunately, they had been placed at the front of the cart, so that the merchant was forced to walk backwards as he came to the station.

I watched him for a few moments, debating with myself on what I should do. In the end, I pushed myself up and started towards him.

He held up a sudden hand. "Not open yet, sweetie!"

The way he said the pet name sounded slightly poisonous, but I was stubborn. "Well, Sir, I was coming to help, not buy. I don't have any money, anyhow."

He looked at me for the first time, stopping his struggle with the cart for a moment. All the glance really was consisted of a sliding of the eyes so that he could see me, but I met his gaze with a small smile.

"Not many 'round here offer to do that," he puffed. "Much less a lady. Not from here, I reckon?"

I shook my head. "No, Sir. I came from the City. I'm a…runaway," I added quietly, to myself.

He heard. "Aw, well, don't beat up on yourself too hard. We got lotsa those 'round here. Just keep on the train for awhile; you'll find 'em."

I smiled grimly back. "I would, Sir, but I already told you: I don't have any money. It was stolen."

"By the conductors or the travelers?" The man wheezed a chuckle. I couldn't help but grin, though I wasn't entirely sure why this was considered a joke. He waved his hand dismissively. "And you don't need a dime to get on those trains, if you don't mind a bit of rust."

I cocked my head with a silent question.

He stared at me for a moment before bursting into a spout of laughter. "The boxcars, sweetie! You hop on the boxcars with the rest o’ 'em."

"Oh," I said, forcing the polite smile now.

The man hesitated a moment, then reached into his cart and pulled something out. "Well now, sweetie, money or no, none of 'em last long if they are simple to us and our ways. And I rather like you, so..." He thrust a book at me, much thinner than my red one and coated with paper instead of the fabric of the ancient crimson book.

I took it slowly, giving him time to change his mind and yank it away. He didn't. "What do you mean, they don’t ‘last’? I said nervously.

He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, so long as you stay clear o’ their fate."

My eyes widened, but he didn't seem to notice in the slightest. Instead, he began to puff down the road again, hobbling backwards with his cart. Somehow, I understood that he simply didn't want help, so I let him go.

"Thank you!" I called as he disappeared into the station.

A hand flicked a wave in my direction. Then the merchant was gone.

I looked down at the book he'd given me. The Splitting Wars for Dummies. A strange title, and slightly offensive to my foreign mind, but I flipped open to a random page and started reading.

With the victory of the Allies came great amounts of land and wealth. The countries were celebrated internationally (except by the Alye Powers!)...

I glanced again at the comment in parentheses. It was in a messy, scrawling calligraphy, and I figured that I knew exactly who had added his own comments to the book's original text. I huffed a laugh to myself and read on.

The losing side...