A novel written by Israel Barbuzano.

ETERNAL

Prelude

At first he thought it was a plane.

After a lifetime spent all but next door to an airport, the thundering clamor of a plane flying overhead had become just another outside sound for his brain to ignore. Like the bustle of traffic or the chattering of birds, it would barely register on the outskirts of his awareness, allowing him to stay focused on the things that actually mattered. The important things, such as caressing the pretty girl right in front of him.

This is why the raging noise that suddenly built up in the sky, so closely resembling that of a plane approaching for landing, made no more than a quiet note at the margin of his consciousness. The rest of him couldn't be bothered to notice, spellbound by her features—full lips, pronounced cheekbones, eyes black as soot. The faint lines around them, finely crafted by laughter; the tiny freckles scattered over her dark skin; the delicate arch of her eyebrows, their symmetry marred by the path of an old scar. He reveled in her details.

Something odd caught his attention, in the distance beyond the mountains. His gaze reluctantly left her face to focus on a growing beacon of light that was quickly flooding the horizon. An impossibly large second sun rose in the evening sky, poking through the dense mantle of clouds to outshine every other source of light. The soothing hues of the mid-summer sunset gave way to a violent blaze that threatened to engulf the mountains themselves.

The sound had grown even louder, its rumble finally piercing through the mist of his subconscious to irrupt into the foreground of his thoughts.

She followed his transfixed stare, her short locks grazing his hand as she turned her head to look at the bizarre spectacle. The confusion in her expression turned into alarm, fear, and then disbelieving terror, as the light became brighter, the noise became a roar, the clouds became a shapeless mist that blasted in all directions. The earth beneath their feet shook with ominous anticipation.

Her lips were moving, but her voice was swallowed up whole in the ear-splitting pandemonium. All that he could hear were the terrible death throes of a rupturing sky.

She reached out with quivering fingers, still staring into the distance—her eyes wide, her breath shallow. Their hands found each other, and their bodies came together in the face of the deafening unknown.

He held her as close as he could, and clung to the hope that perhaps they'd be spared. At least thirty miles separated them from the mountain range—how big a blast radius could it possibly be? Surely they were safe. Surely they were far enough to avoid—

It reached them first as an invisible wall of fire. The temperature of the air surrounding them rose violently, stifling their breath and burning their lungs. Their screams mingled together as the heat engulfed them in a searing blaze of white and orange.

There was only pain, at first. And then pain became a strange, uncomfortable sensation for a few fractions of a second as their bodies disintegrated, consumed by the unrelenting energy that would raze miles upon miles of land. His last thought before it happened was to wonder how it would feel to feel nothing at all.

The world went dark. He patiently waited through those last moments, anticipating to evaporate into the nothingness of nonexistence, even looking forward to freedom from self-awareness. He felt it all slipping away, plunging into blackness with abandon, scattering the last remnants of consciousness gradually, almost deliberately.

His thoughts became quiet forever ....

Or so he thought.

1

There was no warning sound, visual transition or prelude of any kind. The brief moment of darkness was replaced instantly by the grotesque landscape before his eyes. Aaron could do nothing but stare at his new surroundings, at the myriad shades of red and magenta that comprised all that he could see.

Flesh.

This lone word came to his mind as he looked at the dozens, hundreds of contorting paths, sprawling bridges, whimsical tunnels—some as narrow as a rabbit hole, some fit for the likes of giants—ascending, descending, burrowing into each other, criss-crossing in unpredictable ways. All built of what he could only describe as flesh. The daunting scenery extended across his entire field of vision, stretching in all directions as far as his sight could go: ledges, crevices and plateaus above and below him, intertwining pathways ahead and behind in an incomprehensible labyrinth.

Aaron stood in the middle of one of the many plateaus, several paths leading away from it and connecting it to a host of other locations. He was close to complete sensory overload as he struggled to come to grips with his unexpected new location.

In his nebulous mental state, he became fixated with the fluctuating nature of the strange material all around him. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, ever so slightly. He saw his hand reach out of its own volition, curious to feel the texture of the ground beneath his feet. His knees bent without bothering to ask for permission, and his fingers touched the bewildering surface. Contrary to what he had expected, it turned out to be hard and smooth, like polished granite. He stared at his hands as they felt the hypnotic stone, and slowly, as he watched his fingers flex under the eerie light that didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular, one question took definite form in his thoughts.

Where am I?

Previously barren of anything coherent, his mind now flooded with distressing, intriguing realizations. He could feel this stone. He could see the disturbing landscape around him. He could stand on his feet, and he could ponder his whereabouts. So ... was he still alive, after what had happened? Although all available evidence suggested as much, he was fairly certain that he should be dead, what with the humongous explosion that tore apart everything he knew and loved, himself included.

He looked at his outstretched hand, and turned it over to inspect the lines on his palm. The simple wedding band he always wore was still there. He saw the veins under the pale skin of his wrist, the hair that sparsely covered his arms, his legs stretching all the way to the floor, ending in a very normal-looking pair of feet that were still inside the comfortable sneakers he liked to wear in his back yard. A quick check told him that his disheveled mat of blond hair was still attached firmly to his scalp, and a three day stubble still covered his face—for some reason, he had expected not to find it there. He even had his glasses on, thin rectangular lenses on a light, black frame. He looked whole, dressed, and not blown apart at all.

With nervous uncertainty, Aaron put his index and middle finger to his wrist, feeling for a pulse. The familiar rush of blood pumping back and forth was there to comfort him—and confuse him all the more.

Everything, from his appearance, through his somewhat rational thinking, to the throbbing heart inside his chest told him "You are alive." But what he had felt, what he was feeling, told him something else.

It reminded him of dreams where he'd wonder whether he was awake or not. Sometimes he'd go through several iterations in his sleep, every time wondering, "Is this real now? Am I awake this time?" only to find out that he was still dreaming. And then he'd truly wake up, and would know with definite certainty that he was no longer asleep. He would chastise his foolish oniric counterpart, for not knowing the obvious difference between dream and reality.

And now, that very same feeling of having just finally awoken kept nagging at him.

He spun around looking at the monstrous yet captivating scenery, taking in the outlandish view in all of its grotesque glory. This new sensation, this ... vibe, it was all around him and pervaded everything, an indescribable distinctness at the most basic level of reality, in the way things felt. It was ... different.

As he allowed this alien sensation to wash over him, he simply knew, and the knowledge helped a great deal to rein in fear. He knew with a kind of certainty that transcends words or thoughts, that didn't allow for conjecture or hypothesis; a kind of certainty that did not exist in the world where he came from. It was the inescapable certainty that, after all, death was not the end of his journey through existence.

Much to his consternation, he had landed in the afterlife.

To realize that the answer to one of the oldest mysteries since the dawn of mankind was right in front of his eyes was mind-boggling, and not just in a vague metaphorical sense. The skull-splitting migraine that came along with the realization literally brought him to his knees, groaning all the way down.

He felt the need to craddle his head in his hands and squeeze his eyes shut just to hold on to his sanity, it hurt so bad. It was like an army of crazy little gnomes with tiny little knives crawling between bone and brain, and stabbing, stabbing, stabbing at everything in range. They thrashed and punched and bit too, and he could almost feel his thoughts being rudely displaced and squished to make room for the new knowledge forcing its way in. Even through the awful pain, a part of him was terribly fascinated by such a strange awareness.

That same part of him thought back to the countless discussions he had participated in, and the remembrance took some of the edge from the stabbity stab as it brought with it a measure of bitter amusement. Everyone had their own ideas about what exactly happens after life comes to an end, and he liked to think that he had heard most of them, if not all.

Many will tell you about Heaven, Paradise and the wonders that await you there, if you qualify to enter. They will warn you about the horrors of Hell, should you deserve to be punished for what you've done in your time. There will be countless versions and variations of both, and a myriad different lists of what it takes to get to either—it depends on who you talk to.

Many others will explain the notion of reincarnation, and how death will lead to your eventual rebirth as another creature of Earth in a never-ending cycle, or perhaps only until you have earned your place in the afterlife.

Some will let you know about all the places in-between worlds, about shrouds, dimensions and planes of existence, and how you may end up in one of them. Others may tell you about an entirely different set of beliefs, or perhaps about an amalgam of all of the above, or maybe they will shrug and say that there's simply no way to know.

On the other hand, certain people will sneer at the very thought, dismissing the notion as a fabrication of the human psyche, wishful thinking, a product of primitive cultural restraints or the feeble attempt of fear-mongers to sway you to their cause. Some will scoff and acridly cast away any ideas of the sort, pointing out the glaring lack of proof supporting esoteric afterlife claims. And some others will amicably explain that, while ultimately impossible to disprove, all evidence suggests that the existence of an afterlife is extremely unlikely, and it is all but an absolute certainty that the conscious self ceases to exist once the brain stops working.

For Aaron Gretchen, a rather outspoken non-theist who was guilty of derisively sneering, acridly scoffing and amicably explaining in roughly equal amounts, the truth that was outlined before his eyes was a tough pill to swallow. The pounding headache probably had something to do with that.

After a few more minutes of simply taking it in, the pain had gradually faded into a dull discomfort. He had come to the conclusion by then that the realization was at once humbling, disappointing and exhilarating.

It was humbling to realize how wrong he'd been, how little he knew of the way things actually worked. A part of him wanted to deny what he was seeing, chalk it up to a hallucination and patiently wait to get done dying already. Apparently there was much more to reality beyond what humans were able to discern, and he felt a bit silly to have been so unapologetically certain in his convictions.

It was also a bit of a disappointment. Against all logic, the Universe had managed to turn things on their metaphorical head and surprise him with this baffling outcome. Whatever had happened to all the rules? He shouldn't be able to blow up and still exist. Way to not live up to a guy's expectations, Universe.

But all this didn't make the situation any less exciting. Quite literally, a brand new world of possibilities had just opened up in front of him. He already ached to learn everything there was to it.

By now Aaron had lost count of the unanswered questions piling up in his brain. The list kept growing by the second: Who were the denizens of this place? What was the underlying mechanism that transported him from Earth to this new location? Had his body been physically transferred before being destroyed, or was this more of a spiritual kind of thing? How could any of that possibly happen? Would this world adhere to any specific religious vision of the afterlife, or would it be something else entirely? Did he even have a brain anymore, technically speaking? It went on and on in an ever growing sequence of question marks.

But above all else, a more pressing concern was making its way to the top of the list, now that the initial shock of his new situation had been subdued to a manageable level.

He was alone, as far as he could tell. What had happened to his beloved wife?

"Alex?"

He uttered her name out of impulse, a knot firmly tightening the pit of his stomach as fear threatened to make a resurgence. He said it softly, almost in a whisper—it was strange to hear his own voice again, even if there was nothing different about it.

He tried again, louder this time.

"Alexandra?"

There was no echo to his words. It was as if the walls had swallowed up the sound waves instead of allowing them to bounce off and resonate through space. It reminded him of trying to talk underwater.

He fought the urge to launch on an aimless search down a random path, yelling out her name at the top of his lungs. His better sense told him that this strategy was probably not only futile, but also dangerous: he was completely in the dark about the nature of his whereabouts, and it might not be the best idea to tread mindlessly on what could be a hostile environment. There was a sudden stab of panic at the thought, and his eyes darted from one spot to the next in search of any possible threats. What if Alexandra's fears had been well-founded all along? The very idea had been ridiculous to him, but he could no longer dismiss off-hand the concept of eternal punishment for the faithless, considering the situation he'd found himself in.

He tensely waited for a brief while, half fearful, half curious. Thankfully, no demons showed up to stuff him in a boiling pool of lava, or whatever was supposed to happen. After some more time passed in silent stillness, he started to feel a bit silly.

Aaron stared at the endless labyrinth, trying to remain calm as he pondered his options. He needed to leave all assumptions off the table, and proceed with the caution of a soul facing the Great Unknown.

His available choices were scarce. He could stay there and wait indefinitely, hoping that somebody would come, or something would happen. After all, wasn't some sort of welcoming party in order, some form of guidance? If that was the case, he found it awfully rude of them to have him wait for so long. There wasn't even a lousy sign to tell him where to go or what to expect. Maybe they were having capacity issues, as there would be a large amount of new arrivals just as lost as he was. That explosion had been huge, and if his suspicions turned out to be true, it wouldn't have been the only one.

He could pick a path and start walking, and hopefully get somewhere more helpful. Although, quite more likely, he'd get lost in this colossal maze, fall down an endless pit and ... die again? Or get very hurt at the very least. He didn't know whether he could actually get hurt in here or not, but he wasn't ready to find out just yet.

He could scream for help, hoping a benevolent being would come to the rescue. Sound didn't seem to travel all that far, though. So unless this benevolent being was right below one of those crevices, it didn't look like it'd be much help. And yelling like a madman might make a not-so-benevolent being become aware of his presence, with not-so-pleasant consequences that he was also not yet ready to discover.

And so he paced around the confined platform he had appeared on, and waited.

He looked down the cliff on one side of the platform, not overly surprised to see more of the same: ledges, paths, tunnels and bridges, all displaying the same monotonous colors—some places darker, some places brighter. If there was a bottom, it didn't seem to be anywhere near his current location. If there was any semblance of purposeful design, he could not perceive any.

He felt and probed around the impracticable wall that rose at the opposite side, again feeling disturbed by the unnatural pulsing of the "fleshy stone," as he'd begun to call it in his head. It remained solid as rock, smooth and cool to the touch of his fingers.

One by one, he stood before each of the six different pathways that led away from his position. Two were very clearly dead ends, and another one was unfit for travel: it eventually narrowed to a misshapen bridge with an irregular surface that was barely over half a meter across at its widest. His only real choices came down to a broader arch that linked to a lower platform, which in turn had a single path that twisted around a corner, into the unknown; a ramp that sunk into an ominous tunnel, perhaps too steep to be safe for travel; and a small, gnarled trail that seemed to contort its way up and around the wall he had been probing at.

He paced around, and looked in all directions once more, and once more he waited. He already didn't know where he was, how much more lost could he possibly get? He eyed the ascending path with curiosity, even with a hint of eagerness.

No. It was foolish to leave this area. Someone would come fetch him, eventually—he just needed to stay put.

He waited for as long as his patience took to run out, and then for as long as his willpower would hold him.

Which is to say, not very long at all.

2

"Newborn!"

The word reached her ears, but it was as if the sound and its meaning were two separate entities that her brain had laboriously linked together.

The word was repeated by other voices, strange and alien like the first. Her mind saw fit to tinge the word's meaning with desperate urgency, reverent fear and spiteful anger, all at the same time.

Just as Alexandra opened her eyes, someone or something shoved and pushed at her from behind. She lost her balance and fell to her knees, and her first sight was of her outstretched hands attempting to cushion the fall. They met with the ground roughly, a sharp sting of pain shooting up her arms as they couldn't withstand the force of the impact.

Unable to stop her momentum, she awkwardly tumbled forward, landing face-first and scraping her cheek against the floor. The thick gravel on it was hard and pointed, almost like glass shards. Had she not shut her eyes in a protective reflex, she would have seen her blood tint the cerulean shades of the ground beneath her.

The single word had turned by now into a roaring, unintelligible rabble. Stunned in more ways than one, she had time to gasp for air, once, twice—Somebody grabbed a fistful of her hair and brutally pulled her halfway to her feet, unceremoniously dragging her further across the floor. She cried out in shock, the pain pulling her addled mind out of its stupor.

The urge to defend herself and survive kicked in. Her vision blurred by tears, her legs struggling to gain footing, Alexandra flailed her arms savagely at whatever was assaulting her. After a few fruitless swings, her fist connected with flesh, and barely encountered friction as it punched through. Her eyes focused.

Her second sight was of a nightmarish creature rupturing in an explosion of gore as her arm tore through its body like a sledgehammer would thrash through a mound of gelatin. Its yellowish innards splattered in all directions, splashing onto her face and blinding her momentarily.

She crawled away haphazardly, horrified at what she had just seen, at what she had just done. It all happened so quickly that she hadn't had time to truly visualize what the ... "thing" looked like. But it had been long enough for her to know that, whatever it was, there was nothing on Earth like it. The thought only contributed to agitate her even further.

Bordering hysteria, she tried to wipe off her eyes the viscous fluids that were already inundating her nostrils with a foul, gag-inducing stench; it burned the inside of her nose, like a mixture of ammonia and sulfur. Her high-pitched sobs drowned in the screams that came from all around her, growing louder still, drawing closer, threatening to swallow her whole.

Something grabbed at her leg and held it firm, like a bear trap clamping on her ankle. Something took a hold of her left arm, clenching just above the elbow. Something slid around her neck and tightened its grasp. Something closed around her as yet unrestrained wrist, around her thigh, around her abdomen. And then everything started pulling, all in different directions.

She struggled to free herself, thrashing and contorting as hard as she could, to no avail. She fought to breathe, but her throat was clamped shut by whatever was squeezing it. It hurt; it hurt more than she had ever imagined possible, and somewhere inside Alexandra's panic-stricken mind came the realization that they were trying to literally tear her apart.

As their grip tightened and their pull built up to an unbearable degree, desperation to get away overwhelmed her. She wasn't strong enough to break free, no matter what she did, no matter how much she struggled. She was helpless for them to do to her as they wished. Just like it had been, so many years ago.

The anguish, the asphyxiating powerlessness—they brought it all back, and it proved to be more than she could endure. Something inside of her buckled, then snapped.

Memories long tucked away and dealt with rushed out of their vault, tearing open scars long presumed healed. They poured over her in a cascade of heart-wrenching images, sounds, emotions, moments frozen in time. She could feel them again, holding her down, reeking of desperation and misery. She saw their faces, overcome with hunger, shrouded in the despair of the hopeless. She remembered that moment, that terrifying moment, when the will to resist had left her. And the smell, the overpowering smell, so primal and decadent, so depraved and rotten.

That smell, a lifetime ago, had permeated her every thought and would linger for years to come. It would not leave her, no matter what she did. It would become a part of her, and haunt her, and change her.

Today, it would save her.

Anger stemming from all the resentment she had harbored, from her frustration and unfulfilled thirst for vengeance, it rose like magma making its way from the depths of the earth. The memory of their touch, their eyes, their stench, it all went up in flames, engulfed by Alexandra's unbound rage. They would not have her, never again.

Her scream was a savage wail, the feral howl of a wild creature.

Her third sight came in a flash of wicked clarity. In her mind's eye, she saw herself break free through sheer brute force, her face twisted in a furious snarl. She saw her hand grab whatever was around her neck, and pull, and tear the appendage off its owner. She saw her legs kick at her assailants, her foot smashing into another of the creatures. The violence of the impact sent it flying away from her in a gooey mess.

She saw herself spring to her feet, and brutally swing her right arm in a backwards motion at another of her would-be captors—this time, with calculated purpose. It sliced effortlessly through its midsection like a well honed scythe, splitting the creature in two. Her arm continued its unwavering arch, the inertia spinning her around to face the last of the creatures around her. With a final enraged scream, she thrust her clenched fist forward in a wide hook, the force behind the punch carrying her entire body with it. She watched as her blow made contact, broke through body tissue in a burst of bloody slime, and tore a gaping hole through the thing's body. It uttered a gut-wrenching gargle as its disemboweled remains staggered and hit the ground with a spattering thud.

She heard the panicked voices from the rest as they fled in terror. Their incoherent screams became more and more distant, until they faded completely.

She had watched it all unfold in her mind. From her chimerical vantage point she could see her own face, covered in yellow-green ooze, her eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to shield them from the viscous fluids. She looked at her body, muscles still tense, her chest heaving with deep breaths. Her lazy Sunday clothes were drenched in the same disgusting muck, small bits and pieces of whatever these things were still clinging to them. She was terribly disappointed to see her favorite sweatpants ruined beyond repair.

She saw herself attempt to wipe the gore off her face, with an empty calm borne of mental exhaustion. The effort was mostly pointless, as there was no untainted part of her anatomy that she could use to clean things off. But it was enough to allow the muscles around her eyelids to loosen up, and let her overwhelmed brain regain some semblance of control. She took an especially deep breath, and her entire body seemed to slump down as it released some of the tightly wound tension that gripped her.

She saw herself open her eyes, slowly.

At that moment she still nurtured a small glimmer of hope. Maybe she would open her eyes to find herself in her moonlit bedroom, her sheets damp with sweat and the air filled with Aaron's snoring. She would nudge him gently, he'd turn onto his side, and she'd go back to sleep never to remember this awful nightmare. She clung to this hope, even as she felt the creatures' vital juices dripping from her hands, the sting of the gravel under her naked feet, the fiery burn of the wound on her cheek.

Her eyelids opened slowly. As her vision came into focus, the grisly scene crushed the last remnants of optimism she had harbored.

She stared at the mangled corpses and yellowish sludge, scattered all over the blue gravel that covered the floor of the large hallway she was standing in. The unnatural color of their fluids looked to her more like vomit than blood; adding to this image were the lumps of body parts and innards and unidentifiable chunks of flesh, all mixing haphazardly in unsightly mounds. Rather than the result of her desperate battle for survival, the area looked more like the aftermath of some massive monster's sickly hangover.

In different circumstances, she would have asked what manner of creatures were these. She would have been puzzled by the nature of her surroundings, and pondered whether she was underground or within some strange windowless building. She'd have wondered about the architects of such a place, and been interested in the elaborate carvings etched throughout the columns that lined the immense hallway, or the fascinating reliefs on the distant walls. At the very least she would have noted the pale blue light that illuminated everything yet didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular.

But instead she stared, struggling to make sense of things, of anything at all. She stared, and looked at her hands, and glanced at the bodies, unable to stop her eyes as they jumped from one horror to the next. Had she really done all this?

She knew she had, somehow. She knew. She just ... knew.

The ground spun beneath her feet as the feeling sunk in. A different kind of fear took hold of her insides then, a terror unlike anything she had ever experienced or imagined possible. It was the fear of waking up from a nightmare to find that everything in it has seeped into reality. A fear spawned from despair, born of certainty beyond doubt and beyond hope, immovable in its intensity and inescapable in its vastness.

She staggered a few steps back, bumping against one of the pillars without even noticing. Her legs were shaking. Her chest felt as if gripped by unseen fists. Deep, mournful sobs were already seizing her throat. It was then that Alexandra Gretchen wondered, for she could not understand.

She was a devout believer, her faith strong after the many trials that life had put her through. It was the kind of faith that is not taken for granted, but tried by fire, tweaked and reasoned and researched. She prayed every night at the quiet of her bedside, and she meant it every time. She was kind to others, and understanding, and tolerant and generous, most of the time—more often than most, at the very least. A good person by any standard.

Why, then, had she been condemned to Hell?

She fell to her knees, hugged her blood-soaked arms to her abdomen, and wept for as long as tears would flow.

∞

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User [Saudanaishi] has initiated chat with [MoutHwasH] at [01:46:03AM(PDT)]

3

The creature was as tall as he was, about twice as wide, and had many appendages that could be described, somewhat accurately, as tentacles. This was as much information as Aaron could process at the moment.

Soon after came the realization that it had no legs he could identify, and hovered about half a meter above the ground, frozen in place some ten meters down the path in front of him. A host of tentacles lazily rotated and twisted beneath its generous girth, partially concealing a ... well. Apparently, a bulbous spherical gland that pulsed with faint bursts of light. His brain had to make another pause here.

Its head unceremoniously bulged out from the top of the torso, not even bothering with such a trivial thing as a neck. It was like a snowman's head, only made out of mud, and the mud had begun to melt into the rest of the body, becoming rather shapeless and blobby. The only features on it were a series of vertical slits at the bottom that could have been mistaken for gills, and a wobbly row of translucent protrusions about where a hairline would be expected to start. With an adventurous imagination, they could have been mistaken for eyes—only there were about fifteen of them, in a loose arrangement dispersed across its "forehead." And while there was no obvious way to tell, Aaron had no doubt that it was acutely aware of his presence.

From the moment that he had turned the corner and seen it, Aaron was equally fascinated and scared witless. It shouldn't be a great surprise, then, that he couldn't find the words to respond coherently when the thing started speaking in a deeply apprehensive tone.

"The Unbound honor and guard you, my lord. I am but a traveler conducting business. Please allow me passage and I shall trouble you no more."

The fleshy knobs on its head changed in luminescence and color as it spoke, while a subtle hum wrapped around the words, as if carrying them to where they needed to go.

Even though he heard the sentence in perfect English, Aaron was too dumbfounded to muster a reply. He was too busy trying to come to grips with the fact that a strange alien was not only addressing him with utmost respect in his own language, but actually expected him to graciously grant passage.

Perhaps if he had been in a normal state of mind, he would have seized the opportunity to engage this creature from a position of dominance, not giving away how utterly ignorant and helpless he really was. He might have realized that this was the time for a dazzling display of quick wits and keen cunning; he had seen it done countless times in the novels he'd read, the movies he'd watched and the games he'd played, where heroic characters overcame outlandish situations like this one through sheer resourcefulness and willpower. He had imagined that he'd probably act similarly, should he find himself immerse in such circumstances.

As it happened, all he could do was to look rather unheroic as he exhaled a hesitant "Du-u-uh?" as a response.

The creature allowed for a small pause, during which it seemed to evaluate the situation. It hovered a bit closer and stopped once more, the luminous gland beneath the tangle of shifting appendages brightening faintly as it moved. It raised some of its tentacles in what Aaron could only interpret as a placating gesture, and spoke again—cautiously, thoughtfully.

"Have I offended, sir? If so, it was not my intent. I shall use an alternative route, with your leave." The colors were more subdued, as if timid. The ever-shifting hum somehow conveyed bashfulness. Aaron had no idea how he was able to infer these things; he simply did, and for the moment he would worry about much more immediate concerns. Realizing that the creature was about to turn around and leave the way it came, he finally managed to croak out a discernible command.

"Wait!"

The alien stopped turning at once, giving the human its full attention. It looked wary of what he might say. Aaron tried to display some confidence to match the deferential treatment he was receiving, and maybe salvage some of his trampled pride. He did not succeed by any measure.

"I, uh—have you seen another of, um ... my kind around here? Female, about my height, dark skin, short wavy hair?"

The creature simply stared back at him for a few moments—quite the feat, considering its lack of an actual pair of eyes. And, gradually, its confusion turned into amusement. It approached Aaron swiftly, barely able to contain its mounting elation.

"You are a newborn, aren't you?" it asked, and for a moment Aaron panicked thinking he was about to be smothered by this octopus-monster-thing. He managed half a step back.

"Uh—"

"You just showed up here. You blacked out and suddenly showed up in this place, did you not?" The tone wasn't demanding, but good-natured. Even friendly.

"I—y-yeah, I guess. How do you—"

"Boundless luck, if it isn't a damn newborn!" After something that could be tentatively described as a delighted guffaw, the creature struggled to restrain its excitement, seeing how the human before it was growing more and more agitated with the one-sided conversation. It displayed a combination of colors that Aaron recognized as a wide, affable grin, and it became the default background after every prismatic shift. "I know you have many questions, Human. To answer one of them, my name is Queg. But I must ask patience of you now, as there is a certain protocol I must follow. If I bring you to the safety of your people the reward will be quite handsome. If I fail to do so, however, I can smother my gravity gland goodbye.

"There are certain things that I must let you know, and certain things that I must leave for you to discuss with the nearest Human link. I know I am using words that you understand but that you don't really grasp the meaning of; I'll explain those as best as I can. But first, I must ask you not to be afraid of me. I am a friend, I can be trusted, and it is in my best interest to keep you safe from all harm. There are those stupid enough to be hostile towards your kind, but I am not one of them. Second, we must get you to human domains as soon as possible. It is fortunate that you are in the Pathways; the journey will be relatively short, but I will need to ask for directions first. Third—" The creature continued its speech unaware or uncaring of Aaron's blank stare. In fact, the stupefied human had been staring blankly for a quite a while: he became unable to keep up somewhere around "human link"—the words had just rolled into one another in an incomprehensible mess at some point after that. He felt like he'd be shutting down soon due to information overdose; wrapping his mind around it all in so little time was proving awfully difficult.

"This is freakin' nuts," he said in a dismayed mutter. The words were enough to make the alien interrupt its speech and "look" back at him, and Aaron could have sworn that he saw the thing blink, lack of eyelids and all. Feeling self-conscious, Aaron rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, soothing the incipient headache that was creeping up on him.

"So, uh," he said, "there's a ... a 'protocol' to deal with people like me, I guess?"

"Yes indeed!"

"And, um, doesn't this protocol thing say to take it easy on the newbies? I'm ... a bit overwhelmed here."

The creature paused and twitched uncomfortably. "Why, yes, in fact, it does. I apologize. I'm a bit eager, you see. You're my first newborn. You'll probably be the last, too. You are rare and prized merchandise, sir."

Merchandise? "Uh, prized by whom?"

"Just about anyone with half a wit! Which isn't as many as you'd expect. Humans have many agendas, and all of them benefit from new recruits, which they compensate generously for, even if you don't happen to join their specific group in the end. That's motivation enough for me. On top of that, it is very likely that any denizen of the realms attacking Human newborns on sight will be hunted down and slaughtered, while those that help your kind will earn the Unbound's favor. Still, hatred for your species runs deep in some places. Deep enough to defy the Unbound's will. Like I said, you're fortunate to have showed up where you did."

"If you say so ...." The Unbound? Hatred for humans? What the hell is all this? Aaron's thoughts grew more exasperated as confusion kept mounting on. Every answer only piled up more questions, and the more questions, the worse his head hurt. "Why are humans hated here?"

"Not here, not in the Pathways. Not overtly, at least. The Sentients agreed to keep the peace throughout the hub, and any hostilities are punished expediently. But please, sir, I fear I'm explaining too much. It's important to follow the protocol I was taught. It should not only get you where you need to be in the quickest way possible, but also ensure you remain in good health."

"Fine, yeah, alright." Aaron could barely keep up with half of what was being said, and the frustration of it was starting to get to him. But he made a conscious effort to just relax and go with the flow. He'd be damned if he was about to argue with the weird tentacle monster that appeared to have much to gain from taking him safely to his peers. Second-guessing such an earnest helping hand—tendril, appendage, whichever—struck him as a foolish notion. He had wandered off in search of a friendly face, and this was probably as close to a face it was going to get.

So best not be rude to the complete stranger. He figured he'd approach it like meeting any other person off the street.

"My name is Aaron Gretchen, by the way." He thrust his hand forward out of reflex, a habit grown over the years of greeting potential clients, peeved customers, lonely old ladies coming to chat about the latest concern with their insurance policy. Then realized how stupid a gesture it was when confronted with someone who didn't have hands to shake with.

He withdrew the hand in embarrassment, hoping the creature wouldn't notice, or at least wouldn't take offense. It didn't seem to. "Just call me Aaron, uh—" He fumbled trying to recall the creature's name. He was pretty sure that he'd been told just a moment ago. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Queg." It came out as a peculiar sound, almost a beep, and a very specific sequence of colors throughout the fleshy knobs on its head. But the syllable "Queg" was as clear in Aaron's mind as if he'd just heard it pronounced by a fellow human being. He was even aware of the way it was spelled.

"Queg? As in Q-U-E-G?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know about that. My name is a certain unique configuration of my prismatic glands. You perceive it as a combination of colors and a characteristic hum. And then you hear it in your mind. Queg."

Aaron grimaced. You gotta be kidding me! "There are twenty questions I could ask about that sentence alone, you see."

Queg sighed (it was definitely a sigh, Aaron told himself) and appeared to shake its head regretfully (again, as far as Aaron could tell.) "I keep volunteering information that does you no good. In all honesty, I do want to be candid and answer all your questions, but as you can see it just creates more problems. We really should stick to the basics until I get you to Human domains. You will then be able to learn everything there is to learn." It paused, a hint of doubt creeping into its voice. "Or so I've been told."

Frowning, Aaron kept silent for a moment. His headache did seem to get worse the more questions he asked.

"It's just frustrating not to know my ass from a hole in the ground, you know? It'd be nice to know at least what the hell happened to my wife, and how did I end up here. Wherever 'here' is."

Just thinking about Alexandra was enough to constrict his chest with renewed anxiety. He hoped she was better off than he was.

"I understand, sir. I have no information concerning your partner, but I will tell you what I can about your surroundings. Provided you can walk and talk?" Queg motioned for Aaron to follow, and hovered ahead for a few meters. It seemed hopeful.

Taking a good look at the creature that was Queg—its fluttering appendages, its shiny gravity gland, its shifting prismatic knobs—Aaron gave a nominal amount of thought to turning tail and running far, far away. The urge almost made him chuckle. And where in the world would you run TO, genius?

He let out a heavy sigh. Wondering why did he even bother to weight options or ponder courses of action, he started towards the alien-looking thing that, for all he knew, was leading him right into its tribe's cook pot.

4

There was only one question in Alexandra's mind. She could only ask why, why, over and over and over.

She had no pretense of having led a virtuous life. She wasn't a famous philanthropist, or a selfless charity worker, or a devout nun. She'd broken the harmless commandments plenty of times; the ones she thought harmless, that is. She cursed often and spoke the name of the Lord in vain, but a whole generation of teenage girls had done that alongside her. She certainly strove not to get any work done on Saturdays, but this didn't have nearly as much to do with keeping it holy as it did with being lazy over the weekend. She'd stolen when she was a child, but it was either that or starve to death. She'd coveted plenty too, then; all the wonderful things that she couldn't have, could not ever have. Who could blame her? Who in the world could blame her?

I don't deserve this.

The Deadly Sins were in all humans. Who hadn't ever been angry? Who hadn't ever wanted more than what they had? Who could resist going all out once in a while on a delicious meal, after counting calories day after day? Her pride was an adequate fit to her accomplishments. Sloth came to visit only rarely, and they were short visits at that. Envy was a thing of the past. And lust ... well, husband and wife are entitled to certain things, are they not? Lust was backed by love. She wouldn't have it any other way.

No, the Deadly Sins were part of life. They were, in fact, the flaws that defined humanity. But to be consumed by them, that was the road to Hell. And she had veered far, far away from that road, she thought.

All you do is make excuses. He has seen deep inside your soul, and deemed you unworthy. Did you feel entitled to Heaven? Perhaps pride is your folly, above all others.

She could look at her entire life, and not be able to point to a single instance where there was evil in her actions. Oh, she had hated a few times. She'd imagined doing certain, less-than-friendly things to a few people. But she had never actually done those things! Isn't that what counts? To treat others the way you'd like to be treated, no matter how irritating they may be? Or had she been judged on account of her every thought, of her every single desire? Even if that were the case, the good would surely outweigh the bad by quite a large margin.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Maybe this is the way it must be. Maybe you do deserve it. Who are you to say?

And there had been plenty of suffering too. There had been no shortage of it throughout her childhood; it had been a childhood only in the sense that she'd been a young girl. Growing up in Kibera had been a daily struggle for survival. Even after all the years of normal life; after the promotions, the diplomas, the hard work, the hours and hours of therapy; after learning to trust, to love, to be loved—still she cringed at the thought of Kibera. She had wanted to see it all burn, back then: the slums, its people, and all of Nairobi with it. Even much after becoming part of the Sanders family, she pictured it all in flames, or underwater, or blown up, or otherwise erased from existence.

She had simply let go at some point, realizing what a pointless waste of energy it was to hold on to such hatred. She'd never been able to truly forgive, but she had tried, she had honestly tried. And eventually she had found peace and comfort in the thought that the injustices suffered on Earth would be righted in the afterlife. But now ... was this Justice? Was this Just?

Deserve it? I deserve eternal torment? It isn't a couple of days, a month, a few years. It isn't a hundred years, or a thousand. It's eternity. Eternity. Punishment fit for a monster beyond redemption. What did I do to deserve it? What didn't I do?

Was it not going to church? She used to go, in the beginning. She had discovered her faith through her parents and their church, in fact. But as she delved deeper into the intricacies of her relationship with God, she developed a certain aversion towards organized religion. She didn't care much for all the disagreements between different groups, what she saw as meaningless squabbles over unimportant details. She never felt the need for that sense of community that seemed to draw so many to service. And ultimately, she had felt that God's love did not need intermediaries. It was a personal thing for her; a quiet, peaceful thing. Mom and dad understood, as they always did. It didn't stop them from inviting her to come from time to time, but they understood, because they knew that their daughter's church was inside her heart. They knew that she was good, and that she would treat others kindly, and that was enough to make them proud.

I am a good person. I didn't just pretend my way through life so that I could get into Heaven. I was truthful, and honest, and I always did the right thing, even when it hurt. I don't belong here.

Was this a test? Yes, the final trial that would reveal what truly lied at the bottom of her soul, that would stir every doubt and question every conviction.

It was such a cruel notion. She rebeled against that theory; who would find such a thing necessary? Was her soul not laid bare at the moment of her death? Was she to be judged not by her deeds in life, but by her resilience after it? Her lips curled in distaste at the thought. If this was a test of enduring conviction, of trust, she was failing it atrociously.

I have done nothing to deserve this.

It wasn't fair. Slice it any way she would, it simply wasn't fair. She felt despair subsiding, being replaced by something else entirely. Her fist clenched, a fistful of gravel digging into her skin.

Nothing.

She fought to deny it still. It was just a mistake; something had gone wrong; she was the victim of a cosmic blunder. Her soul had taken an unintended detour into the clutches of devious demons. If that were the case, the afterlife wouldn't actually be unfair, only ... incompetent.

That concept was even more depressing, she realized. Eternal Damnation by mistake? It was the worst of all possible reasons. The idea only fueled what was filling her from within, pushing aside every other thought as she struggled in vain to justify what had just happened to her. Her shoulders trembled, her jaws tightened.

Nothing!

The sense of betrayal was sickening. A whole life! A whole life of pouring her faith on an entity she thought benevolent, fair and loving. Was there love in the sentence that had befallen her? Was there righteousness in the fate she had been assigned? What a fool she had been. She sneered bitterly, remembering the countless discussions she'd had with her husband on the subject, that ranged from quiet talks to full blown arguments. What fools they'd all been! If nothing else, Aaron would appreciate the irony.

Aaron.

It was like a bolt of lightning piercing through her mind. Her adoring husband; her beloved husband; her charming, goofy, annoying atheist of a husband.

Oh, Aaron ....

The gathering storm within her crackled, rippled and dissipated as if it had never been there, overtaken by an even greater wave of anxiety. Because if she had ended up there for no good reason that she could imagine, what sort of torment was in store for Aaron, an adamant non-believer?

How she had dreaded the thought in life, the idea of the one she loved being tormented for eternity, punished for his lack of faith. Or, at the very least, damned to wander through limbo forever, doomed never to meet one another again.

He would always dismiss it with a chuckle. "No just and benevolent god would punish a great guy like me simply because I didn't believe," he would say, with a smile that only pretended to be arrogant. "And if it isn't a just and benevolent god, he's not deserving of worship anyway." She would tell him that it's just not that simple, and get frustrated with his nonchalance, and drop the issue, because trying to convert one another was off-limits. She'd tell herself that there was no sense in worrying about things you can't change, even when it was hard to resist the urge to try and change them.

But that was then, when the din of every day life drowns out distant concerns, and death is something that happens to other people. The image of her sweet, harmless Aaron being tortured until the end of time was now every bit as real as the slime covering her hands and staining her clothes. It was as nauseating as the pungent stench of death surrounding her. And it dawned on her, then.

Aaron is here. He's somewhere in here.

It was only a second before she was back on her feet. If she could find him, if there was the slightest chance ....

Then what? What could you possibly do if you find him, other than watch him suffer? How do you intend to go about finding him? Do you think you can come and go as you please in here? Do you really think that you have any say at all on what happens to you? There is no hope. You might as well lie down and wait for the demons to take you.

She shook her head violently, irritated at her own bleak thoughts. They would have to work for it, damn it all! What was left for her to lose anymore? She had already lost everything! Everything that mattered to her had been taken away in an instant, without so much as an explanation, a justification that would at least tell her why, why, why! The tempest swarmed within her once more, turbulent, ominous.

"I refuse to go quietly," she whispered to whomever might be listening.

I will fight until there's not an ounce of strength left in me. I don't belong here, and I will make it right, and if it's foolish to even try, then I'd rather be a damned fool!

She cast a quick glance at her surroundings, not really seeing what was immediately in front of her eyes. She was vaguely aware that Hell would be infinitely vast. There would probably be different levels, or dimensions, or circles, or whichever bizarre structure it happened to have—if it had any structure at all. So far she'd only seen hideous monsters and a splitting headache, but there was no telling what she would find around the corner, the horrors that would surely find her wherever she tried to hide.

The notion was enough to make her defiance waver. What hope could a lone, wandering soul possibly harbor?

As if her thoughts were the signal they were waiting for, noises emerged from somewhere behind her. Panic threatened to make a resurgence as she heard the sounds of feet dragging on the gravel, and a jumble of the same alien voices that had been screaming all around her just a few moments ago. She was only slightly relieved to realize that they were quite far off, judging by how faintly they reached her ears.

Alexandra struggled to remain still and listen. Over the deafening thumping of her racing heart, she could hear them coming closer. A small corner of her mind noted that there was no echo to the sounds—quite odd, considering the architecture of the large hallway she was in. She spared no further thought on the matter, and wondered instead about what to do, what could she do. For a moment she felt her spirit descending into despair once more, her thoughts drenched in uncertainty, on the verge of sinking into that unfathomable pool of dread at the bottom of her being.

Yet her legs already carried her forward as fast as they could, away from the noises and into the unknown. Her feet did not falter or stumble, and desolation no longer encumbered her step, for what swelled anew inside her was stronger than fear, deeper than doubt. There was determination in her eyes and resolve in her stride.

She would not be idle with despair. She would not abandon hope.

________

The countless pillars flashed past her as she ran, the hues of blue and magenta overlapping one another in a blur. Alexandra's feet pounded on the gravel painfully, bare as they were, in a maddened sprint that she refused to slow down for even an instant.

The hallway still stretched before her eyes in a straight line as far as she could see. She wondered what to do when she reached the end of it, and as the thought crossed her mind her stride lost a bit of its momentum. Did she intend to wander aimlessly, hoping for the best? She needed a plan. Not even a good plan, she told herself; she'd settle for a mediocre plan. Any plan at all, honestly.

You can't run forever. Keep running like this and you'll stumble straight into more problems. Her pace slowed down a bit more. Or is the plan to find Aaron by simply running into him?

If her goal was to find her husband, she would need information. She needed to find out where she was, where he would be, just how far she'd have to travel, and how to get there. All this assuming that she would be able to deal with, or avoid, whatever obstacles she'd find in her way. And assuming that it was possible to travel where she needed to go. And assuming that there would be something useful to do once she got there. The full-speed run had become a mere trot by now.

How do you even know that Aaron is here? You didn't end up where you expected, after all. What makes you so sure that Aaron got the punishment you expect?

She would find him anyway, she thought. Wherever he was, however long it took. She would search and fight until she had found him or until she could search no longer. She would give anything, do anything, to see his face once more, to find comfort in his embrace.

Yet it would be lying for her to claim that her determination was purely out of steadfast devotion and undying love. Something else drove her—that dark, foreboding storm at the pit of her stomach, twisting and surging in unison with her heartbeat, washing her insides with the bile of betrayal. She boiled with outrage and contempt and spite, and as she mulled it over an old quote came to her mind: "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned." Oh, she would prove it true in the most literal way. She would prove it ten-fold, a thousand-fold.

Finally she came to a halt, and winced in pain as the sharp rock fragments that covered the ground dug mercilessly into the soles of her feet. Panting lightly from exertion, she gingerly lifted her right foot to take a look at it; she was not surprised at the mess of cuts, scrapes and blisters. She would have used her fingertips to carefully feel around them, try to soothe them somehow, but her hands were still covered in filth. They all looked like superficial wounds, luckily. Which didn't stop them from being awfully painful.

She thought about her late teens, about the countless hours spent scrubbing at her feet, trying to get rid of the layers on layers of callouses and rough edges. It felt like getting rid of the past, then. Even though they'd never gone away completely—quite possibly the reason why she was still able to stand at all—she'd kill to have those hardened feet back right about now. By the look of things, she wasn't likely to stumble upon a nice pair of shoes in this place.

Alexandra grit her teeth, steeling herself. You've been barefoot before. It'll heal and callous up. Stop being a baby.

Blood on her feet. She looked at the ground beneath her. Ah, crap. She turned around, and saw a trail of bloody smudges neatly arranged in a straight line that led directly to her position. They were patently noticeable for as far as her eyes could see. Son of a bitch! I couldn't even hide my sorry ass without having an arrow pointing at me the whole time!

Sore, bleeding, covered in filth, frustrated and furious, she felt on the verge of screaming at the top of her lungs. She wanted to throw a fit and hiss and scream and flail her arms around until all her energy was spent. She was ready to punch somebody and keep at it until nothing but a bloody mess remained.

Can't run forever. Can't hide at all. I have to find out where I need to go.

And there was only one source of information that she could think of.

She took off running again, her jaw clenched with grim resolve as she did her best to ignore the sharp stabs of pain that came with every stride. At least she knew where she was going this time.

All she had to do was follow the trail of blood that her own feet had left behind.

∞

~War for New Earth II: Insurrection~ Private Channel Log - [January 7th, 2012] at [07:31PM(PDT)]

5

Queg hovered onwards just a couple meters away from him, slightly ahead since it was leading the way to wherever they were going. The pace was easy enough as they went up the umpteenth slope, with only a small sense of urgency that could be attributed to Queg's eagerness. Aaron didn't even try to keep track of the countless twists and turns, ups and downs of their path—it wasn't like there was anywhere in particular to go back to, he told himself.

Instead, he worked on gathering the courage to start asking questions again. He always had a hard time initiating conversations with strangers; it wasn't made any easier by the fact that the stranger at hand was an awfully friendly Lovecraftian monstrosity.

He shook his head, smiling in spite of it all. Looking at it from a distance, his situation was so ridiculous that he had a hard time repressing laughter. He'd just died—vaporized, no less. He showed up in a labyrinth made of stone-hard flesh that shifted constantly. He was being guided by Cthulhu's cousin towards the Human Overlords. And after that ... enlightenment, possibly! There were only so many surreal concepts he could cope with before going completely insane.

Except "surreal" couldn't be any farther from the truth, he mused. Surreal implied that it all felt like a dream, or a hallucination, or a form of virtual reality. Surreal was the complete opposite of what he was experiencing—here everything felt more crisp, more raw. More real than ever. Was there a word for that? Overreal. Superreal. Suprareal? This line of thought wasn't getting him anywhere.

All in all, he figured that he deserved a pat on the back, at the very least. There he was, reborn in Upside-down-landia, dealing with mind-bending discoveries left and right, and only the slightest bit terrified. He found it quite commendable.

He looked at Queg once more. He seemed to know the way, at least. The way to where, though? And was Queg a "he," anyway? Questions, questions everywhere he turned. There was no end to the number of concerns in Aaron's mind about his general fate, but he also burned with curiosity of all things related to his peculiar guide. That would be a good place to begin, he realized. Maybe if he went about it casual enough ....

"So, um," he said. "what exactly are you?"

Smooth, you bonehead.

Queg gave a start and slowed down for a moment. Finding the one particular path they were supposed to follow seemed to take up a fair bit of his concentration. It didn't look like the abrupt question had rankled him any.

"A fair thing to ask, I suppose. You would answer such a question with 'a human being,' yes?" The pause was just long enough for Aaron to interject a non-committal grunt. "In my home realm, my species is called 'the Fourteenth.'" Queg pronounced the last word as a deep, rather grandiose sound accompanied by an equally impressive display of colors. He let it linger for a little while, then continued. "That doesn't stop Sentients from giving us more colorful names, however. Humans will call us 'squids', 'floaters', 'strobes', 'bleepers', and a few others; I can't say I know what half of those things are, and I would rather not know, I think. I was called a 'tentacled abomination' once—I pleaded for my life successfully, that one time. Dealing with your kind is ... challenging. No offense intended.

"Other, more polite humans will stick with 'Remoran,' after the name they have given my home realm, 'Remora.' I understand that is some type of creature, where you come from. Why that name was given is beyond me, but I suppose it could be quite worse.

"Other Sentients, such as the Fermi, will be far more diplomatic toward us. While the Petrichor will kill us on sight for sport—but then again, they do that to most denizens, so I suppose I shouldn't take it personally."

Aaron's head was spinning by now. He wanted to know more about almost every other word in Queg's speech. What is a realm? Why "fourteenth"? Who were the Sentients? Why were humans rude to these guys? "Remora", "Fermi", "Petrichor", "denizens" ... seriously? And how was it that he could tell which words were capitalized? He settled on the one thing that had been nagging at him the whole time.

"How come I can understand everything you say? I find it hard to believe that you are talking to me in plain English right now." You don't have any lips to shape words with, for one.

"English." Queg mulled over the word for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out what it was supposed to stand for. "Ah, yes, language. Another common question, I understand." He went on, apparently quite pleased with himself. "I have been fortunate enough to be in good standing with a few human contacts, and one such was gracious enough to explain—"

Queg paused abruptly. The trail had taken them under a squat, sinuous tunnel that had gradually narrowed to nearly all of Queg's considerable girth. Aaron had been so engrossed in the conversation that he had barely noticed they were underground, until now. His hair had brushed the curved ceiling of the passage at certain points, but now he was forced to bend down slightly in order to avoid hitting his head—Queg was hovering so close to the ground that he might as well have been crawling on all those appendages. They got past a few sharp, claustrophobic bends, after which the tunnel gradually expanded in both width and height towards an opening that could have fit a small airliner through. Queg continued as if there had been no interruption, apparently not fazed in the slightest by the capricious nature of their path.

"The mechanics of it are unknown to me, but you are understanding me because you wish to do so, and I can understand you because you want me to. I presume your Human peers will explain in more detail, in due time."

Aaron blinked a few times, all musings about his surroundings flying out of his head. "Are you for real?"

"I suppose it is a difficult concept. It is unique to Sentients, obviously." Aaron didn't find anything obvious about it. "I had trouble accepting it myself—though not overtly, mind; you do not ever doubt the word of a Human. But go ahead, test it. Say something that you do not want me to understand."

He hesitated, still wondering whether to take it seriously or not. He would have been more willing to believe that a babelfish had been surreptitiously implanted in his ear. Then again, Queg hadn't made any attempts at humor so far, and Aaron doubted that the creature had suddenly decided to start playing pranks. It didn't take long to find something suitable to say. "I am scared shitless."

Queg's laughter made him reconsider; maybe it was a prank after all. He still found it unnerving, the way he could tell that the alien was indeed laughing. He didn't think it so funny, himself. "You understood that, didn't you."

The response was wrapped in amusement. "Why, yes, and I cannot say I blame you. You misunderstood me, I think, or perhaps I misspoke. You must make a conscious effort for me not to understand what you are saying. It's not enough to confess an embarrassing detail that you wouldn't want me to know. Do try again."

"Ah. Wish you'd told me that." Feeling like a fool, Aaron tried to fix in his head the notion of not being understood in his next sentence. "I do not want you to understand this sentence," he said, and raised a hopeful eyebrow at Queg; the alien was already shaking his head—which is to say, emitting a quavering rumble while three of his light nodes lit up in different shades of blue. So freaking weird.

"I'm afraid I understood that as well."

"Well, it's not as easy as it sounds! When I speak to somebody in my own language, it's because I want to be understood. It's like going against instinct."

Aaron had felt it inside somehow, albeit faintly; the tug between the inertia of subconscious instinct and his own desires trying to go against it. It was rather strange, as if he had become more aware of the inner workings of his psyche—he suspected it was related to how different reality felt now.

Queg nodded, thoughtful. "You are a newborn. Although I can't claim previous experience in dealing with one such as you, I would not be surprised if it takes a certain amount of practice to learn all the abilities that a Human would normally be capable of. It would explain why the protocol urges that I escort you to safety as soon as possible; newborns are known to be utterly defenseless when they first appear."

To be described as "utterly defenseless" did nothing to improve Aaron's outlook.

"That's great. Well, at least there won't be a language barrier to worry about, huh?"

He decided to simply accept it as fact for the moment, and worry about the how later. Although he did wonder about what those mysterious human abilities might turn out to be, maybe it was high time to steer the conversation towards something other than his shortcomings.

"So what is this place, anyway?" he said, his hand making a vague gesture at the scenery before them. They had cleared the cave to continue down a wide path that sunk slowly in a long downward spiral. Tall walls at both sides of the path prevented him from seeing much else.

Queg didn't so much as skip a beat at the sudden change of topic. "We are in the Pathways, an ever-changing labyrinth that connects to most other realms. Its sheer size belies the amount of traffic it moves at any given time; you can go your entire trip sometimes without encountering any other travelers. Yet some routes are heavily traversed, while they last—Gorgers to Veal, for instance, or the way to the Nexus."

Why, of course the answer would contain some twenty things to ask about. Aaron picked one almost at random. "While they last?"

"The ways are ... alive, after a fashion. They shift all the time, sometimes slowly, sometimes abruptly. Sometimes right in front of you—sometimes right under you, if you are especially unlucky."

"Nice. Wonderful." Aaron eyed the ground ahead of him and the walls that surrounded it with renewed apprehension. Did that mean that everything could cave in around him at any moment? He made a mental note to pay more attention to where he put his feet, although he doubted that it would do much good. "When you say 'realms,' does that mean, like, other countries, or ...." He half hoped it would be as simple as that, although he already knew it wouldn't be.

"Realms are ... realms." Noticing Aaron's befuddled expression, the Remoran made an apologetic gesture with some of his appendages. "Forgive me. It is easy to forget that things I take for granted are—Ah! There it is."

Without another word, Queg sped ahead toward what had caught his attention, veering closer to the left side of the path. The bustling alien was a sight that Aaron still struggled to get used to, with all those tentacles fluttering and that shiny gland brightening beneath them.

Catching up a short way farther along the curve of the wall, he peered at what his guide was so intent upon. Protruding out of the inner wall of the descending spiral was a tight cluster of glossy black stalks, just about the length of his arm and half as thick. They had rounded, bulbous tips at the end of flexible stems, and swayed lazily back and forth, side to side as if stroked by a gentle breeze that couldn't decide which way to blow. They made a faint sound as they swayed: brief bleeps and hums ranging from low and rumbling to sharp and high-pitched. They rang atop one another and combined in a subdued tune of unpredictable patterns—Aaron had to strain to hear them at all.

Queg leaned closer and wrapped one of his tentacles around a stalk, seemingly chosen at random, with the sort of confidence that comes from extensive repetition. The previously supple stalk jolted straight to its full length, rigid and in clear tension under Queg's unconcerned touch. He didn't seem to be pulling on it; the thing had straightened up all by itself.

Aaron's face was a list of unspoken questions, and Queg must have noticed, because he made a quieting gesture—still managing to be polite, somehow—with two of his many free appendages. The Remoran went on to concentrate intently on the writhing mass of stalks in front of him.

Nothing moved for a good while, and soon Aaron couldn't stop himself from fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He walked over to the slanted wall and slowly leaned against it, half expecting to be told not to move so much, not to touch anything. He looked at Queg from time to time from the corner of his eye, but the admonition never came.

He felt awkward and out of place, burdened so with such overwhelming ignorance. Was it like this for every person that died back on Earth? Was everyone destined to stumble blindly through this place, hoping for some stranger to show up and lend a helping hand? Half the people he knew would go mad, if that was the case.

The thought made him wonder why he wasn't going crazy himself. He would have liked to think that it was thanks to keeping an open mind, or because of steadfast wits that were able to quickly adapt to new and bizarre situations, or maybe thanks to his adamant courage in the face of the unknown. But he knew the truth of it for what it was: a primal relief at being still alive. Or still existing, at the very least.

He had never been as aware of his will to live as he was in those very last moments, when his own immediate death was an absolute certainty. The oppressive sadness of it still made him feel queasy—the prospect of abandoning all that he cared about, the thought that he would never experience the pleasures of life again, the regret at all the things he left unfinished, all the things he left unsaid. Even when it had lasted only an instant, it had been intense enough for the remembrance to tie his stomach up in knots even now. And Alexandra ... how he would miss her, he had thought. The certainty that he would never touch her again had torn at his insides right before death's embrace. He had known it for truth, and that made it hurt all the more.

But by some obscure process that he couldn't even begin to guess at, he was still there, alive and kicking. Well, maybe not alive, but definitely kicking. What he had known for truth was obviously wrong, and he couldn't help grinning about it. That he had scoffed at the concept of an afterlife hadn't stopped him from wishing for it, in the same way that one wished for things that couldn't be attained. Who in their right mind would want to cease to exist? He had never thought he could feel so happy about being mistaken, but there it was.

He leaned his head back so that it rested against the cool surface of the wall, his eyes idly scanning the myriad bridges and platforms above him that stretched as far up as his sight could go. He did not see a single soul wandering those paths.

Aaron sighed, and wondered how he could go about finding his wife. She had to be somewhere, after all. If she had been right all along, she would be in Heaven now, sipping wine while lounging on a cloud, or whatever Heaven was supposed to be like. He chuckled at the image of muscle-bound angels in tight shorts, cooling her with long feathery fans, waiting on her every command.

His amusement at the thought didn't last long. He knew that she would be devastated to be separated from her husband like that, never to see each other again; she had told him as much in no uncertain terms. He used to make fun of such an esoteric concern, but knowing the way she felt made him and his ego swell with pride at the time. He felt like a dirtbag now, seeing how her fears hadn't been nearly as unfounded as he had thought.

But Heaven was supposed to be eternal bliss. How could Heaven be enjoyable for her, if she felt that way? Perhaps you forgot all about life on Earth when you arrived, or were given a duplicate version of everything you loved, or something of the sort. Who could tell anymore? None of it sounded more outlandish than what he was experiencing at the moment.

But he had to assume that she had shown up somewhere in this place, just as lost as he was. It was the logical thing to expect, although admittedly logic didn't seem to be all that helpful lately. And while he still had to fight the urge to search up and down the paths yelling out her name, he knew that his best chance of finding her would be to meet with other humans. If she was going through a similar ordeal, she would be taken there as well. At least that is what he hoped.

Queg's "voice" brought him out of his reverie. "The realm interface hasn't moved. Good, good." He had released the stalk and turned to face him. Aaron wondered how he was able to understand what the alien was saying even when he didn't see the flickering light patterns. Another question to the pile.

Queg floated closer. "I do apologize for the wait, sir—um, Aaron. It is necessary to attune with the terminal, and my kind cannot do much else while doing that."

"I guess you were ... asking directions?" Aaron said. It was as good a guess as any other.

"After a fashion, yes. It will be a short trip. If you please?" The guide gestured to continue their journey down the path.

Aaron pushed himself away from the wall and obliged, casting one last glance at the swarm of stalks before striding past it. Queg didn't wait for him to ask the inevitable question.

"The tendrils run through the entirety of the Pathways," he explained. "Some say that they are the Pathways, But I beg to differ. You might glimpse them beneath the surface, if you look carefully. The terminal I just used is one of thousands, maybe millions—you can locate them if you listen closely to the ripples."

Aaron could have strangled the guy, had there been a neck to wring. Was he ever going to get an answer that didn't contain ten new concepts to puzzle out? Telling himself that his ignorance wasn't anyone's fault—and certainly not Queg's—he tried to pick a sensible next query. "So you were actually talking to those things? To this place?" He hoped he hadn't sounded flippant. It was an honest question.

"Not really talking, no. Communing is closer, I would say. Our theory is that we tap into the Pathway's self-awareness, then find what we are looking for much the same way you find the tip of your thirteenth tentacle. You just know it's there, you see. It's become quite the mainstream theory, I'm pleased to say."

Aaron arched an eyebrow. "A theory? You mean you don't know for sure?"

It was Queg's turn to sound puzzled. "Why, of course I'm sure. But it could be proven wrong, and there are other plausible explanations that have not yet been discredited, like the Feedback theory. I see a few problems with that one myself, but there are many that swear by it."

Aaron remained thoughtful for a moment, walking in silence down the increasingly narrow spiral. It was becoming more and more steep; there should be an exit soon or they would surely come to a dead end.

This talk about theories was a bit disturbing. So far he had expected Queg's answers to be a matter of personal knowledge: he either knew the answers to his questions or he didn't, but either way there would be only one answer. Now it sounded like there were things that were unknown to everyone, and the best people could do was to come up with theories to explain them.

He wondered who was it that debated these theories. He imagined a massive parliament filled with alien creatures, each one of them looking weirder than the next, all shouting and fighting each other over which explanation was best. He chuckled softly.

The walls on either side of the spiral had gradually become shorter, arching out so that they bent downwards and plunged into the depths below them. They were low enough now to peer over them, and the landscape beyond revealed only more paths, more platforms, more fleshy structures without rhyme or reason. Queg had said the trip would be short, but for Aaron there was no end in sight.

Suddenly the Remoran spoke up. "If I may ask," he began, and it was clear that he was hesitant to bring up the topic. "You asked about realms earlier. Is it really true that Sentients live on balls of soil floating in empty space before they come here? I still find it hard to believe, honestly."

Aaron barked out a short laugh before he could restrain it. Then he felt ashamed of it; probably his every question had sounded just as silly to Queg's ears—or whatever it was that he heard him with. Queg didn't seem to mind his lack of finesse, as usual.

"I'm ... not sure what you mean with 'Sentients.'" That would definitely be his next question, he decided. He already had a couple good guesses about it in his head. "But I can tell you that humans inhabit a planet called Earth in, um, life."

He felt odd talking about it as if he was no longer alive. Was he alive? Not being able to answer that was also odd. He put it out of his mind for the moment and carried on. "I guess you could say Earth is a 'ball of soil,' but it's a gross oversimplification. A planet is a spherical body of matter in orbit around a star; a really huge sphere. Enormous. Earth, being able to support life—"

He went on to explain as best as he could about water and land, rock and magma. It segued into oxygen, orbits, seasons, tides and the moon; the heat of the sun and the relative position of Earth in the solar system. Queg listened intently, openly disbelieving at times, asking brief questions wherever he needed further explanations. Aaron was only happy to oblige, admittedly feeling quite smug about it. It sure felt nice to be the one imparting knowledge after feeling like a clueless simpleton for so long.

It was well into explaining the sheer size of the Universe that he realized what all these questions meant. Queg found it all quite far-fetched, and some things outright preposterous. He wanted to know all about planets, moons, stars, seasons, day and night; Aaron had a hard time going into detail because the very concepts were completely alien to the creature. He had been so wrapped up explaining everything that the obvious implication hadn't dawned on him until then.

He cut off the lecture and eyed Queg warily. "Are you telling me that there is no such thing as day and night anywhere here?" He already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

"I'm afraid I did not even know what to make of those words until you explained. Entirely new concepts sound like a messy jumble, like when a Sentient obfuscates their speech. It is still hard to grasp, but you have been a great help."

Well, he thought he knew the answer, but apparently not.

It should have been just another entry in a growing list of incongruous obscurities. In fact, it wasn't even the strangest thing he had learned so far. But even with all that had happened, it was at that moment that the stark differences present in this new reality truly hit home. No day and night, no planets, no stars. What else was missing? Was there a sky? Was there an atmosphere, or weather? What exactly was he breathing, if it wasn't air made up of molecules made up of atoms made in stars?

The nature of this place was radically at odds with everything he was familiar with, and it was giving him a terrible headache. It wasn't just perception, architecture, customs or species; the differences ran as deep as they could go, to the very structure of the Universe, of reality itself, of everything. He suspected as much simply from the way he felt; that strangeness inside, that enhanced awareness of self. But finding out these things from his newest acquaintance somehow made it that much more poignant.

It was time to stop expecting things to be a certain way, he decided. Time to throw away preconceptions, stop wasting time with disbelief and take what came at face value. If nothing else, he would save himself a great deal of frustration that way. It did seem to help somewhat with the pain at his temples.

Queg had remained in polite silence as they kept on down the path, which had narrowed by now to about three meters wide as it twisted clockwise, ever downwards. Aaron could see the rest of the spiral sprawling right above him now; he hadn't realized they had gone so far down.

They had passed two breaks on the outer wall that ostensibly led to an exit without so much as a second glance, but Queg motioned toward the third one they encountered. "We are almost there," he said as they neared the opening.

It turned out to be little more than a gnarled trail, barely a meter wide, that dove down in a dangerously steep incline mitigated only by sparse, irregularly spaced steps. Devoid of railings on either side, it twisted and turned whimsically, supported by a whole lot of nothing all the way down to the next platform, which stood a long, long distance down. The platform itself sprouted out of a larger formation reminiscing of a mountain range, with many more paths of varying widths and origins leading to it or its immediate vicinity. However, none of these things was responsible for Aaron's awed gasp.

He had never had problems with heights before, but the view underneath the trail was enough to make his head spin. While the plateau they were heading to did lie a long way down from where he stood, he could see dozens, hundreds more farther below, a tangle of paths and bridges interconnecting them in labyrinthine ways. There was no bottom to it; they simply kept on intertwining until they fell out of sight behind one fleshy shape or another. It all conveyed a striking sense of immeasurable depth.

The underside of the massive spiraled path that they had been traveling loomed above, and just beyond it he could still make out the structures he had seen when he had been inside of it. If Aaron hadn't told himself just a few moments ago to take everything in stride, he would have balked at the impossibility of so much weight being held up in the air by nothing in particular. The material must have been unimaginably light and strong, or it had a way to work around gravity. Queg did just that, after all.

The Remoran started on his way down without a hint of hesitation, hovering easily this way and that. Aaron didn't feel so confident; after a wary look at the path ahead, he resolved that it would be a much safer trip if he made his way down while sitting on his bottom, using hands and feet to advance, and to hell with composure. Catching sight of him, Queg chuckled, made his version of shaking his head, and muttered something about newborns that Aaron didn't quite make out.

Freakin' hilarious! He thought irritably. Wait 'til I fall five hundred meters and splat against the ground, we'll all laugh then!

Grumbling under his breath about freakin' floating comedians and how it'd be easier if he was a freakin' flying octopus himself, he slowly dragged his buttocks down the treacherous path.

Concentrated as he was, the fact that the plateau they were heading to was actually populated registered only after he was halfway down, and that only because he had happened to peer over the edge of the trail at one of the numerous sharp turns. He froze on the spot and eyed his guide uneasily.

"Um, Queg?"

The Remoran turned to face him, visibly alarmed at Aaron's tone. "What's the matter, sir? Um, Aaron. Do you need assistance?"

"Did you notice there's people down there?" he asked. He wasn't certain that it was actual people, but he could tell beyond reasonable doubt that the four creatures standing a ways off the path's landing were definitely not part of the scenery. At the current distance, he could only say for sure that they were dark and vaguely human-shaped, although they looked a good bit too large for humans. They stood in pairs on opposite sides of the platform.

"Why, of course. They're sentries. Humans are quite picky about travelers going into most of their realms." Queg paused, lifting appendages in a placating gesture, as if what he just said would offend him. "But most of the Sentients are at that, and for good reason. There should—Oh."

Looking down once more, Aaron gaped at what had interrupted Queg's speech. A massive creature had appeared around a bend, trudging up the widest of the multiple pathways leading up to the plateau. The only thing that Aaron could compare it with would be a dinosaur, and even then the similarities would be scarce. Other than its monstrous size, it barely looked like any of the dinosaurs he knew of.

It must have been as tall as two grown men put one on top of the other, and just as wide, while at least three times that if measured from head to tail. It had a round body that flattened slightly underneath, with an enormous head and a long tail that lazily lashed from side to side when it moved. Its body kept low to the ground like a lizard as it lumbered laboriously up the slope on three sets of legs. Fore- and hind-legs had three joints each, and were as thick and round as tree trunks, arching up before bending down to end on broad webbed feet. The middle set of legs was just as thick, but shorter. They protruded at a right angle from the middle of the torso, bent at the elbow, and ended on feet that were even wider than the others. They seemed to support the bulk of the weight, and moved independently from the main stride whenever necessary. Its hide, leathery and coarse, displayed a gradient of hues that went from dark brown at its tail, red and orange through its midsection, to bright yellow at the top of its head; its underside was a flat shade of light gray. Five black stripes wrapped around the upper half of its back, while a mane of spine-like white hair covered the length of its stocky neck and patched the back of its legs. Its gigantic head was one half mouth and one half bony forehead; a sphere that flattened at the top with a shiny taut brow and wide temples, and squared at the bottom with rounded jaws and rugged lips. Its long, tufted ears leaned back against the skull, and one beady black eye peered placidly from each side of the head, calm and unconcerned, dull enough to give the whole creature the dim-witted look of mindless cattle.

It was only the first one in a procession of five, all of them guided by a number of short, human-shaped figures equipped with long prodding sticks and moving in quick bursts. Aaron couldn't make out any details at such a great distance.

"What the hell are those things?" he asked as soon as he could find the words.

"I can't say I've seen them before. But the Caretakers are always looking for new exotic pets for their zoos." There was clear distaste in Queg's tone, but he masked it quickly. "I mean, the reservations. Or they could be bound for research. One doesn't exclude the other, though."

"The Caretakers? You mean those little fellows poking sticks at the ... things?"

"What?" It took a moment for Queg to realize what Aaron was referring to. "Oh, no. Those are just herders, either servants of the Caretakers or hunters looking for a reward, if it's a good find." He paused, looking wary. "I'm not supposed to talk to you about Human factions. They would not be pleased, and everything I say would be inaccurate, in any case. Please forget I mentioned the Caretakers. In fact, you would do me a great kindness if you said that I did not give you any information at all about Humans, beyond how necessary it is for you to join them." Despite Queg's careful tone, it was quite plainly a plea.

It was an effort not to ask more about every single thing his guide had just said. "Uh, sure. Don't worry about it, I won't say a word."

What kind of people am I going to meet, that would make this guy so afraid of displeasing them? He wondered. That's the one thing he wouldn't be able to ask about at all, apparently.

He kept watching as the herd reached the plateau and advanced toward the space between the sentries, whatever those were. As soon as the first of the beasts reached their height, the whole group stopped. One of the little herders approached a sentry—although it made sure to stay a good five meters away from the pair—and simply stayed there, standing still. A minute or two must have gone by without anything happening that he could see; they were probably talking to each other, but there was no way for Aaron to tell.

Abruptly the whole procession started moving again, past the sentries and toward the large mound of fleshy stone that connected to the platform. They kept going until they all disappeared under it—evidently there was a large tunnel or passage that he hadn't been able to see thus far, since he was almost directly above it.

Queg patiently hovered by his side, either watching the scene himself or simply waiting for his human charge to finish what he was doing.

"Shall we go, sir?" he asked shortly after the creatures had gone out of view.

Aaron pursed his lips and wearily eyed the precarious way down. There really hadn't been an easier route to take? He wouldn't have minded getting to that plateau through a path as fat and smooth as the one the herd had used, even if it meant that the trip would have taken ten times as long.

He sighed, nodded halfheartedly, and got ready to resume dragging his butt down the slope.

________

The sentries were not human at all. Oh, they had two arms, and two legs, and a head. That's as far as similarities went.

Having halted a few steps short of landing on the actual platform, Aaron kept on staring at the things that stood some twenty meters away. He had been staring for quite a while now, unwilling to move despite Queg's reassurances that there should be no trouble whatsoever. All those thoughts of taking things in stride and shedding useless disbelief had flown out the window the moment he was able to make out the significantly terrifying details in these "sentries."

"They're supposed to be intimidating by design," Queg was saying. His nonchalance as he explained did nothing but aggravate Aaron's uneasiness. "They remind visitors of the consequences of hostility toward Humans. These are definitely not the worst I've encountered."

"Intimidating by design" was exactly it, Aaron concluded. It was as if somebody had taken everything that could be considered frightening and mashed it into an eight-foot-tall, broad-chested human frame. They were covered in medieval armor sets, made with pitch black pieces of metal, with fiery orange in-between plates. There were jagged spikes and horns sprouting from head and shoulders and many of the joints, all glossy black, shining with malevolence. They held hand weapons and shields, of all things; curved blades, a long barbed flail and a massive mace, each one of them full of sharp edges and cryptic, elaborate engravings that glowed red on black steel, and all poised low to one side, ready to swing. The tall, triangular shields were shaped in the image of nightmarish creatures, or faces silently wailing in a perpetual snarl. The chest piece opened to reveal a core of churning blaze, the flames licking the red-hot breastplates as if they wanted to leap out and consume everything in their path. And those faces ... their faces, or skulls, or helmets—he wished they were just helmets—had smoldering blue fire for eyes and rows of long, sharp teeth for mouths. Those flames danced and flickered unnaturally, in such a way that Aaron had the definite impression of being watched. No, not just that. They were watching him and they did not like what they saw.

What was he supposed to make of this? Between those horrendous constructs and Queg's off-hand comments, humans did not seem to be a friendly lot at all. At the very least, they appeared to go to great lengths to maintain a reputation that come across as unsavory at best, ruthless and tyrannous at worst. Was it such a great idea to be rushing to meet them in this manner?

After a few moments of consideration, he turned to face his guide. "Queg. I know you're not supposed to tell me certain things. But I'm not taking another step until you tell me what kind of people are these humans you're taking me to."

If Queg had had eyes, they would have widened with worry. He did wobble uneasily. "You need not fear. They will treat you like a long lost brother, this I swear. You must let me take you to them, sir."

Damn, the guy was almost squirming! Were they so bad that he feared for his life, should he fail to follow human directives concerning "newborns"? The more he learned, the less he wanted to go through with it.

"There are no real options for you, sir." Queg went on in a matter-of-fact way, as if reading his thoughts. "Fending for yourself would be all but impossible. Should you encounter other Sentients, they would know right away how defenseless you are, and the Truce of the Pathways is circumvented whenever it can be done quietly, not least of all by Humans themselves. Even denizens will not be as friendly as I have been; far from it, if they can get away with it. Friendly denizens like myself will only behave the same way I have, urging you to accompany them to Human realms. Even if you managed to avoid hostile encounters, in isolation you would be likely to either go mad or scatter."

Queg hovered just a bit closer, and his appendages reached out in a pleading gesture. "Please, sir. I cannot say I understand your apprehension. Humans are respected, feared or worshiped throughout the realms, it has always been so. Other lesser species resent their power, and the sentries are necessary to deter would-be attackers. I assure you that no harm will come to you, and I will be greatly rewarded for my service. Do allow me to take you to them."

Aaron just stared, indecision plain on his face. He couldn't begin to count the number of minor things he wanted to ask about—what was to "scatter," for instance—but none of the answers would help with the choice at hand. According to Queg, it wasn't a choice at all. But then again, it was obvious by now that his guide was no unbiased party in this affair. If everything he said was true, Queg stood to gain a great deal from his compliance.

"Alright," Aaron said, "just tell me one thing, then. Who are these Sentients you keep talking about?" He wanted to delay a decision for as long as possible, but this he truly wanted to know.

"Why, you're a Sentient, sir. Any of the peoples that come here from the Beyond are considered Sentients, regardless of their abilities. Seven hundred and ninety two different species are known to the Fourteenth, and it is of utmost importance for us to know at least a few details about every single one of them."

Aaron didn't know what to make of that just yet. But he had a long-standing guess that by now had narrowed down to an all but confirmed suspicion. "The ... Beyond?"

Queg was having a difficult time concealing his bafflement at being asked about such common knowledge. "You talked about it on the way here. Planets and such? I have a hard time imagining such a mystical place even after all that you explained. Truly remarkable, this 'Universe.'"

Another small pause, after which Aaron spoke slowly, carefully. "And these other species, the Sentients ... they all come from the Beyond? My Beyond? And they show up just the way I did?"

"As far as anybody knows, yes." Queg nodded as he spoke, and Aaron could almost see an arched eyebrow in his guide's demeanor, as if what he was asking about was the most natural thing in the world. As if Queg hadn't just confirmed to him, without a care in the world, that not only there were hundreds of other self-aware alien species in the Universe, but they all shared the same afterlife as well.

Had he been standing, Aaron would have had to sit down. He had been certain in life of the existence of other intelligent races out there. He dismissed as nonsense the claims of actual contact on Earth, but their existence somewhere was all but statistical certainty. Taking into account the ridiculous number of galaxies, the billions of stars within each of them, and each capable of having habitable planets in its orbit, the odds of sentient life appearing in one and only one of at least quadrillions of planetary systems were ... well, a trillion to one, at best. Seven hundred and ninety two seemed an extremely low number of alien civilizations, truth be told.

But being certain through logical reasoning was not the same as having the notion confirmed as fact. He was already bursting with the desire to meet some of them, despite Queg's multiple warnings on their presumed hostility. He was going to meet intelligent aliens from different planets! The thought made him chortle with giddy disbelief.

You already met an alien, you know. He's floating right in front of you.

He told the tiny voice in his head that, while technically true, it didn't really count. There was a huge difference between a native of this reality and a member of another sentient species from his own. He would have something in common with them, for one. And they would have some sympathy for his situation, since surely they had gone through something similar when they arrived.

Maybe they'll have a beer with you?

He told the voice in his head to shut up. He looked up at Queg, who was impassively waiting for him to start moving again, the eventuality of which a foregone conclusion by now, apparently. Still, another look at those sentries was enough to keep his buttocks nailed to the spot. Yes, thinking about it some more was in order. Many factors to consider, many variables to ponder. Anything that would keep him away from those things a while longer was quite welcome.

It wasn't long before he was trudging down that tricky slope once more, grumbling and cursing. There were plenty of good arguments in favor of carrying on, but in the end it was the anxiety over his missing wife that got him moving. What he had resolved earlier hadn't changed one bit, after all: no matter what kind of people they turned out to be, meeting with other humans was his best chance of finding Alexandra.

He hopped down onto the surface of the platform at last, heaving a sigh of relief. The descent must have taken them at least an hour in total, interruptions included. His butt was just as sore as he had feared it would be.

Looking ahead, the sight beyond the sentries was somewhat underwhelming. He had expected such fearsome guards—and they were ten times worse now, as close as they were—to stand before some sort of grand display, like massive iron doors with gilded carvings fit for an ancient castle, or a shimmering portal into the unknown, magical and mysterious. A plunging wormhole, a freaking Stargate, something! He was terribly disappointed at the plain tunnel that stretched downward as far as he could see.

Queg already drifted ahead of him, getting closer to those sentries without a hint of concern. The guide turned without stopping and made a reassuring gesture, urging him to keep going, always managing to be respectful about it. Aaron pursed his lips and followed reluctantly, eyeing the looming statues—he hoped they were statues—as if they were about to use those bloodcurdling weapons to spill his guts all over the floor and play a fine game of baseball with his head. The flickering flames in their eyes followed his every move.

The alien floated in front of the pair of sentries on the left hand side. Without pause, he intoned as if standing in front of the buzzer leading into an apartment complex, "This is Queg Remora of the Fourteenth. I request audience with the exalted Ming Xiu Thousand Rivers, may the Unbound honor and guard her." He waited for a heartbeat before adding the next part in a quieter voice, and Aaron could tell that his guide was bursting with trepidation. "I bring a newborn."

Queg's tone was such that he expected to hear a gasp coming from the statues, or a flurry of activity at the announcement, or a trap door suddenly opening under his feet to scurry him away. Instead there was only silence as those burning eyes bore into his skull as if trying to drill a hole through it. His companion simply waited, hardly concealing the anxious excitement that gripped him. No doubt there were butterflies flying inside Queg's stomach right now. If he had one of those, that is.

A minute or two passed, just like when he was watching the herd from above. Aaron was starting to wonder whether they would have to stand in front of those things forever when every one of the nightmarish statues bowed their head in unison, and arched their shields outwards in a motion that unequivocally granted passage into the tunnel ahead. No words, no other signs of acknowledgement. Had they done that when he was watching the enormous creatures pass? He could have sworn that they hadn't moved at all then, but he had been quite far. He might have missed it. Not like it mattered in the least bit, he chided himself irritably. He kept wondering about things that didn't have any bearing on the situation at hand.

Queg bounded ahead without hesitation. He yammered on in a torrent as he advanced, clearly pleased with the exchange.

"Excellent! We are almost at the end of our short journey. Such fortunate happenstance, to have come upon one another so close to Thousand Rivers. I did say there would be no difficulties at this gate, sir. Thousand Rivers is a haven for denizens—well, as much as a Human realm can be a haven for us. The Caretakers are just and generous, and I am sure you will find them quite pleasant. Ah, there I go again, mentioning things I shouldn't. Please forget I said that last part. Mistress Ming Xiu will be most pleased to meet you, of that I am sure. Why, I would wager—"

Aaron was immensely relieved to leave those flaming monstrosities behind. Catching up, he cut into the alien's chatter, trying to be firm without being rude. "What happens when they refuse entry, Queg?"

"Ah, I wouldn't know from experience," he said, shifting around uncomfortably. "They wouldn't invite you in the way they did, I suppose, and you would be expected to leave. But if it is decided that you have brought harmful intentions, I have it in good authority that you will be hacked to pieces quite expediently. Of course, you would have to be mad to bring harmful intentions to a Human doorstep. It does happen, now and then. They all become cautionary tales."

More wonderful hints at how very friendly humans were in this place. He refrained from asking what those cautionary tales might be for fear of emptying his stomach. He did have a stomach, right? He shook his head, leaving that line of thought for later, and eagerly changed the topic.

"What will be your reward for helping me?"

He had wondered about that for a while now. What was considered valuable here? Gold? Food? Land? The idea of a cash reward being doled out in the afterlife felt terribly wrong in his mind. Even if he hadn't believed in it before, he certainly expected life after death to depart from such banal things as wealth and material possessions. And remembering the resolution he had made about making assumptions, he hurried to throw those expectations down onto the ground so that he could stomp on them. He bowed not to be surprised even if Queg started telling him all about the five million space-dollars he would surely receive upon newborn delivery.

The Remoran began his reply, but didn't get far with it. "Why, I'll—Ah! We are about to enter Thousand Rivers. It will feel peculiar, but do not be alarmed."

Aaron looked around the drab tunnel for any signs that there was indeed a transition into somewhere else, every thought on appropriate rewards already forgotten. He was surprised to actually find something, and wondered why it had escaped his perception until then. The previously plain walls, all draped in the shades of red and magenta that he had grown accustomed to by now, were giving way to increasingly frequent forays of green streaks, sparsely populating random sections of the tunnel like open gashes in the flesh of the stone. Looking at them closely, he noticed that there was a certain texture to them, irregular and slippery, like dense moss. Some of the streaks had bits of dark brown, possibly the soil underneath. The rock-solid path they had tread so far was gradually being taken over by patches of soft ground, earthy colors at times covered with short grass. Stepping on them was quite pleasant.

The air was becoming more humid by the minute, and more and more green surrounded them the farther they went. By the time they reached a point where there was an even distribution of greens and reds, Aaron became aware of the "peculiar" transition Queg had warned him about. It was as if they had gone through an invisible barrier beyond which everything felt lighter, colors grew brighter, the air became more fragrant, almost sweet. The most curious feeling was the new spring to his step, as if his feet were ready to leave the ground and send him floating right next to his guide. He wondered whether he was imagining it, and then noticed that Queg was hovering higher than usual, looking ... content.

Apparently they had left the Pathways for good and entered this Thousand Rivers. How such a transition worked, he did not know, and for once he did not care. Because for better or worse, he was about to meet with some fellow human beings, and get some desperately sought answers, hopefully. Hopefully, these fellow human beings would know what had happened to his wife.

Or maybe he should start thinking of them as Queg did: Humans, capitalized.

Without knowing why, that last thought sent a chill down his spine.

6

Peering around one of the intricately engraved pillars, Alexandra watched from what she considered a safe distance as a group of gnarled creatures surveyed the area where she had fought for her survival. Now that she could take a good look at them, she was certain that these things could be nothing but demons.

They stood just shy of shoulder-length, their leathery skin a blend of tan and deep cerulean hues that varied from one creature to another. Four stout legs protruded from the lower half of a slug-like torso that was fleshy and flexible; each leg ended in three thick toes spread at right angles, with pointed toenails that dug firmly into the gravel. The upper half of the torso stood upright, with four sets of claw-clad arms flanking it at irregular intervals, of varying lengths and girths, while the claws ranged from bird-like talons to two-pronged graspers and a few other oddities in-between. They had no face that she could identify, only a sparse cluster of what looked like antennae, probing and twitching in all directions at the rounded top of their bodies. Some of the antennae ended in small spheres that may have been eyes, although there was no way for Alexandra to know for sure. Their mouths came out from their underbelly and hung low to the ground, as if searching for tracks with their broad, slobbering snouts full of flat teeth that were either black or crusted with filth. The back end of the body narrowed smoothly into a long tail that curled and whipped erratically; it looked capable of grasping with considerable strength. Imagining that disgusting appendage wrapped around her neck made her shudder with renewed outrage.

Eight-armed, faceless centaur-lizard-slug monsters. How could such a blighted thing come to be?

She tried to play down their abhorrent appearance. She'd seen worse things on the Nature channel. Fleas were terrifying bugs when looked at under the microscope. There were things under the ocean that could pass for horrendous aliens, and some insects were downright terrifying up-close. Yet somehow the image of a human-sized flea did nothing to put her mind at ease.

She squatted with her back against the column, leaning her head against the cool stone, and forced herself to breathe deeply. You can do this. Come on, you can do this, Alex. You did it before, you know how to fight, it's gonna work. They're just dummies at the gym. You can do it.

She glanced around the pillar again, noting their position. Three by the far side of the hall, next to the mangled corpse, their "backs" turned away from her. Another by the slime spatter on the floor, closest to her. Two more farther down the hallway that she could not see from her current position. And another in the middle, the big one, the one with dark chitinous plates and a tangible aura of menace. It seemed to be the one issuing orders.

Her breath quickened.

They'll kill you if they get the chance. Are you gonna let them hunt you? Best to attack when they're distracted. Best to get the jump on them right now. You can do it, Alex, come on. If they're just as squishy as the others, they'll drop fast.

This plan had been a lot easier to think about than to actually carry out. Those things were so damn nasty. She felt ridiculous at that moment, hunching behind a pillar, goading herself to attack a group of Hellspawn monsters that surely had infinite numbers with which to hunt her. Maybe this was all part of her punishment; to struggle, to fight for survival and obtain information that would get her nowhere.

Once more she forced herself to rein in self-doubt. Even if there truly was no hope, it changed nothing. It would then come down to the choice between remaining idle or taking action. It was an easy choice, that one.

Nothing to lose, Alex. Nothing to lose.

She kept her attention on the scene in front of her. The trio by the corpse went separate ways from the rest, a bit farther away. The lone creature by the pool of slime edged closer, seeming only interested in what lay in front of it, while the rest had gone out of her immediate sight, and would not see her coming. It was time.

She took a few more quick breaths through gritted teeth. Go now! Now, damn you, NOW! She had to make a conscious effort to get her legs to obey. Her toes scratched in the gravel to gain a firm footing, her every muscle tensed, her hands clenched against the pillar. With her insides tied up in knots, Alexandra sprang out of cover and dashed forward.

The loud thumping of her feet against the ground did not go unnoticed. By the second stride, the thing that was closest had turned to face her. The third stride had it backing away slightly, its appendages spread upwards in what she could only interpret as shock. The fourth stride became a jump that contained every ounce of strength she could muster and carried every bit of momentum she could put into it; she stretched her right leg at the apex, let out a howl that she could not have contained even if she had tried, and aimed her foot at the midsection of the wretched monster. All her anger and frustration were focused on that foot.

Her kick connected, and it was as if the creature wasn't even there. She plowed right through it in an explosion of slime that surely would have blinded her, had she not looked away and shielded her eyes at the right moment. She landed at such speed that she skidded through the bloodied gravel on foot and knee a full two yards before regaining control of her movement, her features twisted in a pained snarl. The grind against the sharp shards only added to the anger boiling over her.

Without losing a beat, she propelled herself at a full run towards the pair of creatures to her left, leaving the other four—the three by the far pillars, the one in the middle of the hallway—on her right. Every one of them looked stunned by her sudden appearance, and did nothing but stare during those first precious seconds.

Alexandra closed the distance to the two things before they were done turning their backs to her, both of them screaming incoherently. Were they trying to run away? The thought fleeted on the brink of awareness and was quickly banished out of sheer necessity. She couldn't afford thought or consideration. There was only the monsters and the sequence of movements necessary to survive them, and nothing else could matter.

Fear rippled through her as she lunged between the demons without slowing down, crouching under and past flailing claws, throwing her entire body behind a wide swing of her right arm that sliced messily through one of the creature's abdomen. Alexandra's cry was half growl and half scream as she felt the alien flesh rip and tear against her skin. She wanted to recoil in disgust, curl into a ball and throw up; she wanted to escape from their voices, run away and keep running until their agonizing wails could no longer be heard.

She forced herself to dig hands and feet on the gravel, skidding as she spun around to face the other one. It had no face to decipher, no body language that she could understand, but in the split second that it took for her to throw herself at it, somehow she knew that the thing was nothing short of terrified.

Her hand seized a thick, gnarly arm that threatened to claw at her, and she pulled. She had only wanted to add momentum to the knee-thrust that should have caved in the thing's torso, but she fumbled as her hand clenched and crushed the appendage as if it was made of wet clay. Half the arm was severed off the beast with a gut-wrenching sound, the other half twisted into an oozing stump.

Her balance upset, she plunged without control shoulder-first into the bellowing beast. While the impact didn't carry enough force to maim the thing, it was enough to send it sprawling backwards away from her at an entirely disproportionate speed. It hit one of the pillars with a wet crunch and collapsed, silent and motionless.

Alexandra didn't understand why her blows seemed to carry such incredible strength, but she was not about to start questioning it now. There were still four more to go.

She turned around to face the rest, expecting them to have spread out to surround her. What she found left her as puzzled as she was able to feel in her frenzied state. The trio of so-called demons cowered behind the large one, a scarce twenty feet away. The big one stared at her with a mix of indignation, apprehension and hatred. Mostly hatred.

Attack while they are weak.

She held back against the impulse. She could feel that hatred pouring out of it, emanating from it, somehow; so intense, so full of scorn and resentment. It was obvious to her that this thing wanted her bound and tortured, and it looked capable enough of doing just that all by itself.

She bared her teeth in what she hoped was an intimidating snarl. She was poised to lunge at them, ready to attack and rip them to shreds. Her fists, sickly droplets of vital juices dripping from them onto the ground, were clenched so hard that they were shaking.

"You will tell me what I want to know, demon, or I will slaughter every last one of you."

They must have known that there was nothing to back up such a threat. They should have laughed in her face and told her how everyone thought that they could fight, at first. They should have been uncaring of self-preservation, for that matter. Why should Hellspawn care about their own existence?

But her words made the cowering creatures crowd even closer together, visibly whimpering in stark terror, making pitiful sounds that Alexandra would have rather not heard. The hatred coming from the big one became more intense, laced with an even stronger scent of defiance. Was it ... protective of the smaller ones?

She had only a second to ready herself before the thing sprung like a coiled viper towards her, letting out a shrill screech that would have sent a chill down her spine if she hadn't already been as tense as a drawn bow string.

Alexandra threw herself out of the way, to the side of the charging monster, barely avoiding snapping claws and lashing tail reaching out savagely after her. She ignored as best as she could the rough landing on the gravel and the new scrapes that came with it, rolling awkwardly on her side and springing to her feet with as much alacrity as she could muster. The beast was skidding forward as it tried to change direction, whatever wits it might have had completely buried beneath an avalanche of frenzied rage. Without any time to lose, she ran and leaped after it, left hand frantically grabbing at its flailing tail, the other made into a fist and raised over her head, her teeth bared with enough ferocity to match the demon's.

The fist came down as hard as she could make it upon the chitinous plate on its back, hoping her new-found unnatural strength would make short work of it. It looked so solid, though. Too solid. She knew it the instant before her hand made contact. Too solid.

It was like punching a slab of granite with all of her strength. She grunted in shock through gritted teeth, feeling knuckles give way and bones break past her wrist. Her vision blurred and almost faded to black as the tide of pain shot through her entire arm and flooded her brain to the exclusion of all else.

Alexandra's legs went limp and she fell against the writhing creature, the thrust from her jump carrying over onto the landing and sending both bodies stumbling forward. Out of instinct she twisted to shield her injured arm before she came down hard against the ground, her shoulder bearing most of the impact as shards of gravel flew everywhere around them.

The demon kept its balance easily on its four legs. It turned like a snake and closed the short distance between them in a heartbeat.

What had been pained moans through a clenched jaw turned into an agonized wail as the thing's tail wrapped around her injured arm and pulled her upright with a jerk, stopping just short of dislocating her shoulder. It pulled her even closer, close enough for her face to almost touch the upper half of the creature's torso. It made a strange sound, another screech with peculiar patterns to it that Alexandra was only vaguely aware of beyond the unbearable throbs spreading from her broken limb.

Does a soul have broken bones?

The thought came out of nowhere and vanished as quickly as it had come. She couldn't move, she couldn't think, she could only feel a pain so intense that it clawed at her sanity. It was the actual claw that suddenly stabbed her just above the left knee that sent her over the edge.

She had to make it stop. There was nothing else. She had to make it stop.

Her free hand darted around the grasper just about to immobilize it, shot up and clamped around one of the demon's other arms; a thick, awry thing ending on a razor-sharp talon.

Maybe I can't crack your armor. But I can tear you to pieces.

Alexandra pulled with strength born of desperation, pulled with the grim knowledge that her leverage rested on a mangled limb and an impaled thigh.

Nothing to lose.

The extremity twisted off the beast's body like a sapling being rooted out of the earth. The demon's shrieks became almost loud enough to match her own. Her leg was fire, her hand was a blinding ball of torment still clutched by the thing's tail, but she forced herself to keep pulling and twisting until she felt it yank free, dark yellow fluids spraying and oozing from the ghastly wound.

She refused to relent even as the enraged creature shook her violently. Without delay she tossed aside the useless hunk of flesh in her hand and reached for the closest thing she could grab, determined to cause as much damage as she could. Before her fingers could clench around another of the arms that were attempting to get a hold on her own, the beast whipped around in a frenzy, its tail flexing and extending, tossing her about in a wild fit. She felt whatever was stabbing her thigh getting dislodged in the process. She had thought it impossible for the pain to get any worse, but she had been terribly mistaken.

Blinded by the unbearable jolts traveling up her maimed limbs, she grabbed aimlessly with her free hand, at anything at all that she could rip apart from this hideous thing that just wouldn't let go of her wrist. Something happened to land on her extended palm, and her fingers clamped down on it like talons on prey. Without pause, she twisted and pulled again.

This time the demon's screech far surpassed Alexandra's pained sobs. It released her in mid-motion, sending her sprawling across the ground, coming to an abrupt halt when she thumped against a column. Even as she struggled to get some air in her lungs, the agony conveyed by those high-pitched wails gave her a modicum of satisfaction.

Her muscles refused to obey for a while. She was unable to do anything but lie still, all her efforts concentrated on breathing in and out. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds.

She strained to sit upright, and managed to do as much while uttering moans through gritted teeth. She looked at her good hand, still clenching the appendages she had torn off. They were a handful of those thick antennae that sprouted at the top of the thing, alien blood still dripping from them. Judging by the demon's ongoing reaction, they were quite attached to their antennae. Not this one anymore, she thought with a mirthless chuckle that turned into a groan.

Tossing the disgusting things aside, she caught sight of her injured leg. It was a clean puncture wound on her quad, above the knee and on the outer side. It bled profusely, soaking in red the already battered purple sweatpants, but hopefully she would be able to limp her way through this.

She didn't want to find out how her hand looked. She might truly empty her stomach at the sight of it, if it looked half as bad as how it felt.

You're not done yet. Finish what you started.

Alexandra couldn't suppress crying out as she pushed herself upright against the pillar, using her good arm and leg to keep her balance. She cast a quick glance around her, and was relieved to see that the remaining lesser demons were nowhere to be seen. Fled in terror, with luck, or gone to seek help. Either way, she would not have to deal with them at the moment—in her current condition, she doubted that she could.

The chitinous beast was writhing on the ground where she had left it, its agony subsiding into gurgled whimpers as it thrashed about. She hoped that whatever she had done wouldn't go as far as killing it now. She couldn't imagine how she would manage to subdue another of these demons after getting battered so thoroughly by this one.

Slowly she limped toward it, her jaw aching from how long she had been gritting her teeth. The throbs coming from her hand and leg were nigh unbearable, and that without counting the hundred scrapes, cuts and bruises from all the nosedives through gravel. Short, shallow breaths that came in spurts were all she could manage. She kept putting one foot in front of the other, awkwardly trying to keep all the weight on her good leg.

By the time she got to the creature, it was only twitching feebly on its side, emitting faint noises that Alexandra took as pained moans. That pale, viscous liquid that supposedly was the demon's blood continued to pour generously from its numerous wounds.

It recoiled visibly when she bent over and stretched her arm toward it, but went deathly still when her hand wrapped around and tugged at the remainder of the antennae. Her gaze was steel.

"You will answer my questions," her voice came in a low rasp. It was mostly because of the strain of keeping from falling over and the effort to remain conscious through the relentless pangs coming from her injuries, but she could see how her tone might be interpreted as rather intimidating. Dangerous, even. Taking into account all the blood and filth that covered her from head to toe, she must have come across as terrifying as death itself.

The creature took a moment to respond. Alexandra sensed a resurgence of the anger she had felt coming from it earlier. "You no get anything, biped! I no give you anything!" The screeching sounds somehow translated into words she could understand, although crudely, as if the beast could not put them together correctly. They were not the words she had been hoping for, in any case. Her scowl deepened.

"Where are other humans kept? How can I reach them?"

Although she had a definite idea of what she wanted to know, she wasn't so sure about how to question a demon that was probably no more than an underling far down the chain of command, if there even was such a thing in this place. She figured these questions were as good as any to start with.

There was only a strangled trill for a response, and after a moment she realized that the thing was laughing at her. Laughing at her! It was all she could do to restrain herself from pulling as hard as she could. She limited it to a sharp tug, a mere reminder of what she held in her hand. It stopped the laughter dead.

"You will answer," she said, and a different approach occurred to her then, remembering the creature's strange behavior before it charged. "Or I will hunt down the ones that fled, and give them pain that will make your fate seem merciful."

She was startled at the words coming out of her own mouth, and not only because the threat had clearly caused its intended effect. When had she become this ruthless? It wasn't just a threat, she realized. She had meant every word. If she had to go chasing down those other beasts and drag them here so this one could watch them suffer, she would do it if that's what it took to loosen the monster's tongue and get the information she sought.

Was this the person that lurked beneath her normal self, coming out to do whatever was necessary when there was no other recourse?

You have nothing to lose, Alex. You are already damned.

"Biped word worthless. How I know you not go kill when done with me?"

The tiny shreds of patience left in her vanished. She yanked again for good measure, hard enough for something to start ripping. She yelled over the demon's agonized cries. "You know because I said so, you worthless piece of shit! You are in no position to bargain!"

The thing talked as soon as it could stop screaming, full of anxiety. All defiance seemed to have evaporated. "Not hurt them. Not hurt them, I beg. I answer all. I not know all, but I answer all."

What kind of demon was this, to care so for its brethren? It didn't even seem very bright. The anguish in its "voice" was enough to make her determination falter and give her a pang of guilt over what she was doing to it.

It would kill you if it could. It tried to do just that. You can't afford guilt. You can't afford mercy.

She made a conscious effort to harden her resolve. "I have to find someone." She paused, organizing her thoughts. The daunting scope of the task she had set for herself became clear as she searched for the right questions to ask. She wasn't truly interested in finding other tortured souls; in fact, it would be best to avoid them, just in case their tormentors turned their attention to her. She couldn't simply ask for a way out, as leaving without Aaron was not an option, even if she allowed for a way out of Hell to exist. She needed to learn the lay of the land: how the place was organized; which punishments were doled out where; most importantly, where would a mild-mannered atheist be kept. Even the pit of damnation must have some sort of recognizable structure.

The organization and logistics of Hell was a concept she had never concerned herself with until now.

She figured she would ask the most direct question, although her hopes of getting a straight answer were quite low. "Where are non-believers kept, and how could I reach them?"

The creature appeared uncertain. "You ... look for more bipeds? Like you?"

"Not just anybody." She would have only pursed her lips, but her every expression was accompanied by a recurrent pained grimace. Bending over the demon was terribly uncomfortable, which did nothing to improve her disposition. She did not dare release her grip just yet, though. Despite the new-found submissiveness, those claws were poised to dart toward her face at any moment.

"This not good realm for you. You only one here. Go other realms. Find more bipeds. I tell you way out?"

So she'd gotten her very own realm, had she. Was that the way it went? A small pocket of warped reality for every soul? "What is this realm called? Why did I come here?"

"This realm, Carved Barrow." It paused, doubtful. "You, newborn. Newborn very weak, very dumb. Sever on sight. Not supposed to fight back." The alien's comment was deeply reproachful.

"Why? What did I do to deserve that? Why did you attack me?" Her questions mounted in intensity, to the point where it was a serious strain to remain calm. Just being reminded of what had happened made her want to take out every one of her grievances on the thing lying before her.

Far from being intimidated, the beast seemed emboldened by her questions. "I tell truth! All bipeds evil! You newborn biped, easy to sever, easy to be rid of evil. You kill clan, you hunt clan! Clan fight back! No bipeds wanted in Carved—!"

She cut the rant short with another sharp pull that sent the demon writhing and screaming once more. Even angry and frustrated as she was, a part of her felt disgusted with herself, treating a sentient being like this, no matter where it came from or what it had done to her. But she could not afford to have an enraged beast ready to attack her once more. In her current condition, a toddler armed with a plastic fork would have had a good chance at overpowering her. She deliberately crushed any hint of empathy that dared surface in her mind.

"What the hell are you talking about? You're a goddamn demon! Do you think you can feed me bullshit like this? I swear I will make you regret—"

"No hurt! No hurt!" the creature responded in shrieks, trampling over her words. Alexandra realized that she had kept pulling without meaning to. "I say truth! Clan keep stories, Clan say newborn all crazy like you!

"This realm, one of many. Clan live in Carved Barrow. Clan proud of Carved Barrow! Clan not let bipeds take over, many deaths, much blood. Bipeds say, not worth it. Many bipeds in other realms. You go Nexus, you go other realms, you leave Carved Barrow. This all I know, I beg."

She felt frustration swelling up even further. None of it made any sense. She had to believe what this wretched monster was saying, and it made no damn sense! She had previously dismissed the possibility of the entire ordeal being an elaborate trial, or an elaborate torture chamber—populated by creatures specifically designed to set her on a certain path, to test her mettle or to drive her to untold suffering. Had she been too quick to dismiss it? Was she but a rat in a labyrinth, trapped to relive the same futile quest for eternity in her tiny little pocket of reality?

You're wasting time with pointless questions. It comes down to the same choice as before: you fight, or you let them catch you.

Her captive took her thoughtful silence as an invitation to continue. "Nexus gate out that way." It made a vague gesture with one of its remaining arms toward one end of the hallway; the direction she had been running toward earlier, incidentally. "Go Mount-bound outside, turn Temple-bound upon crossing chasm. Gate twenty miles Temple-bound. Cross gate, Nexus thirty miles Mount-bound."

In spite of all her pains, she barked out a laugh. She regretted it immediately. "Fifty miles! I'll fall over before I walk fifty feet!"

She was ready to fall over right there and then. That stab wound was becoming simply too much to bear in the awkward position her legs were in. But she couldn't get more comfortable without letting go of the only tool she had to keep the monster under control. Which brought her to another disturbing thought: what was she going to do when the interrogation was over? She could hardly leave this thing behind, just lying there while she limped away. Even having wounded it so, it still looked perfectly capable of getting up, chasing her and trampling her to its heart's content.

"You keep calling me a newborn. Why?"

"Stories say bipeds appear in realms, like you. They pop, anywhere. Very rare, here, but happens. Always crazy, always wild. Always afraid of Clan. Always kill Clan, later. So now Clan hunt newborn, kill newborn! Clan hate all bipeds! Clan hate you! Hate you!" Suddenly it lunged at her, claws and talons and graspers all outstretched to rip her apart. Without thinking, she yanked as hard as she could while tumbling away awkwardly. Her injured leg failed to bear her weight, and she landed on her buttocks with the whole handful of antennae still in her hand, yellowish blood oozing out of them. The landing sent yet another jolt of pain through her limbs, and she struggled to keep as still as she could to let the worst of it fade.

The beast's high-pitched howls reached new heights as it contorted and twisted where it lay, thrashing mindlessly, extremities flailing wildly. All that noise would be enough to alert every damn "Clan" nearby! And maybe scare off every one of them, Alexandra fervently hoped.

She didn't have time for much else other than shaking the dizziness out of her head before it all died out abruptly. She looked up to see the thing just twitching in its death throes. Something in the way it ... felt ... told her without a doubt that the demon—was it really a demon? She wasn't so sure anymore—was dead for good. A part of her couldn't help feeling sorry for the guy. She struggled to stuff that part of her into a chest, lock the lid and throw it down a bottomless pit.

With a disgusted shudder, she tossed aside the strange antennae that these creatures apparently could not live without. Sitting there, staring at the monster, she was a little ashamed to find that she felt mostly relieved. She had already reached the disheartening conclusion that she would have to kill it before leaving; with no means to immobilize it short of further dismemberment, there was no real choice on the matter. She was spectacularly thankful that she hadn't been forced to do it in cold blood. Could she have brought herself to do it in cold blood? She was glad not to have found out the answer to that question.

Fifty miles. She would have to walk over fifty miles to get out of this place, if she could trust anything at all that the beast had told her. She had half a mind to go in the opposite direction for fear of a trap.

But it had seemed desperately sincere in its desire to be rid of her, being painfully clear on "bipeds" not being welcome in "Carved Barrow." She repeated in her head the instructions she had received, just in case she decided to follow them; she was bound to forget if she didn't make an effort to memorize them while they were fresh.

The pain from her injuries left little room to think about anything else, though, even if its sharp edges had dulled slightly. There had to be something she could do about them. The throbbing was unrelenting, while her whole arm felt numb and limp at her side. She still dreaded taking a good look at it. Lord, how was she going to get her arm fixed? She pushed the worry out of her mind with some effort. Maybe if she ignored the problem, it would solve itself. That's as good a plan for it as she could come up with at the moment.

Looking at the wound on her outstretched leg, she could see a small pool of blood already forming on the ground under her knee. Too much blood. Apparently she'd underestimated the wound's severity. No wonder she was feeling dizzy. Suddenly the slight dullness overtaking the worst of the pain took on a new meaning. But she couldn't have lost that much blood already, could she?

Does a soul bleed?

She dismissed the thought out of hand. It obviously did; she only needed to look at pretty much any part of her anatomy for proof. She laboriously bent over to examine the wound closer, peering past the torn fabric clinging to her skin; she did not dare lift it. She realized with a grimace that it looked quite awful. It was deep, deep enough to have done some serious damage to muscle tissue. And wide enough to need a lot of stitches that she had no way to procure, even if somehow she had been able to get it cleaned. She was afraid to even apply pressure on it with her one healthy hand, for fear of getting even more grime in it than there already was. Maybe if she took off her shirt, some part on the back of it would be clean enough to use. But taking off her shirt meant getting it around the misshapen mess that was her hand: not a pleasant prospect. Still, if she didn't do something about it, it was going to get furiously infected.

Does a soul die of a fever? Does a soul bleed to death?

The questions stayed with her this time. It was a strange thing to consider. What would happen if she simply kept bleeding? Could she die twice? Die in the afterlife? The very idea sounded ludicrous in her head. A soul was immortal by definition. How had she been maimed to begin with? She clearly recalled getting blown up to tiny little pieces as her cause of death—it was quite the vivid memory. She didn't even have a body anymore! How did a spirit get broken bones? How did a spirit feel dizzy from blood loss? None of it made sense. None of it was possible. There was no way—

The dizziness flared up in a flash, becoming a harrowing migraine that pounded across her whole brain, grinding to a halt her escalating thought process. Even then, the notion of not having a brain to experience pain with popped somewhere in her mind, making the throbbing inside her skull even worse. She gasped for breath, her eyes looking ready to pop out of their sockets, and for a brief moment she saw—she thought she saw—her skin ... flicker. As if her contours became fuzzy, indefinite. A mist, floating, surrounding her. She squeezed her eyes shut, bringing up her good hand to cradle her forehead—it was hard to resist the impulse to use both hands; oh, how she would have regretted that.

It felt like her head was about to split open. She didn't know what was going on, she wasn't sure of anything anymore, she didn't even know where she was or what she had been doing; there was only the pain that pounded against the insides of her skull. She wanted, she fervently wished, for the pain to go away. There was nothing she wouldn't give just to make it stop.

She focused on simple, deep breaths. No questions, no puzzles. Just breathing.

Breathing. She had lungs that needed air. Nothing else existed. She had blood that needed oxygen to carry to her muscles and organs. Concentrate on nothing else. She had a heart to pump that blood through arteries and veins. Nothing hurt, nothing was wrong, everything made perfect sense. She focused on that heartbeat, not letting any concerns come between her and that steady thumping that was slowly regaining its normal rhythm.

The tides of pain that had seized her receded bit by bit, becoming just a dull ache after a while. Another minute, and not even that remained. With one last deep breath of relief, she opened her eyes at last.

Of all the things that she could have noticed first, it was the fact that she was dressed in little more than tattered rags that struck her. A threadbare, long-sleeved cotton shirt, dyed in what might have been bright pink once, full of rips and torn in several places, topped with a frayed hood that barely managed to have more cloth than holes. A long linen skirt with a slit up one side and a highly irregular hem covered in so much dirt that there was more brown than blue to it. It was a familiar outfit, if anyone would dare call it that, although one she had not worn in decades.

"What the ...."

Narrowing her eyes in suspicious disbelief, she touched the coarse fabric of the skirt with her fingertips, pinching and rubbing with her thumb. And then realized that, without thinking, she had used her right hand to do it. A hand that should have been ruined beyond hope. Eyes that had been narrowed a moment before were now open as wide as they could go.

As she ran her gaze over the length of perfectly healthy fingers that flexed effortlessly, it finally registered that not just the headache had vanished. All the pain was gone, all the way from the scrapes on her cheeks to the soreness her feet. She hurriedly lifted the side of her skirt to find only smooth, dark skin where a gaping hole used to be. No blood remained, not even the blood that had pooled beneath her, not even the blood that didn't belong to her. Every inch of her was free of the filth that had covered her just a moment ago, gone with every one of her wounds. And her feet ....

She bent her left knee and pulled her foot to herself to take a look at it. Her frown at being barefoot still—why couldn't some nice stout boots magically appear, too?—did not last as she ran her fingers along the sole, traced the arches and poked at the toes. My, but it was one rough foot, full of callouses and tough scar tissue. The kind of foot that could walk on glass shards as if they were cotton balls. The kind of foot she used to have, and had wished for in a moment of weakness.

"What the hell just happened?"

Panic crept in, along with that dread at the bottom of her being that had never really left her. For a brief time there, she would have done anything to make the pain go away. And then it was gone. Had she made a bargain without even knowing it? Was that what all of it had been, an elaborate ruse driving her to surrender her soul in exchange of relief?

She looked around in all directions, expecting to hear a deep, triumphant laugh rising all around her, gloating at her demise.

But nothing interrupted the strange calm that had descended upon her surroundings, and all the while a part of her kept saying that she was just paranoid. There could be a hundred different explanations for what had just transpired. Maybe she was trapped in a nightmarish illusion, and things happened by design without rhyme or reason. Maybe she had been shown a small mercy by whoever was watching. Most likely, she had done something that she did not understand at a time when her thoughts were wildly flailing about, striking everywhere at random. It was not the first inexplicable thing that had happened, after all, and surely would not be the last.

Whatever it had been, there were certain pressing matters that took precedence over figuring it out, and in any case she was wary of asking too many questions again. That is what had brought on the atrocious headache in the first place.

That same part of her that mentioned paranoia kept pointing out how a disfigured creature, maimed by her own hand, was still laying not two feet away from her toes, oozing all over the floor. And three others, more mounds of flesh than corpses, rested not much farther, along with the unsightly remains of those she had fought earlier still. It also pointed out how nothing else had changed, and that the crazy screaming that had spread through the entire hallway not five minutes past would no doubt attract danger of one kind or another. So now was the time for less thinking and more running. Or, at the very least, thinking as she ran.

Alexandra chafed at that part of her, that urged her to do things when she had just finished doing things. But she did agree with the paranoid bit. She had done something that she didn't understand. Just like, say, being able to punch holes through aliens as if they were mounds of lard, or when she plucked arms off bodies like picking petals off flowers. She was mildly disturbed by how casually she could think about it.

Pushing away bleak suspicions and stomping down on feelings of dread and self-pity, she inhaled deeply and got herself to stand upright. It was delightfully easy to do it.

Alexandra looked at the motionless beast one last time, a frown pursing the corner of her mouth. If these guys weren't there to torment her, what was really going on? Had she just killed what amounted to be little more than an innocent bystander, just trying to protect its comrades? True, they had attacked her first. But later they had been afraid of her! It made no sense for demons to be scared of their charges. And thinking back on what the creature had said, it mostly just wanted her gone, like she was an unwanted intruder. The way it had gone on about newborns and bipeds, you would think that her presence there was no more than random chance.

That possibility was even worse than it being an isolated mistake. Random judgment, regardless of your deeds in life? She could barely suppress a shiver.

Either way, the picture of the afterlife forming before her eyes was radically different from anything she could have imagined. Definitely not remotely close to anything she had expected. Despite it all, she exhorted herself to stay alert, and assume the worst was about to happen at every turn. Her injuries may magically mend for no reason at arbitrary times, but the pain that came of them was excruciatingly real. Hopefully she wouldn't be driven to such a forceful form of diplomacy next time she had to deal with the denizens of this place. Hopefully, that next time was very, very far in the distant future.

She'd been standing still long enough, she admonished herself. She started the long walk that would supposedly take her out of this "realm," her feet feeling the sharp gravel under her steps no more than a rock feels the downpour in a rainstorm.

Alexandra walked away without looking back, trying ineffectually to put out of her mind the hapless mess that spread behind her footsteps.

________

The bloody hallway had no bloody end in sight. The way that detestable creature had put it, she had assumed that getting to the end of the damn thing would be the shortest part of her journey. But it stretched unwavering straight ahead, still as far as her eyes could see, even though she could not say for how long she had walked already. At least she hadn't come across any more goddamn bloody monsters.

She hadn't encountered any bifurcations in the path so far; it was nothing but a straight line about twenty-five feet wide, flanked by nine rows of pillars on each side, every one of them about two feet in diameter and all of a rich cobalt blue with intricate indigo carvings. They were spaced at mathematically precise intervals, and didn't have a base or a capital; they simply jutted out of the ground and stretched upwards until they reached the top. The columns met the naked rock of a slightly vaulted ceiling some twenty feet above her head, colored such a deep midnight blue that it was almost black. The walls on either side of the hallway were covered in an endless variety of reliefs, that went from primitive depictions of strange creatures to whimsical forms and geometrical shapes. She had been interested in them at first, running her fingers over the surfaces as she tried to puzzle out any sort of meaning, or admiring the surprisingly fine patterns in every one of those pillars. She had had to goad herself to keep on moving; in different circumstances, she could have spent hours examining a single one of those works of art.

She barely glanced at the patterns anymore, her mood sour and her curses tip-of-the-tongue ready. Walking off to one side of the path by the first row of columns, she could clearly see what lay ahead of her, while still being able to jump into hiding, should any kind of trouble come into view. She found it all more irritating the farther she went; everything was a shade of blue, blue, blue, and she was sick of it, especially since there was no bloody end in sight.

But that wasn't nearly enough to make her ready to ground her teeth to dust from irritation the way she was, even while she stubbornly told herself that that was all there was to it.

The truth was, her clothes bothered her to no end. They were the main source of her foul mood, those loathsome clothes, no matter how hard she worked inside her head to deny it. She should have been trying to puzzle out at least some of the incongruous events since her arrival, and she had a hundred different things that she should be worrying about, but she couldn't push off her mind those loathsome, loathsome clothes!

She couldn't think of a reason why they had appeared, other than the connection they had to her new-found foot hardiness. It was the outfit that she had worn the most when her feet were as they were now; at times, they'd been the only clothes she owned. But so what? There was no reason why that should bother her so much.

Was there? That she'd accepted where she had come from didn't mean that she would like to go back there.

No, it wasn't that at all, she chided herself. It was all the pitiful holes, and rips, and unsightly stains and caked dirt that wouldn't come off even if she had any desire to try.

She had developed a thing for fine, good-quality clothes over the years. Well, maybe more than "a thing." She'd been called a tomboy countless times while growing up; nowadays, Aaron liked to say that she was a "tomboy with a twist." She still liked her clothes simple and functional and somewhat boyish, but with a bit of girly thrown in here and there. She was rather proud of her style, while somewhat ashamed of caring so much about it.

That it was a tattered skirt she was wearing only added to her mounting aggravation. The last time she had been caught in a skirt was for her wedding day, and that only because her parents would have had apoplexy at anything but a white gown on the bride, no matter how very ceremonial some of those gorgeous pantsuits were cut.

Alexandra was tempted to simply take them off—tear them off in a fit, more likely, possibly cussing all the way through—and just go on in her undies. She wagered she actually would have, had she been wearing any underwear at all. Which she was not. Perhaps that also contributed to her sour disposition.

Does a soul wear clothes?

She tried to shove the question away as soon as it formed. The last time she had let questions like that pop in her head, it had ended in the most painful experience she could remember, breaking her hand in a dozen different places included. Although, it sure was something to consider.

It was such a ridiculous notion, now that she gave it some thought. Was that a hint of discomfort that she felt swelling up in the back of her head? Better stop thinking about it.

Then again, she had hardly expected everyone to be naked in Heaven, but how could a spirit possibly wear actual, corporeal clothes? It just didn't jibe in her mind. Might as well say that she'd have to shave her legs and trim her fingernails next. And these clothes, they had simply shown up. If they could pop out of thin air like that, could they also—

As the possibility blossomed in her thoughts, the skirt she was dejectedly glaring at started rippling, as if the fabric was sublimating into billows of mist. She stopped in mid-stride and stared as it flickered and blurred, melted, evaporated and scattered before her eyes, leaving only bare skin behind.

A summary inspection verified her wide-eyed suspicion: she was stark naked.

"No way!" she yelped out loud, her gaze darting around in a panic, making sure there was nobody around to see her. She quickly jumped behind a nearby pillar, just in case. She felt silly for it almost immediately: it wasn't like she was in the middle of a crowded street or anything.

Even then, the prim and modest part of her wanted nothing more than to have those greatly despised clothes back on. And as soon as she acknowledged that part of her by picturing herself wearing them, they coalesced back in place.

There was a certain elegance to how they materialized, like fleeting gusts of smoke coming together to become solid. She would have appreciated it more if she hadn't been so thoroughly flabbergasted.

It took a while before she could form any thoughts that amounted to anything other than "wow." By the time she managed to do so, she kept waiting for the crippling headache to make a roaring come-back, but all she felt was a small stab in her temples that was gone almost before it began.

Shortly after she had the presence of mind to try and get a grip on the situation. This was an ... interesting development. Just how much control did she have over it?

She might as well test it out. Tentatively, she did as she had done before, believing that the clothes shouldn't be there at all. She was surprised at how little effort it took: they disappeared on demand, and then and came back without a fuss when prompted. Or, more accurately, dissolved and coalesced. It was quite beautiful to watch, when she found herself able to accept the fact that she was putting clothes on and off with her mind.

She thought that accepting such a concept should have taken her much longer, but there it was. Maybe she was beginning to expect strange things to happen every other minute.

It wasn't enough to simply wish for them to be gone, she realized. When it was done as a conscious effort, she had to visualize it, to apply her will into knowing it for truth that the clothes should not be there, or that they should indeed be there. On and off, on and off ....

And how about ....

This time, she visualized the outfit she was wearing when she had arrived, minus all the nasty blood and gore that had ruined it soon after. Her white top and beloved purple sweatpants materialized with a fascinating flourish, snug around her skin as if they had never gone away.

Alexandra could have clapped her hands together in excitement. My, but this opened up so many possibilities! Could she truly don any clothes she wanted, merely by willing them into being? The very idea made her giddy like a kid in a candy store. Which made her a little abashed at such frivolous thoughts, especially when she was neck-deep in a heaping mound of problems. Not nearly abashed enough to stop her from trying her hand at it, however.

She went through everything she could remember in her wardrobe, delighted every time a piece of clothing materialized out of thin air. Then she ventured into items she had never worn herself, that belonged to friends, stores or celebrities. She even gave a few fancy gowns and dresses a go, although they turned out not to be her thing, just as she had expected. And some of the pieces she wasn't familiar with seemed to fall apart, if they were too complicated. She suspected that she didn't have the proper knowledge of seams, clasps and straps in order to reliably reproduce them. On top of that, some fabrics looked off upon closer inspection, like she was unable to fully realize the patterns that weaved the material together unless she really concentrated on it, and sometimes not even then. She wasn't all that surprised; she didn't know the first thing about making clothes, so it was no wonder she couldn't get the patterns right.

A nagging voice in her head kept shouting that she was wasting way too much time with this. She had managed to pay it no mind so far; all frivolity aside, this was quite a big discovery, and it was worth some experimentation. She could alter certain things with her mind, in this place. Come to think on it, it was a huge deal.

Besides, it was nice to tuck away all those serious worries for a little while. Concentrating on something that she could actually control was refreshingly soothing, after everything that had happened.

With a sigh, she settled on comfortable clothes fit for going for a run, with a few caveats. Very definitely some appropriate underwear, first of all—a sturdy sports bra and suitable panties. She'd gone without those for far too long. For the rest, it was a simple enough outfit, consisting of a hooded shirt and long, close-fitting yoga pants. The hood on her shirt was wide and deep—she did like to wear hoods—while the shirt itself clung closely to her frame, the hem reaching down just barely above her hips. She made her sleeves long enough to cover past her wrists and her pant legs go down past her ankles, slashed at the wide cuffs for a bit of a fluttery feel. Nothing wrong with remaining a little stylish where she could.

Although she normally favored bright colors, she figured it would be best to blend in with the background. She colored her shirt with a vertical pattern of sinuous shapes, all shades of clear blue, that complimented the carvings in the pillars. Her pants were a subdued gradient that went from sapphire at the waist to azure at the ankles. She couldn't resist adding a deep violet cloth belt at the hip, knotted loosely on one side so that the soft cloth would hang lightly down her thigh.

Quite satisfying. She couldn't help feeling a bit smug about it.

She eyed her feet pensively. Thirty minutes ago she would have murdered for a pair of trekking boots, or worn sneakers, or even flimsy flip-flops. But now that she could take her pick, she found herself reluctant to put on anything at all. She may have stolen that tattered blue skirt, and salvaged that pink shirt from a heap of garbage, but it had taken years to earn those feet. And now she had earned them a second time, in a manner of speaking. Unlike everything else, they felt like a badge of honor.

No longer able to ignore that pestering voice in her head that exhorted her to quit idling about like a buffoon, Alexandra resumed the brisk pace she had been carrying before being accosted by acute nudity. Nothing said that she couldn't figure things out while moving, after all.

As her stride ate up ground, she marveled at how very little she felt the pinpricks beneath the soles of her feet. No, she had no need for shoes.

So, she could conjure up clothes at will, as it turned out. Who would have thought eternal damnation could be so stylish?

The thought cast a large shadow over the assumed nature of her whereabouts, making the indeterminate doubts that had been sprouting since her interrogation with the demon take a more definite form. There was something seriously off with the whole deal: there was no way she could get away with this much freedom if she truly was in Hell. And she definitely shouldn't be able to have fun changing outfits on a whim, with not a care in the world.

The possibility that it was all a complicated, pre-designed ordeal created solely for her prolonged suffering seemed more and more far fetched the more she progressed. Still, the possibility was there, and she wasn't ready to dismiss it now that it was the best she could come up with as an explanation for her situation so far, flawed as it might be. She did not feel ready to take her thoughts down a different path. Not yet.

In any case, her situation was basically the same as it had been before, she told herself. She was in an afterlife, hostile to her by all accounts, and without a hint as to where her husband might be. The only difference is that she might not be as powerless as she once thought.

Not powerless. Now, there was something worth some serious consideration. How far did that go? What else could she do? Alexandra figured that it would be best to find out about that as soon as possible.

She stopped moving, and spared a quick glance to her surroundings to make sure that nothing new was in sight. If she continued walking while lost in thought like this, she might stumble right into the mouth of some slobbering monster. The hallway still stretched ahead endlessly, as well as behind. Both ends looked so similar now that if she had spun around with her eyes closed, she wouldn't have known which way was which when she opened them. The disturbing idea made her drag her big toe across the gravel, drawing a crude arrow to mark the direction in which she was supposed to travel.

She wondered what would she be able to dream up into existence, other than clothes. Could she make any object at all appear in her hand, for example? The mere idea struck her as fanciful. Then again, it was about as fanciful as making garments appear out of thin air.

She held out an outstretched hand, looking at her palm. Her wedding band caught her eye, snug around her ring finger, and she felt immensely relieved to see it there. She wasn't a great fan of jewelry, wearing it only on very rare occasions, but she loved everything about that ring. Countless times she had studied the elaborate pattern of tiny vines carved all around the white gold. She appreciated how discreet and unobtrusive it was, without any points that could get caught on things or gemstones that could come off their setting. Aaron's name was engraved on the inside, pressing against her skin. He thought he was so witty, saying that now there was definite proof that she kept him wrapped around her finger, as if no-one had come up with that line before. That goofball.

She had worn that ring since the moment he gave it to her, and never taken it off. It had become such a part of her that she didn't even feel it there anymore.

Well, let's see how far this goes.

She pictured a second ring, identical to the original, resting on her palm. She thought she saw something, a blurry shape floating in the space above her hand, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, if it had been there at all.

Nothing happened. It wasn't that easy, apparently.

Well, she wasn't about to give up just yet. It had worked with the clothes; there was no reason to think it wouldn't work with this. She put her every thought into it, visualizing the carvings closely, feeling the weight on her hand as if it was there, cool to the touch on its smooth edges. She must have looked like such a fool, frozen in the middle of nowhere, staring cross-eyed at her hand.

Eddies of faint mist gravitated toward the center of her palm, gathering and shimmering brighter the closer they got; some approaching in a straight line, some spiraling in, some following irregular, unpredictable paths. Some flew inwards in the blink of an eye, some darted in almost leisurely. Only a brief moment had passed before there was a dense band of smoke forming where she was staring at. The startling display was enough to break Alexandra's concentration, which caused it all to dissolve into formless billows that dissipated before her eyes.

Cussing under her breath, she set out to do it again, telling herself to stop being distracted by the pretty lights like a scatterbrain.

Once more she imagined everything as she wanted it to be, trying to fill her mind with the indisputable certainty that there was a perfect copy of her wedding band on her palm. The flow of swirling ethereal shapes seemed to come more easily this time, collapsing into one another to form a ring of white mist that solidified and hardened in the space of seconds. Maintaining her focus, she held all the details clear in her mind—the vine-like pattern, the weight, even the inscription on the inside—and immediately saw them coalesce into the ring as if they had always been a part of it.

It was done. She hesitated for a moment before moving at all. It was definitely there; she could feel the tiny weight of it, the smooth texture of the shank on her skin. Still, she hesitated some more before reaching to pick it up with her other hand, afraid that it could disappear at the slightest disturbance. No more had she thought of the possibility, that she perceived a small flicker on and around the ring, as if it had become more ... tenuous, for just a fraction of a second. The ring was there, she admonished herself. It would not disappear no matter what she did, and that was that.

It felt real enough between her thumb and forefinger. It still did when she slipped it around her free ring finger. A little too real, she thought irritably as she struggled to get it past her bony joint. She stared at it some more, fascinated at what she had just accomplished, and ultimately decided to simply leave it there. Twice a reminder of Aaron's love, she thought with a fond smile. And, well, it was awfully hard to get the ring off the finger once it was wedged in there. That too.

She couldn't just stop at a ring, of course. She would start out simple and work her way from there. What else could she do? This was kind of fun!

Some fifteen minutes later, a small pile of disparate objects cluttered around her, dropped haphazardly as they were discarded one after the other. She surveyed them with a furrowed brow.

A brown wooden stick, a foot long, smooth and featureless.

A simple wooden mallet. A claw hammer, with a crude metal head. A large sledgehammer, almost too heavy to lift comfortably.

The blade of a curved sword, somewhat dull. An unadorned sword hilt without a slot for the nonexistent tang of the blade. A razor-sharp longsword with an ornate hilt and a wide, sinuous guard.

A thick-bristled hairbrush. A hand mirror that did not reflect anything. A magnifying glass that did not magnify in the slightest.

A hunk of metal in the rough shape of a handgun. A hunk of metal that looked very much like a handgun, but not quite right. An actual, honest-to-goodness 9mm semi-automatic that did not work, surrounded by what looked very much like bullets, but really weren't.

A two-inch-long wooden stick with a slightly bulbous head, painted red. Next to it, an empty matchbox. Next to it, a number of matches, most of which broken or beaten, but none used up.

The scattered parts of a lighter, an unidentifiable liquid leaking from the top of the reservoir.

What she imagined a flamethrower should look like, complete with a heavy propane tank with a strap affixed to it, and a long hose with a handle and a trigger. Worth a shot. It didn't do a thing, but she was pleased that it had showed up at all.

The semblance of a shortbow, strung too tight, discarded unceremoniously.

An extremely primitive bicycle, leaning against one of the columns. It had no brakes, no chain, deflated tires, uneven spokes and rigid pedals. Entirely useless.

A car tire.

She had reached a few conclusions throughout the process. The first one was that she didn't know nearly as much as she thought she knew about how machines actually worked. She knew how to use them, but the ability to make all the parts fit together and interact in, say, a simple lighter or a simple standard flamethrower was beyond her.

Also, it wasn't nearly enough to picture the thing in order to get it. Oh, you would get something that definitely looked like it. She knew a great deal of how a Smith & Wesson 9mm Semi-automatic was supposed to look. She had fired it thousands, millions of times while playing online matches. However, she could tell herself as much as she wanted that a fully functional handgun was cradled in her hand; that didn't change the fact that she had no idea of how the bullets were supposed to be loaded into the chamber from the magazine, or how the trigger mechanism made the gun go pow. Which turned out to be rather important knowledge when trying to get your conjured handgun to work like it was supposed to.

She didn't know what went inside the cartridges, for that matter, other than it was gunpowder. Probably. Was she supposed to know the chemical composition of everything under the sun? Firearms were complicated. She had never used a real one, anyway; she was more likely to hurt herself than to hit whatever she was aiming at.

Not all of it was frustrating, though. She learned soon enough that she could alter the things already materialized without having to make new ones; the latter required considerably more concentration than the former. That sword turned out to be a fine piece of craftsmanship when she was done with it, even if she did say so herself. Swords were nothing short of awesome, in her book. Too bad she'd never learned to wield one effectively.

Unfortunately, volume and weight mattered a great deal when it came to the limits of her new-found ability. A large stone wall that would have barred the hallway from end to end had refused to show up, no matter how much effort she put into it. A bulky, dense rock that she made just to see if she could had lasted maybe a whole thirty seconds before it collapsed, dissolving into shimmering fumes. The chassis of the first car she ever owned got as far as being outlined in faint smoke before disappearing, and with it her hopes of driving all the way to this "Nexus" place she had been directed to. She made the tire mostly out of spite after that.

Just as her thoughts were touching that accursed tire, she saw the sad excuse of a bike frame flicker, become translucent, and break down in misty swirls. The tire followed almost immediately.

Well, guess I'm stuck walking.

None of it seemed to be permanent. Things that she didn't care about vanished, and they vanished faster the more complicated or voluminous they were. Concerned for her latest and most prized creation—aside from the ring, of course—she stepped toward the column it was propped against. The other items were also dissolving now, in no particular order.

She hefted the elaborate quarterstaff in her hands, enjoying the solid feel of the carved hardwood in her palms. It was slightly longer than she was tall, with notched steel caps tipping both ends. Tightly wound leather straps braided a fifth of the staff's length at either side, to aid grip. The naked wood, varnished dark brown, displayed a myriad curved lines of intricate carvings that glowed a faint turquoise, in keeping with the "lovely" blue theme of her environment. Creating that beautiful vine-like pattern just by thinking of it had been one of the most wonderful things Alexandra had ever done.

There were a number of reasons she had used to justify putting so much effort into crafting this weapon. Like having a tool to get at least some range in case she needed to fight again. She couldn't get guns to work, nor use a bow with any semblance of proficiency, and she couldn't have thrown a knife to save her life. So a long stick would have to do. She would very much like to avoid having to punch through monsters again, if she could help it.

Another reason was testing just how far her skill could go. She had feared that getting the glowing effect in the carvings would be problematic, but colors seemed to come easy as pie. The hardest part had been getting the leather work just right so it wouldn't instantly fall apart and dissipate.

On top of that, she had miles upon miles yet to cover, if she could trust the raving beast she had questioned. A walking stick couldn't hurt, and there was no reason why it shouldn't be a fashionable walking stick.

All perfectly reasonable.

Alexandra chuckled while shaking her head. The thing wasn't all that close to the actual English quarterstaff—it was a bit shorter, and lighter, and way prettier. The truth of it was, she simply fancied the thought of walking around with a kick-ass staff, using it to defend herself if need be, but mostly to look cool and mysterious. She had been tempted to add a cloak to her outfit. Blast Aaron and all those dorky fantasy novels of his, they had planted such foolish notions in her head! Well, at least she did have some very basic training on stick fighting, and did favor the strong, decisive blows that the quarterstaff was capable of, so there was that.

Her amusement faded into a frown as she glanced up and down the hallway. What in the world was she thinking? She had dawdled in one place for far too long, and she'd forgotten all about staying alert while experimenting. She should have at least bothered to go into the forest of pillars to do it. Some fine fun she would have if one of those monsters snuck up to her and ripped out her throat while she was busy making sticks glow. No more flimsy excuses for carelessness from now on.

Still berating herself under her breath, she decided to travel between the first and second row of columns instead of on the main road. That there hadn't been any traffic so far didn't mean that it would stay quiet forever, and she could still keep an eye on the path while mostly staying out of sight.

The steady beat of her staff on the gravel carried the pace of her footsteps as she marched on toward the exit.

∞

7

Thousand Rivers was true to its name. A spiderweb of watercourses skittered through the landscape below, stems forking and tributaries merging in a tangle of shiny blue lines. But it wasn't water that flowed through them. It couldn't be.

A waterfall thundered not far from their position, a ways off to the right of the exit of the cave. It was this waterfall that let Aaron see how the clear liquid making its way down the valley simply could not be water.

It did look clear enough, although with a bit of a bluish tinge. But it flowed ... strange. It clung together, too viscous to flow naturally, too cohesive to mist up the way it should when traveling down such a drop. As if the whole thing was reluctant to move, odd as the idea struck him. The large stream of almost-water fell without interruption, without breaking up in countless tiny droplets the way actual water would. His hands itched to find out how it felt to the touch.

They had emerged from the tunnel to find themselves on a high ledge jutting out the side of a cliff, a wide dirt road leading off the left side, guarded by another set of sentries. The road made its sinuous way down the mountain, entering an expansive valley that stretched for hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers. The valley was flanked by steep mountain ridges on either side, blocking the view of whatever lay beyond them. The air smelled clean and crisp here, the way a mountaintop would be expected to.

Prying his eyes off the waterfall—should he call it a waterfall, if it wasn't water that was falling?—prying his eyes off the fall, Aaron stared down the slope in awe, while Queg hovered quietly, showing his characteristic patience with the wide-eyed human that couldn't stop gaping at every other piece of scenery.

The side of the cliff was almost vertical, making the road the only feasible way down. And it was a long way down. The slope gradually leveled out the farther down it went, following an arch that became a gentle descent all the way to the coast. Or an endless mass of blue where all the rivers died at, at the very least. One couldn't assume anything anymore.

As he surveyed the land, every color and texture seemed to pop up at him, more vibrant and tangible than he was used to. It felt like looking at his computer screen with color saturation set way too high, right on the verge of being uncomfortable. It was strange, considering the diffuse illumination that didn't glint off anything or cast any shadows. The sky was a monotone expanse of vibrant blue, no clouds in sight, no gradients of brightness. There was a sense of depth to it. It was curious how the absence of an actual Sun wasn't immediately noticeable. Not much different than a densely overcast day, come to think on it. only a lot brighter.

The endless blue of the sky was broken only by a few small, dark figures that floated in mid-air, far above and ahead of him. They weren't many, maybe a couple dozen, and they were scattered somewhat uniformly above the entire valley. All he could say at such a great distance was that they were shaped like large jellyfish, only without the ethereal, rippling feel. These things were rigid. Tightly packed.

"They will carry word of our arrival," Queg said, anticipating Aaron's curiosity. Right on cue, one of them started moving.

It dropped from the sky as he watched, and swiftly floated downward at an angle, heading toward some point hundreds of miles away. I guess they haven't heard of security cameras? he wondered. Everything had been so ... "low-tech," so far. Would something as basic as electricity be even possible here? He shuddered at the thought of existence without computers. What would he do for fun when all his problems got solved? Was he going to be playing board games for all eternity?

What an inane thing to worry about!

Mentally chewing himself out for having such shallow concerns, he tried to get a fix on that jellyfish thingie. Ah, there it was. His eyes swept across the great valley before him as they followed the alleged scout.

Greens and browns covered about two thirds of the landscape, wherever the rivers didn't flow; there were sparse trees in blooming fields, a couple small forests, square patches of dark soil, weedy fields of light dirt. All of it distributed without discernible patterns: a copse here, grassy expanses there, a few bushes over on the other side. He thought he could see animals populating some areas, maybe cattle of some sort, but at that distance they were little more than tiny dots that sometimes moved for a bit.

He did see without strain the herd of strange creatures that they had watched earlier, already far ahead of them on the road below. The beasts stomped forward with their lizard-like gait, sending puffs of dirt drifting about every time their feet landed. They advanced leisurely, unconcerned by the constant goading of the little herders that darted about them in stop-start motions, like hyperactive rodents. Maybe they are rat-men, Aaron thought idly. Shouldn't he feel more disturbed by that idea? He probably should.

But the most curious sight was within the rightmost third of the valley. There, what would otherwise be a familiar countryside vista was abruptly overtaken by a patchwork of discordant colors; bright desert orange next to deep blue next to mossy green next to pale yellow and even blood red, all delineated in roughly square or circular plots. Most of the rivers died at its borders, while others ran through the area in orderly canals.

Walls ran the border of every one of them, and each patch had its own version: some were short fences, some were tall granite barriers, some were a mere line of bushes. Some plots were entirely covered by a dome, which could range from clear as glass to completely opaque. Things ... floated ... within those domes.

The frontier between regular wilderness and walled off areas was awfully uneven, as if new patches had been added over time without much concern for planning. The contrast was so stark that it was as if chunks of distant regions had been uprooted and unceremoniously plonked down in the middle of the idyllic valley. Although disorganized at the outskirts, the inner plots became arranged in concentric rings the closer to the center they got, roads running the circumference of the rings as well as sprouting straight out like the spokes of a rudder. They meandered where they could the farther out they spread.

A large, squat structure that loosely followed the shape of a crescent splayed at the center of it all. It was a multi-part complex, made up of dozens, maybe hundreds of smaller buildings cobbled together into one massive compound. A great domed tower, wider than it was tall, presided over the structure, jutting out just a bit off the middle of the crescent. He couldn't make out much else, being so far away. The whole thing shone a pristine white.

Hadn't Queg mentioned zoos earlier? Or "reservations," as he had quickly amended. Aaron took a few steps toward the edge of the cliff.

"I suppose that's where we're headed, huh?" he asked, hands in his pockets as he pointed his chin at the massive structure.

Queg hovered closer. "I presume I shouldn't expect you to be able to fly with me there? It would make for a far shorter journey."

"Um, what?"

"I didn't think so. You'd have done it by now if you could, I gathered." The guide quickly floated downwards a few centimeters, then back up, while fluttering languidly two of his appendages, one a mirror image of the other on each side. It was a shrug, Aaron knew. "It couldn't hurt to make sure."

"You're telling me humans can fly here? You've seen them?" Take things in stride, take things in stride, take things in stride ....

Queg made what could pass for a grimace. "I should not have said anything. Once more I speak without thinking it through. Please, forget all about it. We will meet your peers soon, now; they can teach you all they know." Queg paused, uneasy. "You won't tell them I have been so careless, will you? You said you wouldn't. Not that I doubt your word, mind."

Queg's unease would have been endearing if it weren't for the distressing implications. Just how bad could these Humans be? "You got nothing to worry about, man. Uh, I mean, remoran ... thing ...." He trailed off, then tried again. "You've been nothing but nice to me, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble. I've got your back."

Huh. Maybe he shouldn't have put it that way. Would idioms be understood as well? He sure hoped that they would; being careful to purge his speech of them every time he spoke would be a huge pain in the ass.

Best to find out now, he thought. He wouldn't want to be caught in a "hilarious misunderstanding" while talking to the afterlife's version of a Klingon.

Queg didn't seem to have trouble understanding; he appeared relieved, a thankful "smile" in his demeanor. "You honor me, sir. You have my thanks."

Aaron decided to make a veritable test out of it. He responded after a brief stretch of silence.

"Don't sweat it, mate. We better wrap this up so we can call it a day. Hopefully we'll put this thing to bed in a jiffy."

He was quite proud of the gangly sentence. He did take a while to come up with such a dreadful string of obnoxious expressions, though. Maybe that stretch of silence hadn't been so brief.

For all of that, Queg simply nodded in agreement, and Aaron sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to watch his every word even more than he already was, by the look of it. Might as well make sure.

"You did understand what I just said, right?"

"Why, yes, of course. You told me not to worry, and expressed your desire for haste, hoping to conclude our business successfully. That is what you said, yes?"

Aaron simply nodded, and let out a deep sigh. Convenient as it was, he'd have loved to know how in blazes the whole thing worked.

"Well, we better get going then," he said. "Looks to be a long way down."

He delayed turning toward the road, despite his own comment. There was something else about the walled-off area that kept nagging at Aaron's attention, and it had nothing to do with the strident colors that made him want to cringe.

He couldn't say exactly what it was. The whole thing gave off a ... feeling. A new kind of feeling, a certain quality that he was not familiar with. It was so faint that he wondered whether he was simply imagining it.

He tried to concentrate on it. Yes, it was definitely there. Something pulling at him, only not in a physical way. Like the feeling of a presence standing right behind him, unseen—only it was somewhere down there, in the distance. An awareness of ... difference. He didn't know what to make of it.

It didn't come from the whole area, he noticed. He could feel distinct sources scattered throughout; some focused on the structure, and another toward the left, coming from one of the plots in the outskirts. It was such a feeble thing, but the more he concentrated on it, the more confident he felt about it being real and not a product of his admittedly enthusiastic imagination. What's more, one of them seemed to be moving, somewhere down there. It felt stronger. Or maybe ... closer?

He focused on that last sensation, trying to pinpoint a definite location, and movement caught his eye. A black dot, swiftly moving through the air, away from the colorful grounds and directly toward them.

"Queg," he said, pointing at it. He nervously watched it as it grew bigger, resolving into a disk the color of rock and fresh soil. The figure of a man stood atop it, wrapped in long white robes that should have been flapping wildly at the speed he was moving, but kept perfectly still instead. "Should I be worried?" Aaron asked. It was eating up the enormous distance in the span of heartbeats. How does the guy even stay upright?

Queg's lights flickered while he made an intermittent humming noise. Aaron barely saw the lights and noises anymore; he simply understood "Queg gasped in awe." It was funny how quickly one could get used to the strangest things, with enough exposure.

Aaron's guide looked enraptured at the sight of the man. Fearful, as well. "You are worthy of a personal escort, sir. It's the Steward himself. Our journey is at an end."

The man and his platform had almost come upon them in the time that their brief exchange took place. The disk turned out to be in the shape of an inverted cone, like a top made of rock chunks and clumped up earth. It looked as if it had been uprooted from the ground and made into an improvised transport. Wouldn't surprise me one bit if that's exactly what it is, Aaron thought as he got his first good look at the "Steward."

The man's olive skin was sun-tanned, his face and hands the only parts of his anatomy that he wore uncovered. His hair was as dark as can be, parted in the middle and swept back, falling in waves to the sides of his head. His elaborate robes looked ... stately. Of an immaculate white, they clung tightly around his broad-shouldered upper body but fell loosely down to his ankles. They were held at the waist with a thick cloth belt, also white but embroidered with rich, golden patterns. Golden bands entwined at the hem and at the high collar, and its long, flowing sleeves were held at the wrists by another set of gold-embroidered cloth straps that wrapped around half the length of his forearms. Dark trousers and high leather boots, laced from feet to shin, could be seen underneath the robes.

He had come close enough for Aaron to make out a round face with a broad, angular nose, thin lips and bushy eyebrows. He looked young, about Aaron's age. That face was frozen in a stern expression, looking directly at him.

Taking it all in, it struck him as deliberately done to impress, if not intimidate. And it worked quite well. He felt the sudden urge to bow before this mighty wizard that was flying at ludicrous speed on his magical disk in order to meet with the intruders.

Aaron must not have been alone in that feeling, because Queg was already prostrated at his side, the alien's tentacles chaotically spread all over the ground, his head—and consequentially his entire torso—bowed down.

No, Aaron's first impression of a Human was doing absolutely nothing to assuage his concerns.

The disk, about four meters in diameter, came to rest at the edge of their perch, a small distance in front of them. As the front-most part of its underside made contact with the ground, it seemed to mold around the irregular surface, the darker soil appearing to become one with the lighter rock and packed dirt of the cliff.

The man stepped off without waiting for the platform to settle down completely, his movements measured, dignified. His expression wasn't really stern, up close. It was simply ... impassive.

He stood there for a moment, regarding them the way a soaring falcon might regard a hapless hare. He seemed to wonder, now that he was there, whether they were worth the time to swoop down and snatch them.

And then his face broke into a smile, pleased, warm and encouraging. His teeth were a little uneven without being crooked, in a way that added to the charm of the gesture. The transition into the smile was gradual, as if he had slowly decided that they were indeed not only worth his time, but also worth a fair bit of extra effort.

"Welcome, brother," he said, spreading his arms in greeting. Aaron doubted that the man was expecting a hug, but he felt tempted to step forth and do just that, if only because of the awfully friendly demeanor he displayed as he carried on. "I thought there was something different about you. I am glad we decided to come receive you immediately."

The man spoke, and Aaron understood it perfectly, but ... the mouth wasn't right, he realized. Lips and tongue formed sounds that did not match what he heard. It was a subtle thing that was not immediately apparent, like a foreign movie with a pitch-perfect voice-over.

"It is well that you have arrived at our doorstep safely," he continued. "I am sure we have our friend here to thank." He gazed at the prostrated Remoran. Did his expression harden slightly? Hard to tell. "Ah, we have dealt with you before. Queg, do rise. You will be honored as you deserve for your service."

Queg did as he was told, still carrying a deferential air about him.

It wasn't only the man's appearance that was amicable. The man exuded friendliness all of a sudden, in a way that Aaron couldn't explain even to himself. He felt it had to do with that strange feeling of distinctiveness; that odd, mystical pull the existence of which he had discovered only a minute ago.

The friendliness was so pervasive that it made him want to trust this stranger completely, despite having just met him, and despite his many apprehensions. Who could be so very friendly while secretly harboring ill intentions? Nobody, that's who.

Nobody but a psychopath.

He shushed his paranoid thoughts. He'd been staring with his mouth open for far longer than would be considered proper; he ought to say something. Preferably something smart.

"Um, greetings. I'm Aaron Gretchen. Nice to meet you," he said with only the smallest stutter, and he offered his hand. He figured that he could have done far worse than that.

The robed man stepped forward and clasped Aaron's hand with both of his, shaking firmly. It was a good shake, he thought. Strong, confident, yet gentle. This customer wouldn't bite for an extended life insurance policy, that much was for certain.

"I forget myself," the man said, that earnest smile giving his eyes an honest bearing. "My name is Diego Hidalgo Santana, Steward of Thousand Rivers. But call me Diego. Last names are for strangers, and you are among friends now, Aaron. We are always overjoyed—" He cut off with a small frown, his smile faltering, although not fading completely. He was staring at Aaron more intently than he had been.

Did I grow something on my face? he wondered, his unease surging once more. He adjusted his glasses as casually as he could with his free hand, struggling to keep from fidgeting while his other hand was still trapped in the man's grip. He had a bad habit of fidgeting when under scrutiny.

Santana's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to make out something in the distance that he couldn't see well—only that something seemed to be within Aaron's skull.

He let go of Aaron's hand and turned to Queg abruptly, his frown deepening. "What have you told this newborn, Fourteenth? Do you not know the protocol?"

To Aaron's ears, Santana didn't sound all that threatening. Concerned, yes. Maybe a bit displeased.

But Queg's eyes widened in horror. Or they surely would have, at any rate. It was so puzzling, interacting with a creature that had no eyes. At least he could focus on the "prismatic glands" on his head, which were now clearly conveying inordinate amounts of fear. Queg seemed to regard this man as much more dangerous than he looked.

"Sir, I—" he begun. Santana cut him off with a wave of his hand, and much of the friendliness returned.

"Never mind. You have still performed a service, flawed as it may be. Ming Xiu will decide what to do about it. As far as I am concerned, you have done well. But she will determine your reward, not I." He turned back to Aaron. "Come. I will take you to her. She will be delighted to know of your arrival, and will want to see to your well-being personally."

Diego Hidalgo Santana, Steward of Thousand Rivers, stepped aside and held out his hand toward the platform, gesturing for Aaron to go ahead and step onto it. That inviting smile was as harmless as any could be.

"Um, Diego." He didn't feel all that comfortable addressing a complete stranger in such a familiar manner, but the man had asked him to do it. "I assure you, Queg did everything he could to stick to this protocol you mention. He only told me some things because I bugged him constantly and threatened not to follow if he didn't answer. Even then he was very tight-lipped; it was quite frustrating, actually. If he told me anything he shouldn't, it really wasn't his fault."

Santana nodded, glancing at the Remoran. "I see. Like I said, it's truly not up to me. But I'll have your testimony in mind, I promise." He gestured again. "If you will?"

How could Queg be so apprehensive? This man seemed such a reasonable fellow. But surely there was a good reason for it. As he stepped up to the recently deformed disk, he wished he had prodded his guide—former guide, by the looks of it—more firmly for information. He couldn't let himself be taken in by a smiling face that for all he knew was planning to shoot him in the back. Or throw a magic missile at my ass, more like it. What's with the LARP getup? Honestly.

Aaron walked to the other end of the platform, Queg floating right behind him. He looked less like a guide now and more like a prisoner, subdued and chastised. Which didn't make sense, since the Remoran had all but goaded him all the way there so that he could claim that mysterious reward for prompt newborn delivery. Santana—Aaron couldn't bring himself to think of him as "Diego" just yet—climbed last, moving in the same unhurried, imperious way as before.

"Step or otherwise move away from the edges, please. I wouldn't want either of you to fall." He sounded mildly amused by the possibility, for some reason. "In fact, allow me to create a safer environment." He turned around as he spoke, and raised his hands before him, palms up.

Something happened to Santana's body. Although the shift was immediately noticeable, it was hard to say exactly what the difference was. He looked like the same white-robed wizard, but more ... corporeal, somehow. More dense. Where before he had been pumice, now he was granite.

Suddenly, loose boulders and chunks of rock lifted from the face of the cliff and floated to the sides of the cone-shaped platform. They did so without resistance or audible protest; they hadn't been so much torn off as simply sliced cleanly and effortlessly off their resting place. Before Aaron's befuddled gaze, the mismatched pieces of mountain surrounded the circumference of the disk, each one lazily rotating in place. Santana spread his arms in a slow arch from the front to the sides, his palms faced down. As he gestured, the rocks thinned and stretched into cylinders, some slightly curved, some straight. The straight cylinders became vertical posts that attached to the outside of the disk, while the arched ones rotated to a horizontal position and joined together to form a rail that came to rest atop the newly created supports. As soon as it was done, the waist-length handrail looked as solid as if it had always been there.

Santana lowered his hands, his body shifting back to its former state. There was nothing visual to the transformation; Aaron simply felt it. The man faced them with a smile that was just as friendly as before, with just a tiny bit of smugness thrown in. A smile that held the promise of wondrous things to come. "Do feel free to hold on to it as we travel. The ride should be smooth enough, but there is no harm in taking precautions."

Too stunned for words, Aaron took the man's advice.

________

A short, slender woman with markedly Asian features stood on a clearing within a copse of trees that weren't quite trees. They were straight, narrow trunks some seven meters tall, with one or maybe two branches each. The smooth-looking bark was all white and light gray, and a multitude of thick, feathery leaves of a fiery orange sprouted from the branches in a lush display. The ground was covered with a mantle of bright orange filaments; they looked like pine leaves, but finer and softer.

The woman, garbed in a simple outfit consisting of a high-necked red blouse and a long, fluttery white skirt, was surrounded by a small group of creatures that were pretty close to bald, overgrown, obese rabbits. With a long proboscis that flexed and probed erratically and antennae instead of eyes.

She was tossing short white sticks at them, thin and gnarly, which the "rabbits" quickly slurped up, making little buzzing noises.

The platform landed smoothly, like sinking in thick molasses. It had been a short and silent ride, but every second of it had been instructive. Not like he could have maintained a conversation at the time, anyway; his attention had been split equally between unsettling realizations and the effort of holding on to the rail for dear life. They had accelerated at a constant rate for half of the trip, then decelerated during the second half. The peak speed they had reached was nothing short of prodigious, and only slightly terrifying.

It was at that point that Aaron had come across yet another inexplicable issue. Simply put, there was no drag against the wind.

Gravitational forces and the tug of acceleration were there, and the rail had come in handy to deal with that. But it was as if there was no air at all for the disk to displace as it moved; instead, there was something else. It was yet another new sensation that he couldn't relate to anything previously experienced. It felt ... ethereal. Like wading through a substance in a state that had nothing to do with solid, liquid or gas. So faint, so smooth. Where displaced air would have been wind against skin, this was the gentlest touch wrapping around his very being.

Now that he was aware of it, he could feel it with movements as simple as waving his hand, if he concentrated. It was such a subtle thing that he wasn't surprised not to have noticed before.

As they zoomed above the landscape toward some point in the outskirts of the colorful pattern, Aaron could make out many more details in every one of those patches and domes. Distance had fooled his sense of scale. Back there, he had thought them small plots, crammed together in a jigsaw puzzle. While flying over them, he realized that they covered a huge area, each one of them. They really did seem to be chunks of other regions—some looked alien enough to be from other planets—reproduced down there to the smallest details. Fully fledged habitats, ready to harbor whatever lifeforms these people fancied: a zoo the size of a small country.

The makeshift transport's arrival sent the whole group of fat rubbery creatures scrambling away, burrowing underneath the mantle of soft filaments, hiding behind trunks or running into the distance. The woman didn't seem to mind. She nonchalantly tossed aside the small sticks she had been feeding the critters and wiped her hands on her skirt.

Her dark hair had a few touches of silver; they had the focused, deliberate look of highlights instead of the haphazard graying from age. It was done up in a loose bun at the back of her head, rebel wisps curling free here and there. She must have been somewhere along her middle years, anywhere from thirty to fifty. Come to think of it, there was a certain agelessness to both this woman and Santana. Aaron wasn't terribly surprised to see this; why would anyone age in the afterlife? He found the simple, straightforward logic quite refreshing.

She regarded them with a benevolent smile. Her face was long and narrow, a soft triangle with pleasant curves and high cheekbones. Her eyes, almond-shaped and heavily tilted, immediately fixed on Aaron's every movement. If Santana's eyes had been those of a hawk, hers were feline in their intensity; a mountain lion deeply aware of her surroundings, not deeming their presence a threat just yet, but ready to pounce all the same.

Santana had taken them straight to this clearing, the location from where that other new sensation was originating; that strange mind-pull, the unnatural sense of presence. It had become undeniably stronger the closer they got; more so than what he felt from the robed man next to him, although it was an almost imperceptible difference. Aaron felt it centered—or maybe he should say embodied—in the woman standing before them.

As they stepped off the disk, she looked Santana up and down, clearly amused. "Always such a show off, Diego." She gestured at Aaron with a tilt of her chin. "Trying to impress a wide-eyed youth? Did you get all the awed deference you were hoping for?"

Santana stopped mid-stride, looking embarrassed. He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over whatever his words might have been. "I'm just teasing you, my friend. But do change into something more comfortable, will you? You'll have the child thinking we're all magicians."

Aaron expected the man to make a fuss about being talked to in such a way, but Santana simply shook his head, smiling. "There's nothing wrong with creating a sense of ... mystique," he said, glancing back at his charges as he casually walked over to her side. "Might as well entertain while providing a service. But it will be as you say, Ming Xiu."

No sooner had he uttered the words than his clothing rippled and shifted, his entire frame becoming a blurred shape for a brief moment. The effect was gone in an instant, his clothes having become a different outfit entirely. A simple brown shirt and slightly lighter pants—breeches, actually.

"Holy crap!" Aaron blurted out before he could stop himself. The woman laughed out loud, a throaty sound that in different circumstances he would have found contagious. Santana stood to her right, showing no intention of offering an explanation or even making introductions. She reached out with her hand and patted him affectionately on the shoulder, sparing only a warm glance at him before returning her full attention to Aaron. "I understand your incredulity, young man. Don't worry, we will share everything we know with you, although you must be patient, for your own sake."

Still smiling affably, she closed the distance between her and Aaron in a few steps, her skirts flowing around her ankles in a curious fashion, like dancing with a breeze that was there only for her benefit. He wasn't surprised to see through the corner of his eye that Queg was already sprawling on the ground, bowing even lower than he had before.

She offered a slender hand to Aaron, palm down. "I am Ming Xiu, friend. I lead our small gathering here in the Thousand Rivers. What is your name?"

Aaron took her hand in his own, and wondered what to do with it in a bit of a nervous panic. He felt the urge to kneel before this woman; for all her earthy demeanor, there was something regal about her, a certain aura of command. Did she expect him to kiss it? Make a leg? Maybe he should knuckle his forehead.

He settled for an apologetic smile and a flimsy handshake. "I'm Aaron Gretchen, your—uhm ...." He trailed off awkwardly, trying to disguise it as clearing his throat. I almost called her "your majesty"! Am I destined to look like an idiot at every turn for all eternity?

After a blink and an almost imperceptible pause, she seemed to take it in stride, that benevolent smile of hers showing a hint of understanding. "Ah, a modern one, I see. Western, yes? European? American?" She nodded in satisfaction with Aaron's assent at the latter. "Your clothes betray as much. You must tell me your story, Aaron Gretchen. Only then will I be able to help you, and hopefully instruct you in our ways."

She glanced at Queg, whose tentacles were still spread all over the floor. "You may rise, Fourteenth Queg Remora. You will be dealt with shortly." Aaron couldn't decide whether it was said as a promise or as a warning.

"Come," she said to Aaron, withdrawing her hand and gesturing toward a path leading off the clearing. "Let us walk as we speak. It will help you feel more at ease." The corner of her mouth curled up with amusement. "Although I'm sure you will be invoking your sacred fecal matter more than once before we are through."

Putting words into action, she started down the path at a leisurely pace, clearly expecting him to keep up. He hesitated only a moment before falling in stride at her side, still feeling bashful. Queg and Diego followed not far behind, the man at a casual saunter, the alien servile in his demeanor, nigh reverent.

Aaron worked up what little courage he could scavenge. "Actually, I'd like to ask something first, if you don't mind. I've been trying to find my wife. Has anyone else showed up around here recently?" He felt ashamed that he hadn't thought to ask until now. It was the first thing he should have said, up there on the cliff, but he had been too stupefied to think of it.

Ming Xiu cringed faintly, then gave him a sympathetic look. "You died together, didn't you. An accident?"

Aaron shook his head. "Not really. An explosion. War, I'd gather." Just as he finished saying it, he noticed one of those fat little pig-rabbit monsters peeking from behind a tree trunk. It was gone in a blink. He found it somewhat cute, in a horrific kind of way.

The woman was looking at him thoughtfully, as if weighting something in her mind. She shook her head. "You are the first newborn we have received in a very long time, I'm afraid. But share your story with us. We will help you."

He let out a deep sigh. It just couldn't have been that easy, now could it.

"Alright," he said. "Should I start at showing up in this place, or ... before that?"

"As far back as you feel comfortable with." The ever-present smile turned slightly wry. A cast of sadness passed her eyes, but was gone as quickly as it came. "You will learn soon enough that we have nothing if not time. You may tell us of your journey here, starting at the moment of your arrival. If you don't object to it, we can also talk about the world you lived in, the life you carried, and the events that led to your ... departure." She was patently trying to be tactful around the issue. Perhaps she had encountered others that wouldn't talk freely about that specific topic.

Aaron found that he didn't have such reservations. Although he did understand how someone who had, say, committed suicide, or bled to death after a knife fight, might feel reluctant to discuss such things with perfect strangers.

"Well, let's see," he begun, "I was born in Gainesville, Florida. I grew up there, graduated high school, got a Bachelor's in Physics.

"I met my wife online during my last year of college—no dating service, though. We just stumbled upon one another." His eyes were distant with remembrance. A fond grin had wriggled its way onto the lines of his face. "You could say I stalked her for a while. Then I moved to Seattle to marry her. It was a bit impulsive, but it worked out." He shook his head at the thought, then carried on. "Got a job there as an insurance claims manager. Got a nice little house with a nice back yard where she likes to do her forms." A small pause, almost a heartbeat. "Liked, I guess." His fond expression froze in place at that, and dropped slowly into a neutral bleakness. "And then ... well, then we blew up."

Aaron took a few more absent steps before realizing that Ming Xiu was no longer walking at his side. He turned his head to see her standing still, her eyes slightly widened, her fine eyebrows lifted just a hair. Queg and Santana stood quietly behind her, by all appearances entirely disengaged from the conversation. The feathery canopy of leaves above them rustled subtly, even though the wind was nonexistent.

"I have knowledge of our timeline on Earth," she said slowly, giving thought to every word, "but I did not think I would ever have the fortune to meet a newborn from the last moments of our history."

"I didn't—"

Without giving him a chance to respond, she walked to stand next to him again, little more than at arm's length. "Tell me, did you die on the twenty-third of July, year 2021 of the Gregorian calendar?"

Aaron eyed her in a state of bewilderment. "How'd you—yeah, I think so. It was a Sunday, Friday'd been the twenty-first ... yeah." He frowned, concern and curiosity seizing him. "The last moments? It was that bad?"

She compressed her mouth to a fine line, hesitant. Then she gestured for them to resume their walk. "This isn't normally discussed until much later, once your mind has had a chance to adapt and start to become free of the trappings that bind it. Considering your circumstances, however, an exception can be made. You don't seem as disturbed by the idea as it would be expected. It has been my experience that modern newborns have a much easier time adapting, on average. Or perhaps you suspected as much." She curled her voice up at the end, making it a tentative question.

Aaron pursed his lips, looking to one side. "I hoped it wouldn't be. I mean, it looked bad, and they wouldn't just do Seattle and leave everything else. But ... damn, the whole world? How does that even happen? You can't tell me they planted enough bombs all over the world to exterminate eight billion people." For some reason, a faint ache had started prickling at the back of his head. He paid it no heed.

"2021 was the beginning of an irreversible path to extinction. 'The White Fire,' we call it. You, my friend, were witness to the pinnacle of human civilization, and fell victim to the terrible first blow that ended it all. It was all downhill from there. A very steep hill at that.

"The plasma destroyed two-thirds of the population, after all the retaliations and countermeasures. What it did to the weather, the soil and the water finished us off over the span of a miserable century. Extinguished like a candle, another brief sigh of life expired from the Universe. We weren't the first sentient species to have met that fate, and certainly were not the last."

Aaron's frown deepened. That story sounded almost mythical. Was he being taken for an idiot? "Even the biggest plasma bombs couldn't cover more than a sixty mile radius before running out. You'd need one at every population center in the world to kill that many people at once. There's no way those lunatics got their hands on so many. They were barely past testing stages, for goodness' sake."

Ming Xiu was shaking her head. "Much is unknown on how it was done. Accounts of what came after remain scarce, for obvious reasons. You can debate motivation and methods at a later time, if you wish, with others that can claim deeper knowledge than I on the matter." She looked him in the eyes and spoke in a taut voice that allowed for no contest. "The outcome is still the same, regardless."

His frown remained, although he made an effort not to come off as contrary. "You talk about it as if it's all in the past. But it can't have been more than a day since I got here."

Her smile returned at that, slightly enigmatic, knowing. "Past tense is mostly convention. But there will be time for that. Do tell me of your journey here, please. That's the important part at the moment." Anticipating Aaron's protests, she raised a forestalling hand, firm but gentle. "Have patience, Aaron. All the knowledge we can offer will be yours, in time. There is absolutely no hurry; in fact, too much at once is counterproductive, and often dangerous." She paused briefly to let it sink in. "Now, if you please ...."

He wanted to be stubborn about it. But then he remembered that he was no more than a guest here, quite literally at their mercy. They could simply refuse to answer his questions and there would be nothing he could do about it, other than throw a hissy fit while they laughed. They could stuff him in a magic box made out of the rock beneath his feet and throw him into a river, for all he knew. So he swallowed his insistence and gave a stormy sigh instead. These people were almost as frustrating as interrogating Queg had been.

"Okay, so. Everything was black and numb. I felt it all slipping away, and it almost did. And just then, like, pop! and everything changes ...."

He continued his story, telling her of his sudden appearance in some random corner of the Pathways. His equally random search for help, his chance meeting with Queg—making sure to point out the alien's flawless behavior throughout the ordeal. The trip to the realm interface, complete with the herd of massive monsters—"which, oh, by the way, they're coming down the road"—and getting past the horrifying sentries—"what the hell is that about, anyway?"

Ming Xiu deftly deflected any and all questions Aaron brought up about his experiences, displaying a nearly endless array of variations of the phrase "we'll talk about it later." Although frustrated, Aaron took her word for it. Not like he had a choice on the matter.

"Then we saw mister Santana—um, Diego, approach," he finished. "He took us on his rocky cone of marvels to meet you, and here we are." The telling hadn't taken nearly as long as he thought it would, and sounded several orders of magnitude less impressive than he remembered it.

"You are a fortunate man, Aaron Gretchen," Ming Xiu intoned. For all her mocking of Diego's penchant for fancy flair, she seemed to have great love for drama and grandiloquence once she got going. "There are much worse places to integrate than the Pathways." She glanced over at where Queg was floating. "Much worse creatures to encounter besides our good friend, here."

"Ah," Aaron said. He scrambled for something eloquent to say, but nothing came to mind.

They walked on in silence for a minute or two, their steps stirring the fluffy mantle underfoot like paddles making eddies in the water, revealing ground that looked like more of the same filaments, but worn and tightly packed into much firmer footing. The forested path before them was making a slight bend to the left, seemingly going deeper within the bizarre grove.

Aaron glanced at the woman out of the corner of his eye. Despite her short height—the top of her bun might have reached Aaron's shoulders, and he was barely on the tall side of average—she carried herself with an imposing aura. Her steps were graceful and precise, oozing dignity; she glided more than walked. It was an odd combination, earthy and inviting on one hand, gracious and grandiose on the other. With her hands clasped before her, she appeared to be deep in thought.

He couldn't hold it in any longer. "So ...."

"Yes?"

"About my wife? You said you might be able to help?"

Ming Xiu took a moment to respond, worry creasing her brow. She cast down her eyes, staring off at some point beyond the soil ahead of them. "I am sorry, child. It breaks my heart every time I must give these news. Luckily, I do not give them often.

"Simply put, there is little hope for a reunion. She could be anywhere in Eternal." She said the word, and Aaron heard it for the word that it was. But there was so much more behind it. So much, in fact, that for a moment he was unable to focus on what was shaping up to be terrible, terrible news.

Eternal. The image that it conjured, the feeling attached to it, it was as complex a concept as he had ever experienced. And that was it: he hadn't simply heard the word and understood it; he had experienced it as an entity. An endless expanse of time and space. An infinite number of realms, possibilities, conditions. A defiance of probability and reason; or, perhaps, a perfectly logical set of rules—or sets of rules—that were unlike anything he had ever imagined, lying at the brink of understanding, maybe beyond comprehension altogether. Eternal. He found himself savoring the word and everything that lurked within it.

Ming Xiu carried on, unaware or uncaring of Aaron's inner reflections. "Anywhere, or nowhere at all. It is understood that not everybody transcends into the afterlife." She sounded so sincere. There was honest sorrow in her voice, as if she felt Aaron's loss in her bones.

It took him a few moments to realize the meaning of what he was being told. His step slowed bit by bit, down to a creep, then a crawl, then a full stop.

"You're saying ... " he begun numbly, barely above a whisper. "Are you saying that she might not even be here?" He stared, expressionless.

Ming Xiu nodded solemnly. "There are very few of us, taking into account the thousands of adult lives that expire every day on Earth. The current theory is that the vast majority doesn't survive integration, while many might not even go anywhere at all.

"Even if she was somewhere here ... well, let's say that you are exceptionally fortunate to have come the way you did. Even with the Unbound watching over us—may Their grace honor and protect us—Their reach is not endless. Certainly not vast enough to secure every emerging newborn throughout all hostile realms. Though not for lack of trying."

Her response rang hollow in his ears. Alexandra's laughter filled them, and then her voice, a purring drawl in the black of night, her smile lightly brushing his chest.

"You're such a smartass. I'm just saying. I know it's your choice, but think about it. There's a chance I could be wrong. Couldn't you be wrong?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, they'd all been wrong. Everything was wrong. He felt a void emptying up his chest, slow and steady, like the top bulb of an hourglass. Draining away the joy within his memories of her, draining away hope.

He refused to let that happen. He would not accept it.

"You don't sound sure of anything." His voice was flat, somber. "There's a good chance that she's out there, somewhere. Right?"

"Yes. And that's part of the problem, Aaron." Her heartfelt sympathy grated at him, for it made her words that much more believable, that much more hurtful. "She could be anywhere. Searching for her would be like looking for a single grain of sand in the desert. Like trying to find a single speck of dust in a storm, without knowing which storm to search in. And like I said, she might not even be there at all."

He felt anger bubbling up slowly. "Why? How does that work? Why me and not her? Why you people and not her?"

She shook her head, visibly pained to be a part of the conversation. "We don't know why, Aaron—there's just theories. There should be billions, trillions of us in the afterlife, even if you account for an even spread. But we're barely over five million, if that. It's similar for most Sentients, with few exceptions. Our numbers have grown with—"

"I don't care about your numbers! I just want my wife back!" He didn't want to be rude, to yell at her. He didn't want to feel anger, because it would mean acceptance. He didn't want to feel sad, because it would mean surrender. "I just want ...."

Ming Xiu's eyes narrowed slightly. Her brow furrowed in an entirely different way. She remained silent, but should Aaron have been paying attention to her, he would have glimpsed some of the reasons why Queg was wise to be wary of her displeasure.

As it was, his mind couldn't be farther from the woman standing at his elbow.

She lifts her head from my shoulder. "Are you crying?" She stifles a laugh. "The movie wasn't even good, you've been griping about it the whole time! You're such a softy."

She kisses me after saying it, soft and slow. Like telling me, "I like you that way." Her smile plucks at my heart like fingers on harp strings.

The void inside grew larger despite his efforts, giving the memories a bitter taste, giving his longing a set of sharp teeth that sank deep into his throat.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't been together when it happened. If he had died in an accident with the knowledge that she was safe at home, he would find a way to accept her absence. If she had died years before he did, he would have had time to mourn her. To make peace with her departure.

But this ....

To have died at exactly the same time, in exactly the same spot, only to find her gone. To be told that she was as good as lost to him, without much of a reason other than "That's the way it is." Why, why wasn't she by his side? There had to be a reason.

She looks at me, amusement in her eyes. "Maybe there is no explanation at all. Maybe some things simply are. Is that such a terrible thing for your big brain to swallow?"

It's not necessarily what she believes. She just likes to goad me into flustered ranting, for the fun of it. I fall for it every single time.

The sound of talking banished the image of Alexandra leaning over the kitchen counter, chopping up a cucumber for the salad as she spoke. She loved cucumbers, for some insane reason that Aaron couldn't possibly fathom. What should have been a relished memory now brought nothing but bitterness. Even then, he abandoned it reluctantly.

"You have failed to preserve this mind from harm," Ming Xiu was saying. "Did you not adhere to the protocol?"

"He ... has many questions, your grace. He required answers and would not follow without them." Queg glanced at Aaron in his peculiar eyeless way, all but wringing his tentacles with anxiety. "I did my best to respect the protocol I was taught. I could not—" He cut off immediately at her peremptory hand gesture.

"You spoke of us. Of the nature of Humanity. Do you deny this?"

Aaron butted in, remembering the promise he had made. "He didn't. I tried to pry things out of him, but he wouldn't budge. He managed to get me here with barely any information, just enough for me to trust him. I honestly can't say just yet that I'm grateful for it, but I think he went well beyond the call of duty here."

Ming Xiu turned and eyed Aaron evenly for a moment, then went back to his former guide. "Are his words true, Fourteenth Queg?"

The Remoran hesitated, nervous. He divided his attention between Aaron and Ming Xiu, then bowed even lower than he had before. "I did mention the Caretakers, your grace. I caught myself and made sure to let him know that nothing I said about Humans would be accurate. I did ask him to help me conceal my mistakes. I have shamed both him and myself for it."

Why would he say all that after nearly pissing himself getting me to promise not to tell?

But far from showing anger, Ming Xiu looked pleased. She took a step toward Queg, but not before giving Aaron a brief, reproachful glance.

"Trust, Fourteenth," she said solemnly while pointing at his torso, roughly at the area where the heart would be expected to be. "You have proved that we have your loyalty. Are you worthy of our trust?"

Queg didn't give an answer, as none was expected. She took another step, leaning down slightly so that her finger was almost touching him. "Do we have your trust?" The question was quiet, almost intimate. The weight of her stare bore down on the prostrated creature with deep, probing intensity.

For a brief while he was quiet. It struck Aaron as not the wisest thing Queg could have done; when someone asks if you trust them the way Ming Xiu had asked, an immediate and earnest "yes" was the only way to go.

Then a thundering bass rumble begun in Queg's chest. It spread from his center through the entire not-forest, lightly shaking the not-leaves of the not-trees. His array of colorful glands grayed, then became the black of the deep sea. Aaron did not understand what this meant, which came as a bit of a shock.

He rose almost imperceptibly, so that Ming Xiu's perfectly rounded fingernail brushed the fleshy hide beneath his "shoulder." Then something in the hypnotic sway of his appendages conveyed what the lights and hums had not: Yes.

The syllable was laden with a wealth of meaning that Aaron grasped all at once. Yes, my trust is yours. Yes, I am your hand. Yes, I will serve faithfully your every command. It contained the essence of ancient ritual and blood-bound oaths.

Then the exalted Ming Xiu Thousand Rivers moved her pointed finger across Queg's skin. The booming rumble was replaced with an unrestrained screech as flickering rivulets of mist enveloped him, spreading from her finger to cover his entire writhing frame in the time it takes to draw a quick breath. The meaning of sound and light was clear as a shard of glass: intense, unbearable agony.

And then it was over.

The thick mist vanished as quickly as it had spread, thinning to strands of smoke that flew and floated their way into nothingness. Ming Xiu withdrew her hand, letting it fall gracefully to her side. Queg remained where he had been, worn and restless, his appearance unaltered except for the patch of flesh where he had been touched. There, a small symbol glowed in gold and fiery orange.

Two oblong circles, flattened and joined at the side to resemble a tumbled number eight. It was a symbol that Aaron had traced hundreds, thousands of times, as it was used to represent infinity in mathematical notation. He'd always had a strange fascination with it. He'd gone as far as having a big poster of it on the wall behind his computer.

A lemniscate of Bernoulli, seared onto Queg's body, shining in a way that transcended vision. If he closed his eyes Aaron could still feel it there, pulsing faintly along with all of the entity that was Queg. The feeling came close to what he felt emanating from the other Humans present, but it was off somehow, and much fainter, as if it was but a crude counterfeit version of the real thing.

"Rise, Queg Thousand Rivers," Ming Xiu intoned with official flair. "You are no longer of the Fourteenth. You are a Human hand, and thus you belong to us, you belong with us, you are us.

"Our will is your bidding. You will not bow again."

Queg rose as told, the sphere beneath his tangle of tentacles brightening up as he did so. Aaron noticed a slight difference in the way it looked; additional subtle hues, a stronger intensity, a more ... solid feel. The Remoran—former Remoran? He didn't entirely grasp the details of what had just happened—the tentatively former Remoran hovered back a little, reinstating a respectful distance between him and the impassive woman. Yet while before there had been a component of abject fear to his subservience, as if concern for his own safety was the great motivator behind all the deference, now he gave it of his own free will, unflinching. Aaron kept watching expectantly, waiting to hear the part where Queg was actually rewarded.

That seemed to be it, though. Their brief ritual finished, they turned their attention to Aaron once more, regarding his scrutiny in serious silence.

That was the whole reward? He fought to prevent his incredulity to show in his expression. The grand prize is to become some glorified servant for the Human overlords?

Looking at them, Aaron took in the scene in all of its dramatic splendor. The unfathomable Ming Xiu, leader of the Thousand Rivers gathering, standing with such ceremonial poise, earthy and approachable while regal and commanding at the same time. The stately Diego Hidalgo Santana, silent and solemn at the moment, watching everything with hawk-like eyes. The newly named Queg Thousand Rivers, proud and puffed up like a rank-and-file infantryman that had just been promoted to Captain.

He couldn't help but wonder whether he would ever take himself this seriously. Even with the depressing news he had received and the thousand questions burning inside of him, a part of him saw it all as a grand game. And why not? Life was a game most of the time. Might as well make one out of death. His smile had a hint of darkness to it as he stepped toward them.

"So when do I get my lightsaber?" he asked out loud to no one in particular.

They didn't get the reference, but he didn't care to explain. He didn't care about a great many things at that moment.

He didn't care about odds. He didn't care about what Ming Xiu believed was the truth. He didn't care about the nigh incomprehensible size of Eternal.

He would do what these people wanted him to do. He would study the intricacies of this place, master what abilities Humans possessed, uncover whatever secrets needed to be unearthed. He would learn everything necessary to effectively travel through the afterlife, to visit every corner and turn every stone. He would learn all these things as quickly as he could, to the best of his ability.

He needed to. There was a mind-numbing amount of ground to cover, and Alexandra was out there, somewhere.

Somewhere.

8

There was no doubt what "Mount-bound" was supposed to mean. That huge mountain, far in the distance, was an unmistakable landmark that could be seen from hundreds, even thousands of miles in every direction. A great conical shape that stretched ceaselessly upwards, dwarfing all the other formations that crowded at its foot. And it was, of course, blue.

Alexandra had reached the outside at last after skulking toward the exit for about another hour. It was well that she had taken measures against detection, as she had encountered four separate groups heading deeper into the tunnel, no doubt well on their way to find the grisly remains of her amicable conversation. In fact, the first group was probably upon it by now.

How much longer until the chase begun? She had realized with dismay that trying to hide the corpses hadn't even crossed her mind. She would make a terrible criminal.

After her brisk walk had almost landed her in the middle of that first group, she had decided to downgrade her stride from bold and energetic to a reserved sneak, moving much deeper within the thick forest of pillars, almost next to the wall of the hallway.

From there, hidden among the pillars, she had been able to listen in a tangle of nerves as three more groups silently made their sluggish way into the bowels of the structure. Every time she had made sure to hide at the slightest hint of steps on gravel and had only resumed her journey when all traces of sound vanished in the distance. It made for much slower progress than she'd have liked.

The hallway had ramped up while narrowing smoothly until there were no more rows of pillars to use as shelter, reaching a wide archway that was more laboriously decorated than anything else she had encountered up to that point. It led directly to the outside, opening into the square of considerable size where she now stood. Well, it wasn't as much standing as it was furtively squatting behind a massive ornamental column, one of the four that rose on each corner of the square. There was no telling who might be watching.

"Outside" applied loosely to her new surroundings. There was no ceiling above her that she could see, but there was no sky either. Or rather, the cloudless sky was ... closer ... than it should be. It was a deep shade of blue, but she couldn't bring herself to think of it as a real sky. It felt like a limit, instead of the endless expanse that she was used to. A "closed sky," perhaps. It was an eerie thing to look at.

Maybe it was the absence of the Sun. There was no definite source of light, anywhere on the short sky or in the mountainous horizon. The light that flooded this landscape was diffuse and diluted, just like it had been inside the tunnel. Like a day with heavy overcast, nothing cast a shadow in the scene that spread before her eyes. She figured that it made sense: why would there be a sun in the afterlife?

The change in scenery hadn't brought any changes to the color palette, unfortunately. Everything still was a shade of blue, from the deep ultramarine of the mountains to the pale steel blue of the Mount-bound road ahead and the fat columns that rose from the courtyard, cobalt and indigo like the ones inside.

At least the ground here was no longer covered with that awful gravel that she had grown to detest. Her feet were soothed by the cool, smooth stone of the square. Its surface was engraved with large patterns of parallel lines and perfectly circular curves; for all their hideous appearance, these creatures seemed to be rather accomplished masons. Unless the whole land had all been designed beforehand for them to inhabit, that is.

There wasn't much else aside from the square, the mostly straight road and the towering landmark. Over half of the view was obstructed by the entrance to the tunnel she had emerged from, which was nothing short of ostentatious, even if the architecture was rather primitive. The carvings on those big pillars were just as ornate as those inside, perhaps more so, and it was evident now that the hallway lead into a massive underground complex carved within the heart of a mountain range that stretched far behind the ornate archway. It very much looked like the entrance to an ancient temple.

The road the led away from the square followed a gentle downward slope to enter a broad plain of scabrous features. Looking down the road, she could see the chasm that the creature had mentioned, maybe two or three miles from where she stood; a craggy line that broke in two the rough expanse of land sprawling ahead. Some nondescript structures could be seen far past the chasm, all details obscured by the great distance; they scattered at the base of the massive mountain range that spread all around the colossal Mount. The road forked shortly after the bridge that went over the fissure, shooting straight to the right and running parallel to the mountains.

The plain was quite the rocky desert. She was relieved to see that, while devoid of landmarks of note, there were plenty of jagged formations, small clefts and irregular mounds on both sides of the road that would give plenty of opportunities to hide.

Even then, staying out of sight would prove a challenge. Prowling cross-country would probably end up taking her three times as long as using the road would, but it was her only real option. She could see small groups of moving figures on that road, slowly making their way toward her position, hopefully as yet unaware of her presence. Trying for safe passage through the less-than-friendly monsters was obviously a non-starter, and she would be crazy to try and fight her way through. Scurrying along like a rat in the wolf's den was the only way to go.

Telling herself it was past time for the rat to stop gawking and start scurrying, she darted down the slope in a hurried crouch, heading straight for the first piece of cover she could see, far to the side of the road. The towering Mount loomed in the distance, pointing the way as indisputably as any compass.

It would be quite a long journey.

________

Her foot should be bleeding.

It had landed hard and awkward on the jagged edge of a slab of rock, after jumping down into the crevice. It had hurt, and she had crumpled inside the cleft, huddling against the irregular wall, trying not to cry out while preventing her staff from clattering noisily. She'd moaned quietly and sucked air in through her teeth for a while, afraid to even look down, dreading having to deal with another dire injury.

But her foot turned out to be intact. Cross-legged on the ground, she ran her fingers along the fading imprint that the sharp rock had left, wondering how was it possible that she didn't have a bloody gash running the length of it.

She took a close look at what she had stepped on. It was like the blade of a long knife, chipped and uneven and awfully sharp. It jutted out at an angle; the complete absence of shadows had concealed it until it was too late.

Her foot felt a bit tender as she massaged it gingerly, but other than that it was as if nothing had happened.

She wasn't sure what to make of it. Her feet had been tough back then, but not this tough. Somehow, she had made them even more resilient than they used to be.

It wasn't much of a mental leap for the natural question to emerge. She had adapted her feet to fit her needs. Could she change her own anatomy at will, the same way she shifted outfits and materialized items?

Only one way to find out.

She seemed to think that particular thought quite often lately. Had she always been this brash, jumping into the pool head first without checking how deep it was?

After some brief consideration, she simply shrugged. What was the point in hesitating? She was cautious where it actually mattered. Well, she had dived into the water—in the literal sense—rather carelessly plenty of times, that much was true. Clear up until the one time she almost cracked her head open on the shallow end of the pool. Aaron reminded her every time of it, after that. He could be such a drag sometimes.

She let go of her foot and tried to think of a suitable test to perform. An extra arm! The monsters seemed to have plenty of their own, why not her? Or, wouldn't it be sweet to grow wings and fly away? Now that would be a time saver.

Aaron's stern admonishing bloomed in the back of her head. Something easy to begin with, Alex. You always go and take on the biggest thing there is. How about you start with something with small chances of going horribly wrong, this time?

You're one to talk, mister Doorstep Stalker! she answered testily. Some nerve, for him to lecture her on being rash. She was decisive, not impulsive like him. She gave him one last mental jeer for good measure.

Something easy, then. Small. Alter her haircut? No, she had no mirror to see what she was doing. Her wandering gaze fell on her hands, on the short, nibbled-at, almost nonexistent crescents that were the free edges of her fingernails.

Longer nails. Hard to find anything more harmless than that.

Her mind made up, she concentrated on the fingernail of her left pinky. She pictured it being just a little longer. She didn't imagine it actually growing; she simply put her every mental effort into convincing herself that her pitiful, raggedy fingernail was, in fact, about a quarter of an inch long and perfectly smooth. And lacquered a rich, glossy dark orange. Orange went well with blue.

Her efforts were met with the tiniest flicker, the faintest swirl of mist, and a pointed discomfort, markedly unpleasant—all at the tip of her finger. Less than a second later, a beautifully manicured pinky stared back at her. Alexandra couldn't have suppressed the wide grin on her face even if she had actually tried.

With barely a pause, she concentrated on one finger at a time, repeating the process for each one. With sudden inspiration, she also imagined them harder, strong enough to provide reliable grip. It wouldn't do, having to worry about ruining them later.

Even with so little practice, it seemed to come easier every time she did it, the discomfort less poignant, the strange flicker a bit less strange. She did the last two at once, just to see if she could. The mist was slightly thicker, it took slightly longer—perhaps a full second—but they turned out fine, just like the rest.

She admired her work, greatly pleased with herself. All the flash without the fuss. The drudgery of making her nails look pretty had always been entirely too much for her to bear, and ultimately deemed not worth the effort. This was leaps and bounds better.

She prodded and pulled at them, making sure that they weren't just fake stick-ons. She tested their mettle against the hard rock underneath, gently at first. Then firmly. Then as hard as she could.

Whoa.

She brought them up to her eyes for close inspection. Not a single chip marred them, nor the slightest hint of imperfection. Instead, there were clear tracks ground almost half an inch into the stone, following the path her nails had scraped. They were as tough as a bear's claws. As tough as tempered steel, possibly.

As she examined them in amazement, she noticed with a small wince the scrapes all over her palms from climbing up and down rock formations and keeping her balance while on precarious footholds.

Gloves.

A pair of tight-fitting gloves immediately coalesced around her hands, the bright mists coming together into one-piece garments of drab blue spandex. A few subtle swirls of smoke and blink-fast flickering brought a soft, charcoal-colored leather padding to the palms and underside of the fingers, careful black stitching holding the seams and joints together. She turned her hands over, and the color shifted on the cloth, lines and shapes twisting and dancing about to settle into a simple camouflage pattern of dark blue on dark blue.

It felt so natural, so wonderful. Few things in her life had seemed this effortless. Being able to make things happen with just a thought, a belief; it let her forget for a tiny little moment that she was all but drifting aimlessly in a stormy sea. A small measure of control in an otherwise rudderless journey.

She looked up and peeked out of the shallow cleft, making sure her location remained secure. Satisfied, she went back to a sitting position.

Then she pursed her lips at her covered up hands.

Fingerless gloves.

A flick of her mind, and the cloth was sheared at the phalanx between the distal and proximal joints; the glove's fingertips dissolved in an ephemeral haze, dark-skinned fingers and polished nails peeking out freely.

It was for purely practical reasons, she told herself, carefully adjusting the long sleeves of her shirt to go over the gloves. She didn't want her hands to get too warm. Unhindered dexterity was vital. She might have to put those tough claws to good use. Important reasons.

In a way, bodily alterations were much easier for her to accept as something that she could do. She couldn't begin to explain what kind of strange voodoo allowed her to create new objects at will, but it made an outlandish kind of sense that she should be able to change her physical appearance. She didn't really have a body anymore; it was logical for her incorporeal soul to be malleable, with some effort. She mused that her soul was probably used to looking this way, and that is why every change would meet with some degree of resistance. A sort of ... soul inertia.

What next?

She tried to think of something that would be useful, but not overly grotesque. She was quite fond of her human shape, limitations and all. That extra arm would actually be quite gross.

Wings were terribly tempting, in a romantic, silly kind of way. When considered carefully, it came across as overly complicated, not to mention impractical. She knew enough aerodynamics to know that simply flapping a pair of wings—be they feathery, webbed or faery-like—wouldn't be enough to lift her feet off the air and let her soar like a superhero. The power-to-weight ratio necessary was prohibitively high for a human being; there was a reason hang-gliders took off running from mountainsides and jet-packs remained science-fiction or ridiculously wasteful prototypes.

She considered with bitter amusement a pair of horns and a tail. Maybe turn her staff into a pitchfork. Somebody had decided she belonged in this place, might as well embrace it, right? Although tempted, she dismissed the thought with a roll of her eyes.

When it came down to it, she couldn't actually come up with any good additions. She sighed, disappointed with her lack of creativity.

Alexandra looked up again to scout her surroundings, more out of reflex than actual concern. She saw them out there, but had to do a double-take to actually see them.

"Shit."

Several other choice words followed in an angry mutter, as she watched a large gathering of those ugly monsters thoroughly searching the square. No doubt the remains had been discovered, and they had followed her trail outside.

She groaned in exasperation with herself, leaning back in a squat against the irregular wall of the cleft. After making such a fuss about the bloody smudges left by her feet back there, she hadn't bothered to cover her modest tracks on the gravel. It hadn't even crossed her mind, in fact. She'd make a terrible, terrible criminal.

Luckily, the tracks would end at the square. Save for a sparse scattering of small pebbles, the ground outside was mostly bare rock, with the exception of the fine gravel road. A good two miles separated her from the underground complex now; the group of creatures was little more than small dots in the distance, moving about the square like chickens in a pen. They would not spot her if she remained careful. Unless they could track by scent, that is.

Either way, it was only a matter of time before they alerted others and a full-scale search begun. She would never make it past that bridge, if they were even remotely intelligent.

I can't believe you've wasted so much time with this, again! Maybe you deserve to get caught, you dumb-ass!

She went up to a hunched over position, intent on immediately resuming her stealthy trek toward the bridge. However, catching sight of her coffee-dark skin against the blue background made her lurch to a halt.

Dark skin and darker hair, orange fingernails, glowing staff. And she was trying to be stealthy? The contrast against the constant blue would give her away easily to anyone looking for movement among the rocks.

Maybe I can make some changes after all.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she concentrated on the camouflage pattern she had created for her gloves. Then she closed her eyes, and proceeded to imagine her body covered in the same pattern. She pictured her skin shifting colors, like a chameleon blending in with the background. More so, like an octopus, changing pigments in the blink of an eye to become one with the environment. And then she believed it.

In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have done all of it at once. In hindsight, she should have anticipated that if making your nails grow would feel pointedly uncomfortable, making sweeping changes of the nature that she was attempting would not be particularly pleasant.

As it was, it went far beyond unpleasant. It went well into the realm of intense, excruciating pain. It was like thousands of needles jabbing into her all at once, on every inch of her body.

Alexandra slumped against the side of the cleft with a deep gasp, her eyes going wide with shock as they too changed colors, whites and all; she had been quite thorough. She was blinded with a thick mist that clouded her vision for the long, long seconds that the process took. She could do nothing but grit her teeth and hold on to the bare minimum of concentration required for it all not to fall apart—she wasn't about to let things revert to normal after having to endure that kind of experience.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. She was left panting on hands and knees, haunted eyes staring at blue-tinged fingers.

She sat back wearily, eyes shut for a moment as she tried to catch her breath. Then she looked down and rolled up her sleeve.

Well, there's a success.

She brushed quivering fingertips along skin that was no longer of Kenyan descent. Looking at it closely, it was not just like a tattoo. The pattern was there, the way she had made it. But it seemed to ... shift, to change slightly with her every movement, matching the colors of her immediate surroundings.

Unable to look into a mirror, she puffed up her cheek and looked down at it with some difficulty. The small part that she could see was as blue as the rest. She wondered what her eyes looked like.

You've got to move!

With no small amount of regret she turned to her fingernails, and darkened them a deep midnight blue with a thought that was almost casual. She eyed her staff appreciatively, and decided to let the intricate vine pattern fade from glowing turquoise to a more mundane, dull sapphire. The shiny brown hardwood shifted to a modest cobalt blue, while the leather straps and steel tips became dark denim tones. Colors were easy, when not a intrinsic part of her anatomy.

Lastly, she pulled up the hood of her long-sleeved shirt, making sure it covered up all of her hair. She'd known that the hood would come in handy, eventually; a hood was always useful.

Huh. A hood to cover my hair.

Only her face, fingers and feet were exposed. Why in the nine hells hadn't she just put on shoes, full gloves and a mask? The realization brought a flush of heat to her goofy blue cheeks.

And you thought you were being so clever with the whole skin coloring business. You could've at least done only the visible parts, instead of all of it!

She took a deep breath. What's done is done.

Feeling like a complete buffoon, she traveled to the end of the cleft, climbed out and hurried toward the next piece of reliable cover.

________

A small group that had broken off the search party was halfway to the bridge. Huddled behind a tight group of rocks tall enough to keep her from immediate sight, Alexandra was much closer to it, but not nearly close enough for her liking; some twenty yards away, and to one side, almost at the edge of the cliff. It was the closest she could get without coming out of cover.

The bridge was a pitiful thing where embellishments were concerned, especially when compared to every other structure she had seen so far. It had nothing in the way of elaborate ornamentation or awe-inspiring supports; it was little more than a massive slab of stone, about twelve feet wide and fifty feet long, stretching at a slight incline between the sides of the chasm. It lacked even the crudest of safety rails.

She had expected its underside to draw a graceful arch, but there was nothing of the sort. It was as if a humongous rock had been wedged in there, then flattened out for smooth passage. The road dipped down slightly to meet the bridge on either side, partially hiding it from view.

It was also the only pass in sight, and the only option available if she wanted to get through, as the chasm was some fifty feet wide and so deep that it might as well have been a bottomless pit.

Worst of all, there was a constant trickle of traffic, mostly going toward the underground complex she was leaving behind: slow moving groups of creatures with a solemn air about them. Not to mention the party that was quickly approaching the bridge, specifically looking for her. Even with the cover provided by the modest dip and her elaborate camouflage, avoiding detection while crossing would be impossible.

Which made her course of action refreshingly straightforward.

Alexandra waited for an adequate lull in the sparse traffic, about ten minutes of tense vigil that would have been white-knuckled had her skin been capable of it. When the break in traffic came, she jumped out of cover and ran as fast as her legs would go.

She ran up to the bridge at an angle and leaped onto its surface, thankful for its lack of rail and ample width to maneuver. She stumbled a bit on the landing, recovered, redirected her momentum forward and launched into a full sprint ahead, hoping that every one of her pursuers would happen to be looking elsewhere while she crossed.

But she could already feel the commotion up the road behind her, the creatures calling out with their screeching trills, speeding up to give chase. Despite their unsettling lack of eyes, they had some way of telling where she was and what she looked like that went far beyond sound or scent; her earlier fight had made that abundantly clear.

Why do they have to have four legs? It's so unfair!

She put every ounce of strength she had into her sprint, pushing her limits to go just a little faster, make her stride just a little longer. She cleared the other side of the bridge, the balls of her feet seeming to barely touch the surface of the stone slab as she ran.

Twenty miles Temple-bound.

The fork on the road was coming up. The Mount was straight ahead, along with the distant buildings she had noted earlier. Far, far away in the distance, beyond soon-to-be angry monsters and long miles of road, she could see hints of what must be rather large structures. Or perhaps just one tall edifice, of the kind that the "Clan" might have taken to call Temple.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her enraged pursuers. Was it just her, or were they gaining ground? Either way, they were too close for comfort.

She reached the bifurcation and changed direction to keep on running at a diagonal between Mount-bound and—hopefully—Temple-bound, heading for the vast hillside. The slopes leading to the great mountain range that ran parallel to the road looked rugged enough to provide good cover. With luck, it would be enough cover.

One or two groups coming down the road had already noticed her, but seemed hesitant over what to do. She wondered what was it that they were seeing; probably they didn't even know what she was. To their eyes—or whatever they saw with—she couldn't be more than a strange blue outline of a human form carrying a stick, zooming toward the mountains at breakneck speed.

But it wouldn't be long until they were made privy to the situation by the enthusiastic set of hunters on her tail. She needed to get as far away as she could before that happened. She did not want to fight for her survival again.

Alexandra tried to force her legs to move faster, even if she was already going as fast as she could.

Come on, push harder!

There was always a little more to give, and she found it within herself to make her muscles increase the already feverish pace. She had to put all of her concentration into placing her feet on steady ground as she started climbing up the gentle slope. She felt her heart racing, her whole body practically flying over the increasingly jagged terrain.

She jumped over a rocky crest, dropping into the wide cleft that opened behind it. The six foot fall barely touched her stride as she kept on running, pushing harder, harder, harder still.

The high-pitched yells behind her faded gradually, steadily overtaken by the rock-solid thumping of her heart.

________

She did not tire.

She did not feel a need to eat, or to drink water. No need to make water, for that matter.

This all made sense to her. A soul needs no food or drink. What need is sleep to a soul? A soul needs not pass gas or piss.

Which isn't to say that it didn't feel strange. It felt plenty strange, which also made sense to her, after thinking about it for a little while. A lifetime of needing certain things cannot be forgotten in an instant. She felt like she should need to rest for a moment, quench her thirst and grab a bite, after running for what must have been hours by now.

But if she felt around her insides and questioned these impulses, she found that she didn't actually have to. She was in that neutral point of contentment between meals, gulps, naps and trips to the bathroom—that point where all these things are satisfied well enough so that they don't even cross the mind.

She no longer ran. She could have kept going, but the terrain was too rough, and it took a disproportionate amount of concentration to run without stumbling; she'd break ten different bones in one bad fall, if she wasn't careful. Once she felt it safe to slow down, she had decided not to push her luck and had stopped to, if not rest, look around and get her bearings.

She kept her pace now to a nimble walk, hiking up and down the features of the rocky hillside. The scarcely traversed road was a constant presence about a quarter mile to her right.

At some point in her mad dash into the mountains, she had discarded her staff. She had the vague impression of having done it pretty early in her run—probably as early as crossing the bridge. She had no recollection of actually tossing it, but clearly remembered finding it cumbersome to sprint with. She found it terribly galling to have lost it after going to such trouble customizing it this way and that. She missed using it for support while climbing down and keeping her balance. And she hadn't even used the thing to hit anyone yet!

Worst of all, she didn't look even half as awesome now that she didn't have a formidable magic staff. She worried that she might be going insane, as this was what bothered her the most of having lost it.

Just what did Aaron do to me? I wasn't this idiotic before I met him.

He'd been so ecstatic when he saw her pick up one of his fantasy novels that she couldn't bring herself to disappoint him, without at least giving them a try. She had found them a bit silly at first, but, well, they turned out to be sort of addicting. Somehow, she had ended up having the geekiest, most shameful conversations with him, daydreaming about casting spells, brewing potions, channeling weaves, visiting Seattle Below and trying to call the Name of Booze. And there was that one time when they'd had an argument (my God, actual arguments!) on the finer points of staves and wizards. Still she felt a mixture of embarrassment and stubborn conviction at the memory.

And now she was obsessed with having lost her imaginary wooden stick, while running away from pissed off monsters in a hostile afterlife. What kind of messed up prioritizing was that?

I have my priorities straight. I'm still walking fast, aren't I? I can think whatever I want while I do that.

"I'll just make a new one," she muttered to herself, trying to ignore that nagging voice inside her head that promised dire consequences, should she stop for a third round of wasting time. It had taken several minutes to turn a featureless length of wood into a beautiful—and useful!—work of art, and she could afford no more delays of the sort.

Alexandra pictured her beloved staff in her hand, mostly out of spite for that annoying voice—although taking care not to slow her pace while doing so. She was tired of getting berated by her own thoughts. In fact, in an open act of defiance, she dared convince herself to believe it was there, with all of its bells and whistles, even though she was pretty certain that something so complicated required a more prolonged kind of effort.

But the familiar swirls of mist were already coalescing into a long cylindrical shape, wiggling and sharpening in intricate ways all over its surface, faster than ever before. It was all there, in the space of less than a second: the glowing patterns, the steel tips, the varnished hardwood, the leatherwork. Exactly as she had imagined it.

She halted her march abruptly, eyeing her weapon with a genuine smile on her face.

Ha! Take that!

She swung it a few times from side to side, then practiced some more elaborate moves that, in her humble opinion, must have looked overwhelmingly bad-ass.

So, what, can I just switch it off and on?

Alexandra willed for it not to exist, much the same way she had done with her clothes way back in the hallway. It dissipated with a fluttery flourish of shimmering smoke. A little nervous, she willed it back into existence, only this time she didn't bother to imagine its every detail; she simply wished for her staff, the one that she knew and wanted, to appear in her hand. Much to her delight, it obliged promptly and accurately with a silent flash of mist.

This is the most awesome thing ever.

Still smiling incredulously, she went ahead and resumed her journey, lest that snarky voice start making a fuss about delays again.

So much for wasting time, huh? Whatcha gotta say about that!

There was no response. Her smug smirk didn't last long, being gradually replaced by a blank expression. Had she been taunting her own disparaging thoughts?

"I'll be talking to myself next," she said out loud, wondering at which point had she become a parody of herself.

She diligently put thoughts of insanity out of her head, letting out a deep breath. At least she was using her fancy walking stick again.

She looked up toward the horizon, trying not to focus much on that eerie sky that was too close to the ground. Yes, that was definitely a massive temple-like building, many, many miles in the distance.

She picked up her pace, turning steps into strides, drops into leaps, climbs into jumps.

She did not tire.

________

So I guess that's the Gate.

There was no accurate way for her to tell, but she figured that she must have traveled twenty miles by now. Or seventy. Distance was hard to judge without signs or markings at regular intervals.

She had thought that the famous Gate would be the actual gate into the Temple, but that structure was still impossibly far away. Instead, the road forked left from the main Temple-bound path, leading to the arch standing now before her eyes.

The stone arch was a half circle protruding from the ground, smooth and narrow. It stood about ten feet tall at its apex, its four-sided surface devoid of motifs or patterns; it was as if a large stone ring had been buried only halfway into the rocky soil.

It looked ... solid. More solid than its immediate surroundings. Looking at it, Alexandra couldn't shake the feeling that, even if everything else decayed to dust in this realm, that stone ring would stay unmoved, unblemished. This Gate was like shrapnel embedded in somebody's skull: while it was technically part of the body, it didn't actually belong there.

But it was the view beyond the gate that truly gave her pause. From her vantage point a ways up-slope, she could see how the road didn't continue past the gate, if she looked at the space behind it, outside its boundaries. But it did continue straight through the Gate, into a markedly different landscape where no mountains could be seen.

Eaten by curiosity, she had gone to the trouble of finding out what the back of the half ring looked like. She had expected something mystical, like a shimmering wall of light, a mirror-like liquid surface, a pool of blackness. But from that side, the mysterious Gate was nothing but a simply stone arch where the road came to an abrupt end.

Fortunately, she had consumed enough science-fiction and played enough video games to find the concept of a portal quite easy to digest. She couldn't imagine the how of it, but after the initial surprise she could almost think of it as your standard teleportation device; the usual convenient waygate to somewhere far off that was often a staple of the many sci-fi and magical settings she had explored.

She felt almost guilty about it. Shouldn't she be staring in flabbergasted awe? Had her proper reaction been ruined by her casual, almost every-day use of instant mass displacement? Perhaps she was already becoming jaded by the constant onslaught of strangeness. When everything fought to surprise you, eventually nothing did.

Cross gate, Nexus thirty miles Mount-bound.

Alexandra carefully watched from one of the ubiquitous rends in the land, her hooded head and colorful brow blending in with the background as they poked out of cover to survey her environment. She was closer to the stone ring than she had been to the bridge, but once again she found herself in a position where she would have to stop sneaking about and just run for it.

While traffic on this side was almost nonexistent, she had no way to know whether the other side of the portal would be just as deserted. Being on higher ground and to one side of it, she could only see the immediate surroundings of the road as it entered the unknown area beyond. With luck, it would turn out to be the unused and unguarded kind of magical waygate.

"Well then, time to go cross Gate," she muttered in a resigned voice. There was no real alternative, other than deciding to ignore the creature's directions and start wandering aimlessly.

Making her staff vanish, she vaulted over the side of the shallow cleft and quickly approached the archway, relying on her subdued colors and distance from potential onlookers to keep her from being noticed.

She tried to glean as much information on the area beyond the portal as she hurried toward it. She noted the fortunate lack of guards, the forking road sprawling ahead, the worrying absence of rugged terrain around it. Then she almost missed a step, when she finally could see the jagged horizon on the other side.

There was no doubt what "thirty miles Mount-bound" meant. There was no missing that huge mountain, so very far in the distance; an unmistakable landmark that could be seen from hundreds, even thousands of miles in every direction.

It was blue, the deep blue of the boundless oceans. And it was roughly the same conical shape no matter whether you looked at it from the front, as you would coming out of an ancient underground complex—or far from the back, as you would after crossing the Temple-bound Gate that Alexandra had just stepped through.

________

There was nowhere to hide, and so she ran. Far from the road and straight toward the Mount, she was little more than a shifting silhouette against the blue backdrop of near endless plains and mountainous skyline.

She ran because she was antsy about being followed, or being spotted. She went as fast as she could because the faster she went, the less chances of getting caught, or getting cut off.

The ground was much smoother here; while still hard rock for the most part, it was more uniform and stable. She could easily see the road from where she was, traffic picking up as more and more paths converged upon it.

The road led directly toward a large cluster of structures, too far to be anything other than tiny, dark geometrical shapes to Alexandra's eyes. It was daunting to look at, as it probably was where she needed to go to find this "gate to the Nexus."

How would she remain unnoticed once she got there? If the increasing traffic was any indication, there would be a crapload of those damn monsters all over the place.

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

For now, all there was to do was run. She let her mind wander, trying to ponder inconsequential things, as there would be nothing but worry to occupy her thoughts, otherwise.

How long would it take to run thirty miles? Even at the speed she was carrying, it would take a while.

She'd never gone this fast on the treadmill. Twelve, thirteen miles per hour, maybe? She should be barfing her heart out in less than a minute's time, going this fast. But her breath remained strong and steady, like the powerful bellows of a forge.

Bellows in a forge? Where did that even come from?

Bloody fantasy novels. She frowned at her lackluster cursing. Bloody British roommate. Just three years living together and I'm still talking like her.

Her eyes idly scanned the landscape. Why have such neat roads, if there were no vehicles to use them? She hadn't seen a single wheel in the entire time she had spent in this twisted world. There was pedestrian traffic, but they didn't seem to carry anything other than an unhurried pace, both toward and away from where she was heading. Not like she had cared to examine them closely, anyway. They might be nothing but patrols, watching for the comings and goings of poor condemned souls such as herself. Could she truly still believe that this was her designated punishment?

The more she experienced of this strange reality, the less credit she felt her "personal nightmare" current theory of Hell deserved. In fact, this place was nothing like she had expected Hell to be. While Dante had been prone to put lots of ice in it, most texts and preachers were in pretty consistent agreement over one thing: there would be fire, and you would burn. But where was the eternal lake of fire, the sadistic torment, the unrelenting punishments? While her situation was far from pleasant—hunted and haunted as she was—she'd actually felt delight a few times since she arrived, while losing herself experimenting with her new-found abilities.

What had she actually imagined Hell to be?

It was as hard to say now as it had been trying to explain it to Aaron back then. For her, it had always been more an idea than a specific place. There didn't have to be demons poking you with pitchforks while the Devil gloated in the background as you burned; in her mind it had been more like ... a formless void where your soul was dumped to suffer for all eternity, if it was deemed corrupted beyond redemption.

The way she'd seen it, only truly horrible people would be condemned to eternal damnation. And the faithless, possibly, although hopefully not. Judgment over your sins and minor misdeeds would be reflected in the quality of your stay in Heaven. Somebody had to do the weeding at the Fields of Elysium, right? Somebody had to fetch drinks and arrange cushions.

I wouldn't have minded having Aaron as a servant, she thought with a smile. He sort of already was.

The fond tease didn't bring the amusement she was used to. In fact, there was only bitterness in her smile. What would he say now? She suddenly felt his absence pointedly, wrenching her insides like a stab wound to her gut.

He liked to ask her about this sort of thing, when the topic came up naturally. He'd claim simple curiosity as the reason—just the desire to know her better. She had obliged readily; that they didn't share their beliefs didn't mean they couldn't understand each other's viewpoint.

But while she knew that there had been a sincere interest, she suspected that he also wanted to find out how much actual thought had she given to these things. She could hardly blame him for that; she had been curious herself about many aspects of his lack of faith, such as how could he possibly not be worried of what might happen to him when he died, if he turned out to be wrong.

She'd have never thought that she would come to miss the awkward wariness of those conversations, the instinctive defensiveness that gripped them occasionally as they questioned each other on such delicate, personal matters. Try as they might, it had been impossible sometimes not to come off as confrontational—although they'd always managed to defuse things before they escalated into arguments. Most of the time.

Even then they'd been worth it. Thinking back, those talks stood out as their most intimate moments, precious memories of heartfelt sincerity and nervous confessions. They were treasured as rare, perfect nuggets of time, when all else stood still as they got a true glimpse of each other's soul.

Her step had faltered to a leaden trot. When had she slowed down? Her eyes were glazed over, looking down, staring off into nothing.

Had she ever told him how she felt about those times? How much she appreciated the small things he did? How she loved his mild temperament, the gentle way he voiced dissent, how firm he could be when necessary? She had secretly bugged him sometimes, just to see that set in his jaw, that look of determination and confidence. She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have done lots of things.

Her legs stopped all on their own. Her chest felt so tight, so feeble. Her tears dropped off her chin, and one of them wet her bare big toe. When had she started crying?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get a hold of herself, even as she felt her emotions unravel and break free. Despair and regret and self-pity, threatening to crush her lungs.

She thought she'd been doing so well. Had she been hanging by a thread all along? She couldn't afford this, not now, not here.

What's the point? What am I even doing?

She felt so foolish, with her camouflage and her clothes and gloves and tough feet. Her mad flight and stupid, pointless journey at the direction of some deranged creature.

He was lost to her forever. She hadn't even said "I love you" before dying. Not even "Goodbye." She had always found it such a cliché, how tragic characters that lost somebody during the narrative would obsess over such a small thing. Who cared if your last words weren't what you'd have liked them to be? The loved one would know how you felt. There was no need for a meaningful farewell; every day leading up to that moment had been meaningful enough.

But now she understood. It was awful, a terrible sense of loose ends and unfinished business, like arguing over the phone and having the call drop right when things were getting sorted out, never to hear from one another again. It simply wasn't supposed to happen that way.

You went through this already. You wouldn't accept it, remember? He's here too, he needs you. Just get up and go on.

Was that all she had left of him? Memories that brought nothing but pain and anger? A faint, impossible hope of rescue?

She'd almost fooled herself. She had allowed herself to think she might be free to do as she pleased. But the small freedoms and distractions only served to let the underlying despair lurk deeper, almost out of sight. Until it caught you unsuspecting, clamping down on your throat and tightening to choke the air out of you, leaving nothing but a worthless wretch.

She had thought herself stronger than this. She felt betrayed by her own memories, coming out of nowhere, crashing into her thoughts to show her the enormity of what she had lost. What she would never have again. She had thought she had dealt with it, found a way to use it and drive herself into action. But she had only been shuffling it all aside, tucked it away behind a brittle wall of denial.

She tried to push it away, to get off the floor, to stop crying already. When had she dropped on her hands and elbows? When had the open-mouthed sobs started, the strangled gasps for air?

This is bullshit! You're pissed off about this, it keeps you going! When did crying ever help?

She just couldn't do it. It was all an act, all posturing and bluster. She wasn't tough or decisive; she was terrified inside, paralyzed by the unshakable belief, deep within her, that everything she did would be ultimately futile.

It would have been better to just disappear. Cease to exist and not care about a thing. Couldn't she just do that? It'd be so much easier.

So much easier.

She felt it, then. A light-headedness, a hazy tugging in every direction. She felt it through the sobs and the suffocating sense of loss; a blurring of the edges of her mind, the enticing call of dissipating mists. It occurred to her that she had felt this before, right after the slaughter in the hallway. When she was sitting there, covered in blood, her hand and forearm twisted in a broken knot as she pondered in frustration why did she have bones to break at all. There had been unbearable pain then, along with this sense of ... dissolution; the pain had been so bad that nothing else had registered.

But now the pain was of a different kind—much worse, in its way, but of a kind that didn't shock the senses. And the possibility to end it was right there, close within reach, effortless, tempting. She could end it, scatter herself into nothingness and vanish from existence; she knew this with a certainty that did not exist in the world she had left behind. She knew she would cease to be, if she wanted to.

If she dared to.

This can't be Hell.

Alexandra felt the realization blossom in her mind as she opened her eyes wide, taking in a breath that felt like the very first breath she'd ever taken. It filled her like the sun fills the morning sky, like a bonfire flooding her with warmth. She exhaled tremulously, and the truth washed over her in an almost physical way, making her shiver, giving her goosebumps. It was so deep and liberating that she could do nothing but breathe for what seemed like a very long time. It was so clear, so delightfully simple.

There could be no such thing as escape from eternal torment. Perhaps atonement could be attained, eventually, or maybe momentary respite. But she could still feel the choice in the back of her head, the option to dissolve herself the same way she could dissolve clothes, items and fingernails. It gave her an odd sense of power, to know that even when so much was out of her hand, her own existence was hers to end whenever she chose.

Not like she would want to, mind. But to be able to end one's existence at will and, in doing so, avoid unending punishment for one's sins? It boiled down to suicide in Hell. It was absurd, it defeated the very purpose of such a place.

It simply couldn't be.

She felt like laughing. All that angst and self-pity, all the overblown worry; all of it misguided. This was definitely no Heaven, but suddenly nothing was as immensely terrible as she had thought it to be.

She still didn't know what had happened to her, how she had ended up here, not even what "here" was. The uncertainty was uplifting, for a change. She didn't want to dwell on what it meant concerning her beliefs—approaching that line of thought made her a bit nervous, as it would mean questioning everything she had known for truth in her heart. But an overwhelming weight had been lifted off her shoulders. And so she could stand again.

She wiped her face with the back of her gloved hand, sniffling occasionally with no small amount of embarrassment. Surely she had looked super cool a moment ago, the Mighty Alexandra, reduced to a blubbering wreck crawling on the floor. She looked around as she tried to restore some of her dignity, making sure she remained unnoticed.

Everything seemed to be cast under a different light. This wasn't a hellish landscape, but some strange, unknown world that her soul had wandered to upon death.

Those "monsters" weren't demons at all; they were the dense, territorial denizens of this bizarre land. She wasn't a soul to bind and torment; she was a hostile intruder. That poor creature she had interrogated was just trying to get rid of her, send her where she could find more of her kind—more "bipeds"—and leave its homeland alone. She felt a pang of guilt for what she had done to it, although admittedly not a great one.

Most important of all, her husband wasn't being tortured in some other circle of the abyss, hopelessly beyond reach. They simply had been separated, somehow. He was out there, somewhere, and all she needed to do was find him.

What better place to start looking, then, than to meet with the other bipeds?

She took off without further delay, picking up her pace through the desolate plains with renewed resolve, the ground flying beneath her feet. And she smiled, silently thanking her treasured memories for coming out of nowhere and crashing into her thoughts, to show her the enormity of what she had lost.

What she would soon find again.

________

The gate to the Nexus was a gargantuan slab of blackness. It didn't shimmer or flicker or glow; it was complete darkness stood upright and framed by what looked like pale blue concrete; thick four-sided lengths of concrete that enclosed its tall, rectangular boundaries. It was a door frame so huge that ten adult elephants could have fit through one on top of the other, and as wide as a five lane interstate. A long ramp led up to it, carved with the elaborate line patterns so prevalent in the "normal" architecture of Carved Barrow. While the ramp and everything around it felt familiar to her by now, the featureless frame of the Nexus portal gave off the same vibe as the smaller circular Gate had: it felt alien in this environment, a jarring intruder that stood out to her senses like tofu in a box of chocolates.

Just like before, she was terribly curious to see what the massive gate looked like from behind, but checking was impossible this time around. She squatted behind the safest vantage point she'd been able to find: a dip in the ground about half a mile away from the gate, with a few convenient rocks in front of it that provided somewhat decent cover. She had been watching for some time now, trying to come up with a way to get to her destination in one piece.

Alexandra had wondered at first whether this was truly the way out that she sought. It certainly seemed to be an important structure, but it wasn't immediately apparent that it went anywhere, unlike the Temple-bound Gate she had crossed earlier. But after a few minutes of watching, she saw a group of those chitinous creatures shamble up to it with their swaying, lizard-like gait, trudging up the long ramp until they were at the foot of the unfathomable doorway. They touched the black surface, stepped through, and simply vanished. The surface of the gateway remained unaltered as they passed, as if it was nothing but an opaque sheet of the darkest shadow.

She had seen several such groups since then, some empty handed, most bearing what looked to her like litters full of rocks. They all went in close to the left side; she presumed that inbound traffic would appear close to the right, if it ever did. It was an intermittent stream of travelers, as they all required leave from the guard post in order to proceed.

There were many, many guards.

They formed a large perimeter around the gate, complete with irregular battlements in rock walls, squat conical towers and trenches; it was like a crude medieval fortification carved out of piled up rocks. A few groups stood not ten feet away from the black surface, posted behind short bulwarks at the sides of the ramp. She puzzled at the usefulness of such things, as the creatures bore no weapons other than the sharp claws and talons on their multiple arms. All they could do while cowering behind those defenses was to wait for the attackers to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

All these barricades were set up in anticipation of what might come in through the gate. The troops seemed much more intent on guarding the portal than preventing anyone from going out or watching the landscape behind them—she would probably have been spotted at some point during her approach, otherwise. This wariness of invaders would have confused her terribly before, but now it only reinforced her new-found perspective and gave credibility to what her interrogation subject had said: these Clan weren't Hellspawn out to punish her, but a deeply territorial culture that would defend its borders with fang and claw.

No wonder everything else is unguarded. There's no need to guard anything, when the only way in is to sneak past a garrison of a thousand enraged monsters.

Rows upon rows of dwellings sprawled to one side of the main road. They were small rock buildings in the shape of upturned bowls, with an arched opening on one side. The constructions made her think of large dog houses, just big enough to fit one of the creatures; each row was organized in sequential clusters of nine dwellings, and every cluster was precisely spaced some five feet from one another, forming a grid of intersecting streets and avenues.

She knew that they were living spaces because about a fourth of them were occupied. It was mildly amusing to watch those fat, chitinous slugs enter the rock igloos tail-first, wiggling their girth into the structure until they squatted with only their antennae peeking out of the side opening. There they stayed, their head appendages twitching, their bodies immobile as if in some sort of trance.

Beyond this bizarre war camp, farther still from the Nexus gate, lay a disorderly amalgam of more varied buildings. Some were tall and angular, with the usual carved ornaments; some were squat like hovels, some were big like barns, some were long like hangars. While she might have guessed at their purpose in a human village, she couldn't imagine what these guys needed the structures for.

The road started soon after the front-line defenses and forked out from there. Although the traffic here was heavier than anything she'd seen before, it wasn't as busy as she thought it would be. It was a steady trickle of travelers, some alone, most in groups. Some empty handed, most carrying litters of rocks, a few carrying litters of something else she couldn't discern. Some would go on toward the black doorway, most would carry on into the "village"—Nexus Town, as she'd started calling it in her head.

It was curious how there was a complete absence of other fauna in this place; no critters encountered throughout her entire journey, no birds in the sky, no pets or attack dogs or anything else that moved—nothing but the Clan. Now that she saw them as more than evil tormentors, Alexandra wondered about the lives of these aliens. How on earth did they spend their days? Was guarding the gate a simple job, after which they went home to their friends and families? Did they get paid? What would they spend that money on? What did they do for fun? She didn't need to eat, or drink, or sleep; did they? They were simple minded, yet their society seemed capable of a high level of organization. Would they have a government, an economy, a criminal code? She felt like a zoologist watching a band of gorillas, puzzling at their behavior from a distance, too afraid to approach them for fear of getting pummeled.

And that was the problem: there was absolutely no way to approach the gate unseen. She would get pummeled if she got any closer. There were hundreds of those things here, maybe a thousand or two, and all of the guards were of the fierce, hard and chitinous kind, not the squishy, small and cowardly kind.

She was at a complete loss over what to do. Every course of action she could think of was either foolish, counterproductive or outright disastrous. Trying to fight her way through these defenses would be suicidal. Trying to find another way out wasn't even an option; she doubted there were any other gates like this one, and even if there were, she would get lost trying to find it. Capturing another creature to interrogate or even use as hostage looked like an insane risk to take for very little reward; even if she somehow managed to do so undetected, the thought of maiming yet another of these things seemed wrong to her now, akin to stabbing a cashier to get the petty change in the register.

She considered trying to sneak in stark naked, trusting the shifting camouflage of her skin to get her past the whole camp unnoticed—in fact, this was the best plan she had been able to come up with during her long run. Shaking her head, she discarded the option as well; nothing short of being completely invisible would keep her hidden among such a great number of tightly packed guards.

Too bad. She looked at her bare forearms in wonder—she'd rolled up her sleeves at some point in the journey—admiring the unnatural color of her skin. Now that she had paid closer attention to the mesmerizing effect, she was amazed at how well it worked: the patterns of color changed and fluctuated with whirling speed to match her surroundings, much the way an octopus could completely rearrange its pigments in the blink of an eye. It went as far as changing texture to mimic the rough ground below or the smooth blue above. She had tried to replicate the effect onto her clothes, with frustrating results: it would work for as long as she concentrated on it, but the color-shifting would stop the moment her attention went to anything else.

It troubled her, having done something so bizarre to her own skin, without knowing exactly how it worked. Hadn't she learned not too long ago, while trying to create her useless lump of a gun, that one had to know something well in order to create it? What good was learning the rules of this place, if they seemed to change on a whim?

One way or another, this wasn't the time or place to question it. The longer she delayed, the more chances there would be for something terrible to happen. How long 'til her pursuers caught up, alerting the whole camp to her presence? How long could she stay hidden, without a clue on how to proceed?

Just then, she noticed a group of them growing agitated around one of the outer rows of dog houses. They went up to some other Clan that were closer to the gate, next to the outer layer of barricades, and seemed to discuss something. After a few seconds, a few members from each group broke off the main garrison and started walking in her general direction.

Put off making a decision long enough, and it will be made for you.

There were nine of them, hulking masses of chitinous plates and twisted limbs, lumbering thighs and twitching antennae. They went past the camp, across the road, and entered the half mile of flatlands that stretched between them and Alexandra's hiding spot.

Alexandra grew more and more nervous the closer they got. They meandered some, as if sniffing out something in the air. But their path remained true, steadily approaching her position. And the closer they got, the more confident their stride.

They would be upon her in a matter of minutes. She frantically considered her options, her back pressed against the pitiful rock that provided the only decent cover in a twenty yard radius. There was no way to slink away unseen, camouflage or not. This left her with three possible alternatives: cower and hope that they would walk past her, run away as fast as she could, or confront them.

All of them were bad. The creatures were going straight for her; she wouldn't be able to hide. Running away would only alert the whole garrison to her presence while getting her farther from her goal at the same time. Fighting would be painful, at the very least, or fatal, at worst. Not to mention that, even if she came out unscathed, she would have to deal with a couple thousand pissed off monsters next.

Maybe she could bargain. Intimidate. Reason—plead, if all else failed. These weren't all powerful demons, she reassured herself, but a frightful culture that regarded her as a dire threat to their existence. She had to act fast, be decisive, stay in control. She didn't give it any more thought; she stepped out into the open, trying to assume a dignified bearing that she was far from feeling. It was a hard thing to pull off as she stood up from a cowering position.

"Clan!" she spoke in a commanding voice, before they had a chance to start screaming. "You are not my enemy. I come in peace."

Good grief, how lame was that?

They froze for a second, stupefied. Then started screaming. Then they charged, spreading out to surround her as they advanced.

Son of a bitch!

Her staff flashed into being in her hands, and she assumed a defensive stance.

"STOP!" she yelled over their screams, desperate to avoid a fight she was bound to lose. "I don't want to kill you!" I don't want to get pummeled either!

They skidded to a halt in unison. Alexandra could feel their shock radiating off them, above the primal hatred that was almost familiar by now. Something she'd done had given them pause. She couldn't afford to lose this edge, and so she plowed ahead, speaking in the most self-assured way she could manage.

"I seek to leave your homeland. None of you need to die today. Allow me safe passage, and you won't see me again."

She chided herself after every other word. She shouldn't have stressed that it was their homeland. She shouldn't have threatened them so openly. She shouldn't have said "allow," implying that she was at their mercy. They were about to jump on her, she could feel it.

In a gesture of good will, she made her weapon vanish, purposefully willing the hazy swirls to be extra flashy. She kept her hands in plain sight, yet her posture remained alert, distrustful.

The creatures took a step back at her display, moving as one. Their mounting wariness was evident, as was the fact that her abilities did not go unnoticed.

That's right, don't be so sure I'm harmless. Maybe I'm not one of your "newborn." Maybe I slipped in somehow, maybe there's more of my kind that you haven't found yet. Her gaze jumped from one alien to the next, trying to keep them all well within her field of vision.

"Do we have an agreement? I bear no ill will toward your people." Even though you've tried to kill me a bunch of times. "No one needs to die today," she repeated. It felt like something worth repeating.

The creatures seemed to consult one another in silence. Finally, one of them spoke in their characteristic high-pitched screech. "You want come in camp? You come to Gate, go away, no hurt Clan?"

Alexandra nodded solemnly. "No hurt Clan." She felt inspired enough to add, "can I trust the Clan's honor?"

They looked at one another again in their unsettling eyeless way. "Honor," their presumed leader said. "Yes. You trust Clan. Clan trust you. Come with us?"

"I'll be right behind you," she said as she gestured for them to lead the way.

She had expected them to balk at this, and demand that she walk ahead of them, but they complied without fuss. The scouts formed a semi-circle around her, keeping their distance. Even if most of their backs were turned to her, Alexandra got the impression that they were well aware of her every action. They had found her somehow; they probably didn't need to face her in order to see her. She wondered with irritation whether all the pains she'd taken to camouflage herself had been entirely worthless.

They advanced slowly toward the camp, each party remaining wary of one another. Alexandra maintained what she hoped was a dignified silence; although she would have liked to probe them for information, she was bound to undermine her already precarious position if she started asking questions.

Her nerves went on a steady rise as the outpost grew near. The place was abuzz with the din of high-pitched murmurs, no doubt hostile mutters directed at the biped that had dared enter their domain. She felt like she was walking into a human-sized beehive, with every one of those grotesque slug-lizards twitching their antennae at her, intent on her approach. Almost every single one of them was watching; those inside their lairs had stirred out of their stupor, lining up with the rest. The only ones not following her every move were the guards closest to the black portal, who continued their steadfast vigil, unfazed by the events unfolding behind them.

Eyeing the throng of monsters with apprehension, it was hard to resist the urge to turn tail and run for it, gate to the Nexus be damned. She gathered her resolve to look imposing and confident, and addressed the scout that had spoken earlier.

"Tell them of our deal," she demanded, loud enough to be heard throughout the masses. "No harm will come to the Clan if you let me pass in peace."

She was met with no response from the scout and louder mutters from the rabble. The search party continued leading her deeper into the camp, coming close to the rudimentary fortifications where the bulk of the guards awaited her arrival. They would soon reach the passage between trenches where the road ended and the ramp leading to the gate begun.

The intensity of their deep-seated hatred washed over her in waves, growing sharper the closer she got to the massive gate. The sound of their voices quieted down, then disappeared altogether. A looming sense of dread settled in Alexandra's gut.

Run. Just run and jump through the gate. You might make it.

She looked at the myriad faceless monstrosities that crowded the outpost, at the proud guards that stood atop the squat rock walls. This had been a terrible idea. Why wasn't that damned scout speaking on her behalf? "I do not wish to harm any of you," she yelled at the crowd, trying not to sound as frenetic as she felt. "Keep your word and I will keep mine."

The scout did speak then—a screeching sound that carried across the entire fortified area. "Biped want go away. Biped want come with Clan, go to Nexus. Biped agree walk here."

About damn time you said something, Bubba!

The creature continued, amusement creeping into its tone. "Biped agree walk here!"

It must have been a grand joke, for the crowd erupted in the strangled trills that she recognized as laughter. She didn't find it nearly as amusing.

"You will all die if you betray me. You know that, don't you? It will be a bloodbath."

The scout leader finished its speech, blatantly ignoring Alexandra's threats. "Biped clearly stupid. Hold biped. Sever biped."

"What!" Her staff flashed into her hands, and she was able to take three strides toward the treacherous heap of sewage that had taken her for a fool. Let's see how willing they were to negotiate after she bashed their leader to a mound of goo. No-one moved in to stop her, and her quarry made no attempt to run or shield itself.

Her fourth step proved more difficult. Something pushed against her advance, as if her body had entered a much denser medium. By the time her foot left the ground for a fifth step, the chanting had begun in earnest, and she could move no more.

Alexandra stood frozen mid-stride, staff held aloft, ready to unleash a blow that never came to bear. As her mind raced to figure out what was happening to her, only one thing was doubtlessly clear.

She had made a terrible mistake.

∞

Bleary eyed and grumpy, I make my way to the door. Gabby can't be bothered to answer, apparently, even if she knows I stayed up late again. Probably because I stayed up late again, and she knows I'll get rid of unwanted visitors in no uncertain terms.

"Oh, no no no no." She wags her finger at me. I can tell already she's not going to cooperate. I should have kept her immobilized. "I'm having none of that. You've daydreamed about this for ages, and now you're hiding? You need to deal with him, girl."

"You got yourself an online boyfriend, and I told you he'd be a complete wanker. You're not going dump him on my lap now." Suddenly she grins like this is the grandest joke in the world. "Cheers!" She scampers out of reach and slams the door.

I practically jump out onto the porch landing, looking everywhere in a panic that's much worse than before. And there he is, talking to the neighbor across the street, showing her a piece of paper with some scribbles on it, gesturing mildly with his hands. You'd think he would have tried the other unit in the duplex, just a few feet away. Or maybe he did. I didn't take that long to answer, jeez.

9

"There's a census." Aaron's voice was equal parts incredulity and reproach. "You are telling me now that there is a census."

Ming Xiu nodded without looking up from her project. "We could hardly keep track of our numbers without it."

"And you were planning to tell me this ... when?"

"When it became pertinent, of course," she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You'll need to be on it, eventually."

"When it became—" Aaron bristled at her nonchalance. "It was pertinent the moment I walked in here! We could have checked it a hundred times over by now! She could be on it. You knew she could be on it!" His raised voice would have normally echoed against the bare walls of the circular room, but here they were simply swallowed up by the pristine white stone, perhaps going all the way through as if the walls weren't even there.

The woman calmly set on the desk the piece she was working on—a crystaline sphere, the size of a bowling ball, exquisitely carved and sculpted in the shape of swirling green, blue and black flames. She brushed her hands on her skirt as she stood up, and only then did she turn to look Aaron in the eye.

"We like you well enough around here, Aaron, and you have proven somewhat competent. But you will not use that tone with me. Do you understand?"

Aaron stared from behind a frown for a while. He noticed his fists were clenched with his frustration, and he forced them to relax. He made an effort to speak in a calm manner. "Please tell me why you didn't let me know about this until now."

Ming Xiu's sigh was the essence of patience. "You would have wanted to run off immediately, as I suspect you now do. You would have been desperate enough to threaten with a solitary expedition, if we didn't take you there—as I suspect that you now intend to do." She held his gaze with imperious aplomb. "You are not ready, Aaron. You were not ready then and you are not ready now."

Aaron's frown only deepened. "What does it take to be ready? I've lost track of the time I've spent here, learning whatever tiny bits of knowledge you decide to throw at me."

"I've explained this at length. All of us have, since you keep probing everyone—"

He butted into her sentence. "You keep saying it's dangerous to learn too much too quickly, but I'm starting to think you're just holding information hostage."

She broke into laughter at that, genuinely amused. "Oh, Aaron, such an insightful theory." She put a hand to her chest in mock indignation. "Do tell, why are we so intent in keeping an ignorant newborn from getting out of our hands?"

Aaron didn't know, but he wasn't about to admit that. "You know, the newborn thing is really getting old."

Her amusement remained, a smile playing on her lips. She rested one hand on the desk, the other on her hip. "Perhaps 'toddler' would be more to your liking? Or maybe 'teenager.' You certainly are being willful enough."

"Hilarious." It was as if the woman had been professionally trained to be frustrating. This conversation wasn't going the way he had planned it, should his suspicions be confirmed; in his head, Ming Xiu would have apologized profusely by now for her crass oversight, offering to make up for it in a wide variety of ways—namely, taking him wherever the census was at, without further delay. He should have known better, after having dealt with her for as long as he had.

He went to adjust his glasses the way he normally would when under scrutiny, only to realize for the hundredth time that they were not there anymore. He pretended to scratch his nose instead, even if nothing ever itched in this place. "The fact remains that if I'm not ready, it's only because I'm not being taught fast enough."

Ming Xiu had started shaking her head before he was even halfway through his sentence. "This again? The protocol—"

"Look, I'm grateful for your help, I really am." Aaron spoke over the oft-repeated argument, making a placating gesture with his hands. "But you're stuck with this 'one-size-fits-all' mentality, where the pace of learning is designed to fit the lowest common denominator. I'm not a simple farmer off the dark ages, an ancient egyptian architect or some confederate army man right off the civil war. You yourself said that late humans like me adapt better. Just give me everything you've got; I can handle it."

She pursed her lips, perhaps realizing at last that he wasn't backing down easily from this one. "Falon said just that. The same beady-eyed look on her face, too."

Falon Trestail is a moron. "And she's doing just fine! If you can go faster with her—"

"We didn't go faster," she cut in. "I'm only saying that she was just as foolish and impatient as you are. You would think that a thirteenth century Londoner would be scared witless of everything that is Eternal, but she couldn't get enough of it when she first arrived. And if I could hold her down and get her to go through everything the proper way, I don't believe you have much of a chance to persuade me."

"But—"

Ming Xiu interrupted him once more. She was fond of doing that. "You are probably right, Aaron. You could handle a much faster pace without problems. But even if that's the case, and you happened to be predisposed for it, you still would not find a self-respecting Human that will go against the Unbound's mandates without a blighted good reason—and you being impatient does not constitute one." She quietly looked at him for a few seconds, letting the finality of her statement sink in.

Plenty of time for him to start coming up with alternatives.

If Falon got frustrated too, maybe I can get enough sympathy out of her to—

"Especially not Falon," Ming Xiu added, hopefully because she'd anticipated Aaron's budding plan and not because she could actually read his thoughts. "That girl gets as close to worshipping the Unbound as decorum allows."

Well, there goes that idea. He wasn't terribly broken up about it, truth be told. The prospect of suffering through yet another conversation with that willowy stick of a girl was enough to give him shudders.

His shoulders slumped with resignation. There was no point in pursuing this topic any further; all his previous attempts to circumvent that blasted protocol had been just as fruitless. New information was doled out in tiny spoonfulls, and it hardly ever was anything he hadn't already figured out on his own. It was all taking much longer than he had anticipated, and while he slogged through this pointless kindergarten, Alexandra was out there, in some realm or another, going through who knows what. He ached to begin his search—which brought him back to his original argument.

"Xiu—"

She held up one admonishing finger. "Ming Xiu, master Aaron. Be thankful I don't have you call me 'honorable teacher.'"

Goodness gracious, she was infuriating. "Ming Xiu. I need to check the census. If her name is in there ... " seeing the long-suffering expression on her face, he hurried to keep on talking. "I need to know if her name is there. It could be there, and it's the best chance I've got right now." He held her gaze fast, trying to convey the extent of his conviction. "Please, Ming Xiu. I can't explain how much I miss her. I don't know if you ever lost someone like this, but I have this hole inside of me ... " his voice cracked, and he pressed his lips together, reining in his emotions. "It's killing me. Or 'severing' me, or 'scattering' me, or whatever you want to call it. It was manageable in the beginning, when it was all new and confusing. But nowadays it's like ...."

Like the first flight back to Florida.

He remembered sitting in that plane for hours as the distance between them grew with every passing second, not knowing exactly when they would be together again. He had held up until after saying good-bye. He got through security and all the checkpoints alright. Then he'd started bawling the moment he boarded and had been unable to stop, uncaring at the time of the onlooking passengers that strove to avoid being too obvious with their gawking. The wrench that had clamped tightly around his chest had refused to go away, even as he tried to convince himself of how silly it was, how irrational to be so inconsolably sad, when they had another visit to look forward to.

If there was any one thing he could present as proof of how hopelessly in love he had fallen, it would be the hours spent in that plane.

He thought about those hours often, of late. The grief growing inside him was awfully familiar to what he had felt then. But while at that time the pain had been sharp and intense, now it was of a dull and subdued nature. Much worse, in a way, for the difference was one of hopelessness. What had once been an acute ailment was now a chronic disease.

Aaron realized he had left his sentence unfinished before going into his reverie. He must have looked troubled enough, as Ming Xiu hadn't come up with a dismissive rebuke, the way she usually did. Instead, she was looking ahead, not at him but through him, with an expression that Aaron presumed must have matched his own. Her piece of art suddenly vanished in a swirl of smoke, but she didn't even notice it.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. When she opened them again, it looked like she had reached a decision. "I'll take you there myself. Soon. At the very least, we'll get your name on it. And I should catch up with a few friends while we're at it, it has been a while since I've left Thousand Rivers."

Well, that's better than nothing. Woulda rather have Queg along instead, though.

He didn't have time to voice his thoughts in a more tactful manner; Ming Xiu walked up to him and took his hand in both of hers, looking up to meet his gaze. There was no trace of amusement, impatience or reproach left in those tilted dark eyes. "Don't get your hopes up, Aaron." She spoke with the soft voice that a mother would use to console a child. "It makes it much worse when you finally realize the truth. You should try to let go, instead."

The sincerity in her demeanor was enough to make him regret all the negative thoughts he'd been rattling off in his head. He had suspected as much before, and there was no doubt in his mind now: she had indeed lost someone, however long ago—and whoever it was, clearly she had never found them.

He refused to share her fate.

"I can't let go." His voice was quiet, but with the hard edge of determination. "I won't. I won't ever stop looking for her, Ming Xiu. Even if it takes all of eternity. I won't give her up."

She smiled softly at that, and patted his hand before releasing it. She turned around, unhurriedly walked back to her desk and sat on the edge of her high-backed, one-piece white chair.

A burst of mist tendrils coalesced in front of her, and the sphere of crystal flames flashed into existence in her hands. Curling eddies of bright smoke steadily gravitated toward her art piece, following her command as they worked their way into the interlocking pattern of green, blue and black.

"That's just what I said," she told him without looking away from her work.

Aaron was temped to ask about it. He wondered how different their respective situations had been, how similar. But it was such a personal question, and Ming Xiu did not seem willing to share the details of her loss. Suddenly he felt rude and inadequate, like he was intruding in a very private moment.

I got what I wanted. I've been enough of a bother already.

He turned around with a sigh and walked out of the room, following the spotless white hallways that would take him outdoors.

He had practice to get done, and the prospect of it was nothing short of dreadful.

________

Falon Trestail was fast.

She was also strong, much stronger than her twig-like limbs would suggest.

Also, she was a snot.

Aaron parried as best as he could her precisely placed left swing, only to be struck on the side of his abdomen by her lightning-quick knee thrust.

"First Portent, yer bad at this," she teased as they backed up and faced each other in a ready stance for the hundredth time. "No amount of practice is gonna help you."

He refrained from trying to punch her in the face. Partly because it wouldn't be a nice thing to do, but mostly because she would easily dodge it and then somehow he would end up with his butt on the floor again.

It was all made worse by the hearty dose of mockery that went with her every comment. She wasn't haughty or malicious, which Aaron would have found easier to deal with. She simply pointed out facts—his faults and shortcomings, namely—and laughed at them.

There was only one pleasant thing to be had during the ordeal that was interacting with her: the words her mouth shaped matched without a hitch with the voice Aaron heard. It was oddly comforting, like a minute taste of home in a strange land.

"Were you this good when you first started?" he grunted. It was meant to be sarcastic, but she answered anyway.

"Of course not. I wasn't nearly this bad, on the other hand. You might want to give up."

Aaron almost slugged that pale-skinned pixie face anyway. "What an awful thing for a teacher to say."

"You shouldn't be such a terrible student, then." Her form-fitting red top and pants rippled into a chaotic pattern of light and shadow. Immediately it became a loose outfit of the same color—a buttoned-up jacket with flowing sleeves and a pair of wide-cuff slacks—more appropriate for the formal exercises that were to come next. She tsked at Aaron's gray T-shirt and baggy pants, but somehow managed to say nothing on the matter. They started pushing hands slowly, like they had done several times before. The tall redhead yammered on all the way through.

"You just don't get it. It's not about yer muscles anymore, Gretchen. You keep trying to be a big strong man, with big strong muscles to crush everything. You don't have those anymore—well, you never did, by the looks of it. It's all in here." She tapped the side of her head with two fingers, while still managing to keep up with the hand pushing.

"I know that. I've understood that for—"

"No, you don't," she interrupted. "You tell yourself you do. You think you do. But you don't. It's because you're so dim-witted, obviously. You probably will never get it, and remain a cripple for everyone else to take care of."

Aaron gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He concentrated on the motions instead, which were becoming more complicated over time: left palm to wrist, push it down and across, grace the forearm, right palm to elbow, up and across, collapse the arm ....

"Ya think this is all useless, dontcha. You could be spending your time on much more useful stuff, if only we'd let you. What's the point in doing this, when you can just fly away?" Her voice was becoming more and more taunting with every jab at him. "You can make a club and throw it at someone's head, you can rip the ground from under their feet and smash their faces with it. Hand-to-hand, so pointless! Useless martial arts, what a waste of time, isn't it?"

Aaron wouldn't let this smart-mouthed stick figure get to him. She seemed to take great pleasure in pushing his buttons, for some obscure reason he couldn't imagine; he'd been nice to a fault to everybody.

He did push a bit more aggressively than he had intended, though.

"Wanna push harder, lover boy? Boundless grace, yer like a flailing farstalk. That's why you don't get it. You gotta control what you think, what you believe. Do you think I'm pushing with my hand? Do ya think you're touching my arm? We do this so you get stronger and faster muscles, obviously! Flesh and bones, that's all it is. Skies, you're hopeless."

That's it. He took hold of her arm and used her own momentum to give her a good shove, the way he'd been taught, more or less. A flick of the wrist and a slight adjustment of the elbow later, Aaron found himself flying forward and sideways, tumbling far past their sparring area and banging into the nearby outside wall of the complex.

To her credit, Falon was by his side in a heartbeat, offering a helping hand for him to get up. Her huge smile, chock-full of mischief, filled up the lower half of her face.

Despite his pained grunting, he had to smile at the comment. It was the closest to an expression of optimism he had heard in a while. "She wouldn't be too surprised, believe me," he said, taking her outstretched hand.

She pulled him up with no effort whatsoever, then walked back to the white cobblestone of the sparring circle, standing at its center. "Oh? She beat you often, I gather?"

"She could beat you with ease, I'm sure," Aaron said as he moved into position, adjusted his rumpled shirt back to its proper place, and then lowered himself into a forward stance. "She's pretty serious about her karate. She couldn't get me into it, though she tried plenty of times. She also has actual muscles, and a cat's grace to go with it."

"Hah." The girl was clearly skeptical as they begun their exercise once more. "She must have taken pity on you, poor thing. Bring her over when you find her, willya? We'll see who beats who."

The picture of Alex pummeling this obnoxious know-it-all was enough to light up Aaron's face. "She will eat you alive."

"You poor barbarian." Their interlocked arms wobbled for a second, and before Aaron could figure out what was happening, he was traveling backwards through the air as if thrust at the end of a massive spring. He managed not to fall on his face this time. "She won't be doing any such thing," she said as she motioned him over with a mien of impatience. "I died a very long time ago."

Aaron stayed where he was. "Let me guess. Your big mouth got you beaten to death in some way or another."

She shook her head, not rising to the bait. "Disease. It wasn't clean and pretty like yours. London was a filthy place to live in. You moderns had it so easy."

I don't know if Alex would agree with that. He wasn't all that interested in her life on Earth, however, fascinating as it might have been under different circumstances.

"So how'd you come to be a resident here?" he asked, still refusing to resume the exercise in frustration that was pushing hands with Falon Trestail. "Or should I assume you've been annoying Ming Xiu for all of eternity?"

She snorted loudly, crossing her arms. "What, lover boy, suddenly ya wanna get to know me? Suddenly you're no longer a single-minded fool that can't spare a thought for anyone but himself and his impossible quest?"

He frowned, taken aback by her bluntness. "I'm not like that. You don't know how it feels to—"

"I get it, I get it," she interrupted again, bringing up her hands in an exaggerated stalling gesture. "You don't have to go on and on again about how much your poor little heart hurts and how you miss her so, so much." Her lower lip was thrust out in a mocking pout as she spoke.

"And here I thought that you were being a bit supportive for a change."

She rolled her eyes, and her tone became more serious. "I can see right through you, Gretchen. Yer just fishing for information that will get you ahead. I can sympathize with the effort, but you won't be getting anything from me. The grand irony is that your single-mindedness and blind eagerness are actually holding you back. You'd realize it, if you weren't so thick."

"I was just trying to have a conversation!" That had been part of the reason, anyway. "Just forget it. And you know, my name is Aaron. I thought everyone was all chummy here and went by people's first name."

"I know your name, Gretchen. I just think a girl's name suits you better."

She blatantly ignored his glare. "To answer your question, no, I haven't been here forever. And I don't annoy the sifu anymore; she's like a mother to me. Now, will you get over here so I can keep humiliating you properly?"

Aaron complied reluctantly, walking up to make contact at the wrist with her poised hand and resuming the familiar swaying motion. He would learn everything they threw at him, even if a huge chunk of his training so far had consisted of the basics on several martial arts, of all things. Falon had mocked him for it, but he still wondered at the very thing: why did the protocol require such lessons, when the more esoteric abilities would render close combat entirely obsolete? It was beyond his understanding.

Settling into the swaying routine, he wondered which way he would be flying this time. It wasn't until a few moments of uninterrupted back-and-forth that he realized what she had said a moment ago.

"I heard 'shifu' just now," he begun, "I thought that didn't happen here, that everything gets translated by my subconscious or whatever. Shouldn't I have heard 'teacher,' or 'master,' or something to that effect?"

Her throaty sigh conveyed enough exasperation to make a fair bit of color rise to Aaron's cheeks. "You are dense. There's no way around it. You do realize that your sentence sounded idiotic to me, right? But never mind that, it's not the problem." She silenced his protest with a wave of her hand, still not missing a beat in the precise set of movements. "Do you think you're translating 'Trestail' as well? Do ya maybe hear 'Jane Smith' when I say 'Ming Xiu'?"

"That's different. Those are names without—"

"They're concepts, just like everything else. Haven't you learned anything? And you wanna go faster, what a joke. Pay attention now." She casually twisted her wrist and pushed on his arm with barely a thought, sending Aaron stumbling to one side. He had to bring one knee to the ground in order to keep his balance. He didn't even bother complaining; it could have been much worse, after all.

She watched and waited as he got to his feet again, until he was facing her expectantly. Then she held up one finger. "Falon Trestail."

Yes, that's your damn name, you mean harpy.

"Don't make faces at me. I just told you my name. But it's not just a pair of words rattling in your head, is it? It's a person. It's the concept of the name of a person, and it would be unique to me even if there was a guy called Falon Trestail standing right over there. It's the same with all of our vocabulary; this is what we constantly do as we speak, and it overrides accents, languages and idioms. I outgrew my dialect long ago, but even if I hadn't, you would be able to understand me just the same—although then my charming exotic flair would be lost on you. You do get that far, right?"

"Right." He thought he did, at least.

"Alright. Now, even you will agree that individual letters and phonemes are concepts as well? Singular concepts, conveyed in a certain order, with a certain intent, to form more complex ideas."

"The depth of your insight astounds me." He couldn't hold the snark in, try as he might.

"See? Like that. Do you think I physically hear you being a complete jackass when I'm trying to teach you something? No, you convey a certain sequence of concepts, modified just so to give it a certain tone, a certain nuance, that I interpret as your uninspired monkey drivel. You do this subconsciously, because you don't know any better. If you didn't have a brick for a head, you would understand that vocal chords have nothing to do with it.

"But if you focus on the smaller concepts instead, and consciously drive the shape of the weave to communicate exactly what you want it to ... " she held up two fingers, "Falon Trestail."

It sounded like a garbled jumble of a name, a round-mouthed thing that skewered the American pronunciation that Aaron was used to. It sounded close to "fae-lawn triss-toil," spoken very quickly.

She carried on. "That's why you hear 'sifu.' That's why ya hear a little accent now and then. That's why I can tell you," she continued her sentence, but in a completely different language that Aaron couldn't begin to grasp. It sounded like ... Mandarin?

He spoke tentatively. "I probably don't want to know what you just said?"

"Well, at least yer learning something. I can call you a good for nothing dog's ass in seven different languages. But the point is, I convey these words and speech patterns intentionally, 'cuz I can, and I like it. I have enough practice at it that it comes without thinking. And that's what learning is about, isn't it? Realize what you can do, do it, then practice until you can do it without thinking. You haven't gotten past the first stage with anything at all, and you want more stuff to work on? Please."

Finally, something in which to prove her wrong. He had made substantial progress on something, largely thanks to his own experimentation—which was greatly encouraged, if done under constant supervision.

He concentrated on the space around and within him, looking for that particular attribute that he had felt during his very first self-searching session. Amid all the unbearable tedium of sitting motionless, suppossedly feeling around the inside of his mind looking for who-knows-what, he'd stumbled upon a most peculiar awareness. A certain ... texture to his immediate surroundings, like a downward slant to the fabric of reality. This augmented appreciation of his environment would have been unimaginable in his previous life, but here it felt like a natural extension of his psyche, akin to discovering new senses with which to gather information.

He felt around this downward pattern that repeated throughout the realm, probing it with his mind the same way fingertips might explore the grain of woodwork. There was a certain length to its grooves, a definite slope that he was sure could be expressed in mathematical terms, with some effort and liberal amounts of creative thinking.

He probed and felt around it, getting a feel for the "bubble of space" that encapsulated his being. And then his mind's touch pushed on those slopes, changing their orientation, effectively pointing gravity in the direction he desired.

He shot up and backwards, and he hurried to shorten the amplitude of the wave-like texture of space so that he would slow down his advance. He flattened the patterns at the crest of his ascent so that he would hover in mid-air, well above Falon Freaking Trestail's head.

Flight wasn't without its dangers. Aaron had learned by now to be careful with what he did. Although it wouldn't be fatal, pointing those slopes in different directions at the same time would be decidedly uncomfortable, like having Earth's gravity pulling him in several directions at once. He still needed to keep an iron grip on his concentration in order to move the way he wanted to move, lest he wanted to send himself careening toward the floor with several G's worth of acceleration.

It was part of the reason why he wasn't nearly as graceful yet as the word "flight" might imply; it was more like lurching erratically through the air, at the moment. He found it much easier to channel the effect in small bursts, as opposed to maintaining a constant influence on the space that he happened to occupy at a certain moment, which was permanently changing. The resulting trajectory was a succession of intersecting parabolae, instead of smooth, bird-like lines.

A "knack," they called it. He had a knack for flight. He found it funny that they would use such a word—or such a concept, maybe he should say—to describe it. As if it was a magical talent off some random fable. Although admittedly glamorous, it couldn't be further from magic in his mind—at least not the kind of "hocus-pocus" magic that did things just because it was, you know, magic. It was something much more grounded in physics. This might not be the Universe he knew, but that didn't mean that there weren't laws and rules; there had to be laws and rules, or the level of organization and complexity that was abundant anywhere he looked would be completely impossible.

He felt compelled to call his ability a manipulation of gravitational-spatial properties through the use of non-standard mental resources, but he took enough crap from Falon Trestail already without sounding like such a pretentious prick.

And so he hovered up there, looking down at the short-haired brat, daring her with his stare to keep on taunting his ineptitude. He wasn't desperate to get the upper hand at least once, of course not. He simply thought that she needed to be taken down a notch or two.

"Wow." She seemed to be at a loss for words. Yes! Take that, you insufferable— "Yer not only dense, but juvenile too. Congratulations on being able to do one thing somewhat right. I guess I was mistaken about you all along. Come down from your cloud up there before I change my mind about getting you educated, will ya?"

He was tempted to take off, purely out of spite. But on top of it sounding like a terribly childish thing to do, he was intent on making use of any new information she might offer. She did seem to be uncharacteristically candid at the moment, and he might as well take advantage of that.

Smooth descent was particularly challenging. He let go of his immediate surroundings so that they would revert to their natural state, and right away he started free-falling at the slightly-slower-than-normal rate of Thousand Rivers. He slowed down well enough roughly halfway through his drop, but he went too far with his push at the near-bottom. It resulted in a sudden jerk upwards that sent his guts to his feet and had him scrambling to stay upright once he made contact with the ground.

He looked up, staring daggers at the girl, and walked over with as much dignity as he could muster after such a poor display. A greatly amused smile played on her lips.

Aaron spoke before she could start piling up the mockery. "Just spare me this one time, alright? I just don't see why you have to constantly get in my face about everything all the time. It's not like I've done anything to you to deserve it, and it gets really old."

Her brow creased in an inverted V, that smile still quirking the corners of her mouth. "Get over yerself, Gretchen. Maybe I'm trying to do you a service. Maybe I'm tryin' to beat the hubris outta you, for yer own good. For a damn newborn, you sure have one hell of an ego."

Ego! Like she's one to talk! "What are you talking about? I've been as polite as humanly possible! I've only talked back to you because you give me so much crap!"

"I'm inclined to blame your trip here as the cause." She continued her train of thought as if he hadn't even spoken. "It's galling that you of all people should get such an easy stroll in the park. You have no idea how lucky you got, lover boy. No idea."

"Luck?" He'd had enough of getting lectured, of having his heartache belittled by somebody that barely knew him. "Maybe one half of me, the half that's slowly dying in front of you, was lucky. But my other half is lost somewhere in this twisted reality, and there is no way to get her back, and it takes every bit of willpower I've got not to hate everyone and everything in this place!"

That seemed to shut her up, at last. For a little while.

"Boundless vigilance, Gretchen," she said in a quiet voice. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"No! I'm a really calm guy!" The fact that he shouted it took some credibility out of his words. "I'm laid back and cool with things. But this ... this thing inside of me, it barely lets me breathe, let alone take things lightly.

"So I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I don't seem to care much about anything but getting her back, and I'm sorry I'm taking up your precious time when you could be doing something else, and I'm sorry I'm so damn fucking helpless!"

Overcome with frustration, he punched his clenched fist onto the ground, for lack of a better target. The action seemed to leech the energy out of him, and after a moment he slumped to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees. "You just don't know what I've lost. She was perfect." He shook his head, mostly talking to himself by now. "Perfect."

Falon snorted softly, edging a bit closer to him. "Nobody's perfect," she muttered under her breath. She did seem to say it quietly enough for it not to come off as confrontational, for once.

Aaron didn't respond. He was too busy trying to regain control of his emotions. The outburst had been regrettable enough; he'd be damned to let this girl see him cry like a pampered milksop. He'd just given the insufferable woman more ammunition for her taunting.

He heard Falon let out another big sigh, and then she sat down in front of him. She leaned forward, tilting her head and looking up to intercept Aaron's glazed sight.

Aaron registered her bright green eyes searching his, and made an effort to come back to the present moment. He noticed her lips pressed together, looking as though she was debating something inside her head. Then she held up three fingers for him to see, and her casual look became a stare. "Falon Trestail."

His eyes went wide with shock as a wall of knowledge hit him all at once.

She had showed up in the great fields of Veal, and marveled at the majesty of the Lord's domain. Then she had escaped the vicious gorgers, found a route into the Pathways, and roamed endlessly, lost, confused and terrified. She barely avoided being severed by a roving band of Brumal when the Unbound itself found her. It slaughtered the outlaws and brought her to the Beacon, where she met Ming Xiu shortly after. She was initiated at the Beacon—as soon as she understood what had happened to her, she had jumped in with both feet and never looked back—but she had fallen in love with Ming Xiu's vision, and would eventually go on to become Thousand Rivers' muscle.

Falon had a knack for both communication and self-shifting. She was blunt with her thoughts and loyal to a fault. She was extremely protective of her close friends. She found the endless diversity of denizen fauna fascinating. She regarded Thousand Rivers as her home and would not think twice to sacrifice herself to defend it. She annoyed people for the fun of it. She did not give a damn about being nice to strangers. She resented Aaron because he made Ming Xiu sad with remembrance. She admired Aaron's dedication to his wife, even doomed as it was to ultimately fail.

It hurt. His mind was not built to receive such a large amount of data simultaneously; it learned slowly, with pieces of information sequentially processed and stored. This had been like goading a crazed mob of people into fitting through a manhole, all at the same time. He had literally felt how his mind struggled to keep up and expand to accommodate the massive new chunk of information that it had reaceived.

It would have been hard enough to assimilate a lifetime of experiences in a single instant. But it went far beyond that; everything of importance that had shaped who Falon was at the present moment had been made known to him. Her time on Eternal stretched in a diffuse way, counted not in years or decades, but in terms of events: she had existed through one hundred and forty three portents. Aaron wasn't sure what that meant, exactly, but he was well aware of one thing: it was a very, very long time.

He simply stared at her for a long moment, long enough for the situation to become a bit awkward. Why had she done such a thing? How did one even do such a thing? Was this her way of driving her point home, whatever that point might be?

Her eyes were still fixed on his, as if rummaging through them in search of something. He realized he was still leaning on his elbows, entirely too close to her face. He pulled back as surreptitiously as he could, wondering what was expected of him.

He felt he should say something. Anything. The girl kept staring, dead serious. Before he could open his mouth with the first thing that came to mind, she spoke.

"I didn't break any rules doing that, if you're wondering." Her slightly slurred accent was gone, adding to the sobriety of the moment. "It falls under personal relations and teacher discretion—after all, I simply told you who I am. I'd never have done it if I hadn't been certain that you could handle it.

"That being said, I will deny I ever did it, and claim non-consensual mingling if you're dumb enough to try and present your new knowledge as evidence. You don't want me to do that. But you better make sure that I never have to deny it, understand?"

Dire things lurked beneath her warning.

"Uh ... " Aaron replied. It wasn't his most inspired comeback to date.

"Listen." The intensity of her stare was enough to hold him motionless, like hypnotized. Was this the same person he had been sparring with? "I wasn't planning on getting so personal, but I don't think I can get through to you otherwise. I get your angst, I really do. There's nothing fake about it and everyone can see that, and you have Ming Xiu scrambling to help you, out of some deluded attempt to redeem herself. But you know nothing of Eternal. It's what I've been trying to hammer into your head, and now you know it for sure.

"You do see it now, don't you? The immensity of it? The kind of time frames involved in this place? Trying to jump ahead will set you back. Trying to run when you can't crawl will only make you fall on your face. You could get lucky and get everything right, I guess. But if I were to make a bet, I'd say you've already used up all of your luck."

It was the most words she'd ever said to him without throwing in an insult or five. It felt strange, to interact with her without getting verbally abused.

He couldn't find anything appropriate to say, still. He didn't even know how to feel about it. Shouldn't she have asked permission before doing something like that? It almost felt like cheating on Alexandra, the way he suddenly knew so many things about this woman. Alex certainly wouldn't be comfortable with the idea of him being in such an intimate setting with some pretty girl she didn't know. He was certain of that much, because he would feel the same way, had the roles been reversed. It had nothing to do with trust or jealousy, really. They'd never had a problem along those lines, perhaps because they felt the same way about the sort of situation that Aaron was currently in: it simply wasn't ... proper.

So he pretended to want to get comfortable, scooting away while he adjusted his position. He didn't stand up; it felt like a rude thing to do, considering the circumstances.

She seemed to understand the nature of his discomfort, because that crooked smile was back in force.

"Well then, there ya go provin' my point. Yer such a barbarian, Gretchen. You can't even imagine how backwards you are."

So it was back to that again. "Alright. How about you tell me exactly what you mean this time, for a change?"

"If you weren't such an ignorant simpleton, you would know that if I were even remotely—" the way she said "remotely" spelled "not a chance in hell" in Aaron's mind. "—interested in that kind of thing with you, I would go about it in a much different way than 'sitting too close,'" she said with a small laugh. "Skies and stars, one forgets how primitive bodies are."

Aaron felt himself get flustered. And she didn't have to be that disgusted with the prospect of liking him, jeez. "Well, it was just ... not right. Not appropriate. Maybe you should be mindful of my 'primitive ways,' being the proper and educated party here."

His sarcasm wasn't so much lost on her as it was clearly dismissed. "Right you are. I do apologize, I somehow forgot that yer an uncouth savage." She reached over and patted him on the knee, her smile as innocent as they come. "Such a loyal pup. I'd make fun of it some more, if you weren't aware now that I actually respect that."

Her comment served as a reminder of what had just transpired between them, and her demeanor quickly fell back to a somber seriousness. "What I did is never done lightly, Aaron. Only those with my kind of talent can pull it off at all." There was no bragging in her tone; it was a simple matter of fact. "I gave you some small degree of power over me, as now you know the reasons behind what I say and do. You know my motivations and can easily predict which way I'm going to react, most of the time. I've placed an amount of trust in you that I wouldn't normally give to anyone not from this realm."

"Why?" The obvious question blurted out of Aaron's lips, even though he now knew enough to guess at the answer.

Falon ticked off her fingertips as she listed the reasons. "Because you wouldn't listen to me otherwise, and you'd keep hitting that thick head of yours against a brick wall. Because I think you'll be an alright guy, once we scrub the stupid out of you. Because I want you to succeed, as dumb as that sounds, and I wish for Ming Xiu to have a happy ending, even if it's through you. And because you were really getting on my nerves with all of your self-pity, and I wanted to show you how damn easy you've had it."

Well, that was honest enough. He did stand up now, albeit not abruptly. If she was going to go back to throwing jabs at him, he could go back to not caring about being a little rude. Putting thought to non-action, he did not offer a hand for her to grab and get up. Besides, he still felt weird about the whole thing, and wanted to keep physical contact to a minimum at the moment.

She got to her feet without a fuss, that damn smile back on her lips. But looking at this woman, he no longer saw the infuriating girl whose pastime seemed to be finding new ways to humiliate him—or rather, he didn't see just that. All the knowledge that she had shared in the blink of an eye sat there at the back of his head, telling him that this was no young girl. This wasn't even a medieval-era Londoner with mere centuries of experience on him. This was an ancient being, older than anything he had ever known, older than he was capable to fathom. And she wasn't even the oldest of them all by far.

Perhaps that capital H that Queg used to refer to them was justified after all. They were no longer human; none of them were. They had gone beyond that, becoming something greater, something more ... permanent.

He would become one of them, eventually. Maybe he already was. It was a disturbing thought.

"So ... I guess we're friends now?" he asked, if only to break the silence.

Falon burst out laughing at that. Oh, how she laughed, as if it was the most ridiculous idea she had heard in a long time. What had he been thinking? She was as infuriating as ever.

"Ancient skies, perish the thought!" she said in a voice that still shook with mirth. "Yer a child to me, Gretchen. Come back when you've got a couple portents in you, and maybe then we'll talk."

"But you just said—"

"You can tell when a kid's gonna grow up to be a decent person," she cut into his protest the way they were all so fond of doing. "You give this kid the best education you can, so they can fulfill their potential—and that's what I'm doing with ya. But how many kids did you befriend in your adult life? I can't think of you as an equal; yer a five year old, puffin' up his chest and claiming to be a grown-up." She dulled the edge of her sharp tone just a little. "It's really nothing personal, all teasing aside."

She certainly knew how to make a man feel important. Even then, he no longer felt the urge to stab her after every one of her sentences. Even if she had a penchant for taking bluntness into scathing territory, she was simply telling him the truth. Alexandra had always appreciated that; maybe he should start doing the same.

"Thank you for being honest with me." He did have to say it through gritted teeth. You couldn't build Rome in a day.

"Oh, I like that kind of answer much better. Yer growing up already, I'm so proud of you!" She went as far as messing up his hair with her hand as if he was some precocious tyke.

Ugh! He should have known that it wouldn't be so easy to stop the constant mockery. He did feel that it wasn't as mean-spirited as before, thankfully.

She carried on, "You know, some people say that we become somebody else here, but they're wrong. In truth, we become who we really are, who we should be. Who's the real Falon? The sick and beaten farm girl, or the one that's talking to you? I'm pretty sure of the answer to that one.

"You get to choose now, Gretchen. You get to forge exactly who you are, and that alone is enough to love—"

She abruptly interrupted her lecture to focus on something behind Aaron, off in the distance. He turned around to follow her gaze, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary; the usual packed-dirt road encircling the compound, the mismatched walls leading to one habitat or another, the odd dome here and there rising above the walls. The green and blue valley, making its way up the slope, surrounded by cliff walls and narrowing down to the enormous mountain where the interface with the Pathways could be found.

He looked back at her. She was tilting her head to one side, like a dog trying to figure out whether it had heard something worth investigating.

"Our new friend is back," she declared after a few more seconds. "I have to ask Ming Xiu to make her touch a bit more potent. What's the point in having a Risen if you can't tell for sure where it's at?"

Ah. Queg Thousand Rivers, Human hand, Risen extraordinaire. Aaron still didn't know which part of Queg's new status was supposed to be a reward.

An aerial sentry was already plummeting from the sky, zooming toward the Crescent compound, no doubt on its way to Santana's location. It was a redundant system when it came to visits from Sentients or their Risen minions, but Aaron figured that if there was one thing worthy of redundancy, safety measures would be it.

"He'll be going with you. He's as good as it gets with navigation, and since yer so intent on checking the census, Ming Xiu will want to at least get both of you on it in one go."

"Oh. Didn't know you had to register the, um ... Risen." He'd almost said "slaves." That wouldn't have gone over well.

"I'm gonna go meet with him, hear the news, pat him in the back." She looked at Aaron with eyes full of mischief. "You keep asking for a challenge, lover boy. Race ya to the top? Let's see how far you can push that fancy flying trick of yours. I'll break every rule there is and give you the biggest information dump of your life, if you beat me."

He eyed her with suspicion. "And that's it? What do I have to do if you win?"

"You'll stop being such a whiny bitch, naturally. C'mon, time's a'wastin'."

He didn't have to consider it for long. How much faster than him could she be? If he pushed himself hard enough and got everything right, he would have a chance. Falon couldn't manage flight at all, for some reason. Apparently, you could be great at some things while only passable at others. There were things that you might not be able to do at all. Discovering one's potential was an on-going process that was heavily emphasized during early training.

"You've got a deal. But you can't change—"

He could have finished his sentence, but there was no-one there to hear the end of it. Falon Trestail had already taken off, running up one of the wheel-spoke roads away from the complex. And she was running, a trail of turbulent mist chasing in her wake.

That's cheating!

He reached out to the weave of gravitational pull all around him and gave it the hardest shove he could, in a straight line at about a sixty degree angle from the ground, pointed in the direction to the Pathways entrance. The compound grounds lurched away from his feet at a vertiginous speed, and soon he could see all of its pristine white architecture; it was all gentle domes and sinuous lines, oval windows and slanted walls, shrinking at a rate that couldn't be healthy. He was pretty certain that he would have thrown up right about then, if he'd still been able to.

He reached the zenith of a hundred-foot jump, scrambled to acquaint himself with the texture of his surroundings, braced himself and gave another massive push toward his destination. His traveling speed picked up even more, the land rushing below him in a way that was a mixture of exhilarating and terrifying. He exhorted himself to forget about that and concentrate on what he was trying to do. He still had a chance; Falon wouldn't be able to simply cut across like the slightly incompetent bird that he could be. She would have to zig-zag to cross rivers and follow roads and ....

He caught a glimpse of her, far in the distance below and ahead of him. She was a formless blur, leaping from location to location like a crazed speed demon, flying over the scenery as if it wasn't even there. There was an impossible grace to it, a fantastic level of speed and precision that was unlike anything he had seen so far. It was as if everyone had been holding back for his benefit up until then, and only now had he been allowed to witness a display of unrestrained power.

She was almost halfway there, when he had only started. There was absolutely no way he could catch up to her and, of course, Falon had known as much before they'd begun.

He felt like Wile E. Coyote, trying to catch that absurdly elusive road runner. All the same, he struggled to make his way to the top without making any mistakes.

He'd get there, eventually.

________

Ming Xiu said her good-byes like a store manager taking off for the day. Which, Aaron figured, wasn't all that far from the truth. The entire population of the Crescent Valley—all five of them, along with Queg and Aaron—stood at the entrance of the cave that would lead the travelers into the Pathways.

"I want our new additions to be comfortable in their new home by the time I come back, Jed. Be very strict with acclimatization this time around. Use strong force if you have to, although they should not be a great hassle." The man with the bushiest beard Aaron had ever been close to nodded succintly. He wasn't much for words, and those few he had said to Aaron weren't friendly. But that beard! Seriously mighty. Godly, even. He could do nothing but gawk any time the man was around.

"Falon, do think of a name for them, will you?" Ming Xiu reached over and fixed a collar that didn't need fixing, possibly without even realizing it. They truly had a mother-daughter dynamic going, apparently. "Get with Rama and find a proper one. Diego's unfortunate 'sextapodasaurus' just won't do."

"I thought it quaint," the man said, a beatific smile on his lips. "They do look like dinosaurs, a bit. But I'm sure we can come up with something better; it's been a while since a new species turned up."

Falon said something in Mandarin that Aaron couldn't understand. She did not look very happy.

Neither did Ming Xiu. "You well know I will deal with any danger expediently enough, remote as the possibility of danger is. Stop making faces."

Falon Trestail made another face. Aaron enjoyed that exchange quite a bit. He didn't know why she was so upset to see them leave now, when she hadn't seemed to care much about it in the past, but it served her right for being such a snot.

The cherry-haired woman was staring at him now. She shot a wary glance at Ming Xiu before speaking. "If you make trouble for her, Gretchen, I will find you." It did not sound like an offer to lend help at all.

Aaron smiled his most innocent smile, which did nothing to soften her glare. Quite the opposite, actually. It felt good to be on the infuriating side, for a change.

Ming Xiu continued relaying last minute instructions, and Aaron tried to listen to it instead of marveling at that hirsute work of art that hung portentously on Jeb Habrim's face. "Rama, I would be thankful if you check on the islands while I am gone. Make sure the farstalks are not tipping the vegetation balance again over at Verdura, and the tremors keep to specified levels on Feral Crag, along with the routine survey. I was going to do it personally, but plans have changed," she glanced at Aaron meaningfully, "and I will be away for too long to leave it for when I get back."

"No need to worry, Ming Xiu. It will be as you ask," Rama Dhanawade said with a slight bow, her obsidian braid swaying with her movement. Everything was gracious about the copper-skinned woman, from an easy smile that always seemed to understand to the way she would not cut into your sentences like everybody else around here. Even the sway of that lustrous braid, just as tall as she was—which admittedly wasn't much—had an agreeable quality to it. She was always busy doing one thing or another somewhere in the realm, though, and had only taken part in a few of Aaron's mostly fruitless self-searching sessions. As far as he understood, she spent all of her time elbow-deep in denizen dung and loving every moment of it; taking care of all these creatures was a religion for her, one she was entirely devoted to.

Ming Xiu smiled at her crew, a sense of pride showing on her features. "I know you are all aware of your tasks and responsibilities, and there's no real need for me to remind you. I don't plan to stay outside any longer than I have to. I must say, every time it gets a little harder to leave, even if it is not to be for long. This realm has truly become our home, and it couldn't have happened without you."

Everyone kept a respectful silence for a moment, looking pleased. The stately woman nodded in satisfaction, then glanced at Aaron. "Let us depart." She turned back to her people, and touched her index and middle finger to her heart in a formal-looking salute. "The Unbound honor and guard you. Stay vigilant."

"The Unbound watch your path," they responded in a disorganized chorus, mirroring her salute.

These people take themselves way too seriously.

And there was (or were) the Unbound again. What an inexhaustible source of frustration the Unbound was (or were). While most of his questions got deflected or postponed in some way or another, questions about the nature of humanity's supreme leadership were always met with an unyielding stone wall. They (or he, or it) clearly pervaded humanity's culture, behavior and language patterns; what was the point in being so secretive about it (or them)? There was a degree of zeal around it all that he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

Aaron had a faint suspicion that this whole farewell scene might have been mostly for his benefit. He wondered whether he was expected to mimic their serious saluting thing, but in the end he limited his goodbye to a self-conscious wave, well aware that he was the reason for their beloved leader's impending absence.

"See you guys soon, I hope!" he said, feeling slightly inadequate.

He got a friendly wave from both Diego and Rama, a stiff nod from Falon, and a solemn "May your steps cast a shadow" from Jeb, of all people. They had the weirdest sayings. At least they didn't look overjoyed to see him go, although perhaps they would've been, if he had left by himself.

Ming Xiu was already walking, with Queg leading the way. After one last "please don't hate me" smile, he turned around to follow.

He could still feel Falon's glower boring into his neck well after he had started on his path.

________

Queg hovered ahead, and they walked in silence through the tunnel out of Thousand Rivers, the familiar colors of flesh slowly taking over the greens and browns, like angry slashes in the pleasant earthy hues. It felt like years had passed since he had first emerged from it, full of hopeful unease and just a hint of dread.

It might have been years, for all he knew. Time was a fickle thing in Thousand Rivers, and presumably it was the same everywhere. There was no way to keep track of it, other than by referring to past events. There was "before we met" and "after we met," but no "three days ago." Lengths of time grew vague after a span of twenty hours or so. If he'd been asked how long he had spent in the realm, he would have estimated it must have been about one month or four or seven, more or less. Or just a few weeks.

Thinking in terms of days, weeks and months was quickly becoming an impossible task altogether, with the lack of natural cycles or periodic changes to keep track of. Timekeeping devices were a physical impossibility in the afterlife, according to Santana. When he had pressed for reasons why, Diego had ultimately admitted ignorance, although he remained adamant on the immutability of the fact. Aaron was skeptical; there were flowing rivers of pseudo-water running all through the realm, but a water clock was impossible? Just build a giant mill with a system of gears that would use the flow to rotate a set of slow-turning dials, which would have a clock-like display under it. Problem solved! They didn't even have to be real seconds, just make up a new standard and stick with it. He planned to look into the matter as soon as he settled down somewhere with Alexandra.

Another step, and Aaron felt his body become heavier. He looked around absent-mindedly. They had passed into the Pathways proper, and he could see Queg floating a little closer to the ground.

How long will this take, anyway? He was a little ashamed to realize that he hadn't bothered to learn what the trip to the census would entail.

"You sounded back there like it would be a long trip," he said while looking in Ming Xiu's direction. She walked at arm's length to his side, in her usual dignified fashion. She wore a simple cream-colored dress cut for easy travel, its long sleeves and throat-snug neckline adding to that stately aura of hers. Tall, thin leather boots, laced up to beneath the knee, peeked under her long skirt with every step. He felt rather drab in comparison, with his dark gray T-shirt, loose pants and worn sneakers.

"It will be, if nothing has changed," she responded. Aaron waited for her to continue, but she was done, apparently.

"Are you saying, like, days?" he prodded. Then he blushed a bit at her amused glance. "You know what I mean." Earth's cycles were still deeply ingrained in his head, and apparently they would be for a long time to come. Ming Xiu had existed so long without them that they had become all but meaningless to her.

"It's an eleven hundred and seventy seven kilometer trip on surface, last I knew. Even if there have been shifts in the Pathways since then—and I'm certain that's the case—we will be covering a great distance, regardless. Rearrangements in the ways are common, but large-scale shifts are much more rare."

Almost twelve hundred! He did a few numbers in his head. Walking at six kilometers per hour—a rather brisk pace—would bring them close to ten days of straight walking, without stops. "Please tell me we won't be traveling on foot."

Ming Xiu smiled patiently, still looking straight ahead. "Well, that will depend on you, won't it? We'll find out about that as soon as we reach the exit. Don't try anything until then."

Aaron didn't know what she was referring to, but decided to leave it at that. He knew better than to press for more information by now. Instead, he went back to something else she had said. "So I guess metric managed to take over universally, huh?"

She glanced over in askance. "Beg you pardon?"

"You know, kilometers versus miles? I always found imperial entirely senseless."

It was strange to see Ming Xiu's puzzled expression. It was like a contrite banker or a smiling postal worker: such an uncommon occurrence that it felt as if her face wasn't built for it.

It vanished soon enough with the dawn of understanding. "Falon did explain this to you, yes?" she asked.

It was Aaron's turn to look confused. "The official system to measure distance? I don't think it ever came up."

She was shaking her head. "No, no. Communication? Ideas and concepts that transcend language?"

"But ...." This is different, it's a numeric value, he almost said. But the similar conversation he'd had with Falon Trestail popped in his head, cutting the rest of his protest. If even idioms made it past the language barrier without a hitch, what was to stop different magnitude standards?

"What do you use to measure distance?" he asked, growing curious.

Her expression was that of a mother indulging her overbearing child. "One chi is almost exactly one foot. One bù is five chi, or one and a half meters. One lì is three hundred bù, just under half a kilometer. I understand modern units square off better with the metric system, but you'll excuse me if I cling to Ming dynasty standards when I can."

"So if now I can hear—wait, wait." Ming Xiu. He stopped walking, blinking in disbelief. Ming Xiu. Ming dynasty. She was looking back at him now, those very dark, very Chinese eyes peeking curiously over her shoulder. His jaw dropped. "Are you ... royalty?"

She turned to face him and halted her advance, her expression blank. Then she spoke in a sorrowful monotone. "It always comes up, eventually," she sighed. "Might as well get the story out of the way.

"I was daughter to the last Ming emperor. It was a challenging childhood, although I suppose I had it better than most. It was all cut short when the rebels attacked. In his despair at the collapse of our dynasty, father went on a rampage. He murdered my younger sister in front of my eyes. I was lucky; I only lost an arm to his madness." As she said this, her left arm rippled and vanished almost all the way up to the shoulder, her sleeve rolling up and wrapping itself around the stump.

"I survived, barely. I was married off by the new emperor, but I wouldn't have it. I arranged for my disappearance a year later, and became a nun, a warrior nun that would go on to lead the resistance against him. I hear they wrote songs about me." She looked him in the eye, pride filling her features. "Nothing more than I deserved. I died years later, in the glory of battle, doing what my father had been too weak to do. And I was good at it."

Aaron's eyes were as big as saucers by now. What do you say to a story like that?

"Holy crap," he whispered. It sounded appropriate enough.

It made so much sense, now. That ever-present dignity, that almost preternatural grace; she had been trained for it since early childhood. He had felt inadequate before, but now it definitely—

It was only a few more seconds before her laughter started, a good-natured sound that contrasted sharply with Falon's mocking crows. It lasted for quite a while, her shoulders shaking under Aaron's confused stare. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," she was saying between giggles, one hand reaching out to him, the other—suddenly there once more—over her mouth as she tried to restrain herself. "It never gets old."

"Uh. You were ... kidding, I guess?" Aaron smiled with uncertainty, as he still didn't know what to think.

She closed the few paces between them so she could pat him in the shoulder. "Come, let's keep on going." She gently pulled at his elbow so he would resume his walk. "I hope you'll forgive my little indulgence. If it makes you feel better, both Rama and Diego swallowed it up whole, as well. Falon was too ignorant to get it, at the time—or rather, she wasn't the appropriate kind of ignorant."

It did make him feel better, especially the last part. She continued, "'Ming' is a common name in China. I did live during the Ming dynasty, but I certainly wasn't nobly born. I did join the army, and I did die in battle. I was accomplished with both sword and bow, and back then you would sooner catch the Moon than get me off the back of my horse."

After being the victim of one tall tale, he wasn't about to fall for it again without at least some suspicion. "You are being serious now, right?"

She nodded, a cheery twinkle still in her eyes.

Aaron figured that he might as well believe it. He was a newbie, he was supposed to be gullible. "So you were a female soldier? I thought women were terribly repressed back then."

"A common belief, and true all to often, particularly in my time. I was fortunate to grow up in unorthodox circumstances, and was taught well enough to choose my own fate. I'm sure you can imagine that it wasn't easy, but I've always felt that none of it would have been as bad as a pair of bound feet. And if I knew then what I know now ...." She left the thought unfinished, dismissing it with a shake of her head and a gesture of her hand. "But it was not as bad as you might think, through the rest of history. Many women were educated and held positions of power, although most did so through their husbands. There were entire companies composed of female warriors, once. And many women were well versed in martial arts, as well."

"Oh," Aaron said. A brief silence stretched while he racked his brains for something even remotely intelligent to add, a witty comment to make, but nothing came to mind.

I'm such a great conversationalist. He suspected it was an exclusively female skill, to be able to come up with the right thing to say at every turn. Falon certainly didn't seem to have a problem doing it, and Alexandra was a word surgeon when it came to getting the upper hand in an argument—especially if it was him that had done something stupid to deserve it. He still wondered how did she do it.

"Sometimes I feel like the only reason I exist is for women to make fun of me," he finally said out loud. It was meant as a joke, but it carried enough truth with it to make it a fairly honest statement.

"That's alright, Aaron," she said, perfectly serious. "That's the case for all men."

He chuckled despite himself, and looked ahead at the exit of the tunnel, only about eighty meters away. Queg was already outside, presumably scouting the area. Aaron had wanted to catch up to him and ask a few questions, but the former Remoran had stayed well ahead of them. He had been rather taciturn since his return from the trip to his homeland, even though he claimed that everything had gone as well as he had expected. Well, perhaps he hadn't expected it to go all that smoothly in the first place. Or perhaps it was simple Risen circumspection, like a rowdy private becoming a disciplined corporal after promotion. He knew so little on the matter that a random guess was as good as any.

They emerged from the tunnel at last and onto the large platform that served as a lobby of sorts to the realm. The two pairs of huge sentries were still there, of course, in all of their mind-bending awfulness. Queg was indeed hovering all around the perimeter, making sure no surprises would come upon his human charges. The mild mannered creature would have never struck Aaron as bodyguard material, but by the look of things Queg wouldn't hesitate to be the first line of defense, should anything happen.

Aaron had thought that being close to the sentries wouldn't be as bad anymore, now that he had mostly gotten his bearings and was no longer floundering in the dark. He'd been sorely mistaken. Those blue flames inside their eye sockets were already following his every move, and it was the creepiest feeling in the whole damn world.

He peeled his slightly-wider-than-normal eyes off the Scare-A-Tron 3000 and looked over at his traveling companion, who was standing in the middle of the platform waiting for Queg to approach.

"Ming Xiu, I have to ask—"

"Of course you do," she interjected with a smirk, a comment which Aaron dutifully glossed over.

"Well, I'm just wondering, aren't they a little ... excessive?" His upturned palm was gesturing at the sentries. "I mean, it doesn't cast you in a very inviting light."

Ming Xiu explained as if her answer should have been obvious. "That's their purpose, Aaron. Reputation is a powerful asset. Anyone that comes to our door is reminded that Humans are not to be trifled with."

We're definitely not reputed for our subtlety, that's for sure, he thought while looking back at the towering nightmares. The message represented by the sentries took "blunt" to new and exciting extremes.

"That's what I'm getting at," he responded. "I'd have never come close to these monsters if Queg hadn't been there to goad me. Doesn't this kind of thing drive stranded newborns away, when they might have otherwise walked into your realm?"

She casually walked over to one of the sentries, its flaming eyes ominously drilling into her as she approached. She patted its spiked elbow plate as if it was a tame pooch. "I thought Falon had beaten into you just how rare a 'stranded newborn' is, but I don't think she succeeded." She leaned against the construct with not a care in the world. The Beauty and the Beastly Abomination, Aaron thought with thinly veiled dismay.

Ming Xiu went on, "New recruits are precious, and that is why the Protocol exists, along with the Truce of the Pathways and the severe measures taken to enforce it. But preserving what we already have has been deemed even more important. The chance of hostiles approaching Human domains in search of weakness is much, much greater than ignorant friendlies stumbling upon our doors. Also, traffic is not uncommon around more populated realms, which renders the point moot. Lastly, they also serve to scare other Sentients' fledgelings away—which are much more numerous. It's almost a gesture of good faith to do so, as opposed to letting them walk in and be promptly severed."

Promptly severed. It hadn't been put in such explicit terms before, but it wasn't the first comment along those lines that Aaron had heard. Intelligent beings, murdered right away simply because they weren't human. The casual, matter-of-fact way in which she had said it made his skin crawl. "You're telling me that all aliens are killed on sight? No exceptions? Humans have absolutely no friends at all?"

She was shaking her head already. She seemed to do that quite often while talking to him. "There used to be, in the times before the one hundred and twenty-third portent. We have learned much since then. Too many betrayals, too many enemies made."

"So now we kill everyone?" He couldn't keep a hint of disgust from his voice. "You can't expect me to believe that every other civilization in the Universe deserves that kind of treatment."

Her expression hardened to a stern look. "You lack the knowledge and perspective to engage these matters properly. You are quick to jump to judgments that stem from ignorance and Earthly bravado. It is not your fault, and I understand that. We will discuss this no further."

Aaron pressed his lips together in frustration, exhaling a deep breath through his nose. Then he nodded at her. It was a fine line to walk between pushing for answers and being an impertinent nuisance, and likely he had just crossed it.

Speaking of questions, he decided the best course of action was to ask a different one. He had been anxious to get going at first, but now that he knew the distance they'd be traveling, he figured that a few more minutes of possibly useful trivia wouldn't make much of a difference.

"So how do you control these things, anyway?"

Ming Xiu glanced up at the creepy monster through the corner of her eye, and there was that familiar note of amusement in her voice again. "Control? But my dear Aaron, there's nothing to control." She rapped her knuckles against a metallic pectoral plate—she was too short to reach the head of the thing. "They're as empty inside as the skies above. Or as good as."

Queg had finished his patrol, or scouting rounds, or whatever it was that he'd been doing, and was now hovering politely to her side. He'd been simply waiting for the conversation to finish, but now he seemed to take an active interest in it.

For his part, Aaron was confused. He was quite used to this state of mind by now, and it didn't rankle him nearly as much as it had in the beginning. "But ... they granted us passage. And they reported our arrival."

"Did they? I had you pegged as a bit of a scientist, Aaron. What evidence did you see of this alleged report?"

Evidence? Was he supposed to gather evidence to back his every thought now? "Well, Queg talked to them, and after a pause they let us in. I just assumed ...."

As if they'd gotten their cue, every one of the constructs bowed their heads and arched their shields outward, performing the same motion that they had carried out in the past.

"Um, just like that, yes. How'd you do it?"

She gave a soft laugh. "It's all them, Aaron. They track movement, and when something is stationary for long enough, they do what they just did. They are but elaborate scarecrows."

"But ... the way they stare."

The comment was a series of lights and hums, but its meaning was clear as crystal in Aaron's mind. Both humans turned to look at Queg, who looked like a kid that had just found out how Christmas really works and didn't know just yet whether to laugh or cry about it.

The dark-haired woman was looking at him with empathy in her eyes. Aaron wondered what kind of impression did a stare leave on a creature with no eyes to appreciate it in the traditional way.

"I understand your dismay, friend," she was saying. "Diego and I created these together, with some help. Cross-realm communication is not possible in this manner, and self-powered intelligent constructs are a thing of fantasy. Our enemies do not know that we don't have such powers, of course. But now you do."

Smoke and mirrors. Is this what Humanity relied on to stay on top? Intimidation and deception? A pretense of arcane power?

Not so different from Earth, really.

Queg floated up and down and around the enormous sentries, as if viewing them in a new light. They adopted their neutral position once more as he circled them.

"Clever," was all he said. It was both admiration and disillusion. Santa might not magically get down the chimney and leave presents all over the place, and to believe that in the first place had been kind of stupid, anyway. On the other hand, it was one heck of a feat to uphold such an elaborate lie for so long.

Something didn't jibe with Aaron, however. It just wasn't consistent with what he had learned so far. "You can't make a simple clock, but you are able to create an automaton? Where does it even get its energy from? Does it run on triple A's?"

Ming Xiu's eyebrows shot up briefly, and for a moment Aaron thought he was going to get chewed out for being a smart-ass. Then she smiled her mysterious, wouldn't-you-wish-to-know smile.

"Yes, you could say that, I suppose. But we've dallied for long enough, let's leave this matter for a different time." She stopped leaning against the thing and took a step toward him, assuming a more serious demeanor. Trivia time was over. "Go ahead and reach out to the weave. See if you can feel the waves here."

"There's a reason why I shouldn't be able to?" he asked, a bit surprised.

"Go ahead and try. You'll see."

Aaron did as he was told, concerns about smart almost-machines put aside for a later that would probably never come. He quested out with the tendrils of his mind, feeling for the same pattern that he had found hundreds, maybe thousands of times by now back in Thousand Rivers. What he encountered this time was nothing like it.

It was a mess. Everything was jumbled up in an amalgam of ... something, a tangle of unknown qualities and properties intertwining in a maze that he couldn't begin to unravel.

He frowned in concentration. This was supposed to be his thing, the one thing that he was good at. It had to be there, there had to be some sort of downward slant to the shape of space, and it would have to be more steep here, since the pull of gravity was noticeably stronger in the Pathways. He cast his senses farther, trying to get a more general feel of the shapes and patterns, the wavelengths and amplitudes. It was like cataloguing blades of grass in a jungle.

The pain that came with his efforts was a dull ache in the back of his head that was easy to ignore. What he was looking for was within his reach, he was sure of it.

He thought he found it. There was a certain regularity to it, and he thought he could sense the familiar slope that pushed downwards. But it was not isolated and well defined and easily malleable like it had been in Thousand Rivers. The pattern rode on top of other ... things, whatever they might be, and at the same time it was incorporated as part of a bigger whole. Maybe there was a way to separate it and make use of it. If only his head didn't hurt so much. Maybe if he touched from this one angle, push it just so ....

"Aaron." Ming Xiu's voice shattered his concentration, and the whole deck of cards collapsed all around him. She had inched closer to him, and concern shaped her features. She was peering into his eyes, and by the look of it she did not like what she saw.

He had the impression that a long time had passed, even if there was no real way to tell. How long had he been just standing there, staring into nothing?

"I almost had it," he told her, letting a small hint of irritation show. "I think."

She was back to her "stern admonition" face. "You were spreading too thin—you became translucent. You are not ready for that. I've told you to stop immediately any time you experience head pains. How difficult is it to follow such a simple, intuitive rule?"

"But ... if I can do it, doesn't that mean I'm ready for it?" He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he said it.

Sure enough, her eyes narrowed to thin slits, to the point that all he could see in them were ominous pools of blackness. "Back on Earth, you could drive a knife between your ribs at any time you wanted. Surely that means you would have been fine afterwards, yes?"

I really should stop fighting them on this. I'm not ever going to win.

She continued, "I'm starting to give credit to Falon's opinion that behind all the politeness and the insecure stammering, you are as stubborn as they come. Let me repeat it to you in terms you can understand: you are a child running with scissors, Aaron. A dog biting at the beehive. A buffoon juggling with fire while blindfolded. Self-harm is the number one cause of secured Human scattering—it has been since the four hundred and twenty-seventh portent. And the great majority of it happens to foolish newborns like you that refuse to follow the protocol, because they're too impatient to realize that hurrying will get you nowhere that much faster."

Aaron felt like he was in fourth grade again, and he'd just broken the class' DVD player because he kept jamming his fingers in there to peek at what was inside.

The proud man in him—or maybe the sullen teenager—wanted to talk back, get angry and frustrated and maybe yell a little. They were all so high and mighty, they could use some getting yelled at for a change.

Instead, he spoke in a timid voice. "Maybe I don't need to hear it in terms I'll understand. Maybe you could tell me the exact reason why it's not safe." After a small pause without a rebuke, he felt adventurous enough to add, "you have to admit, it's all very vague from my standpoint."

He had quite a few good guesses by now as to why it might not be safe. Just like when Falon had hit him with a wall of information, there were things that his mind was not intrinsically built to deal with. It was used to certain processes, attached to certain ways of working that might be entirely incompatible with what he was trying to accomplish. It stood to reason that forcing it to do too much too fast would prove harmful to it, like a microprocessor overclocked too far or given a task too complex for it to handle.

But unlike a computer processor, the mind had a certain plasticity to it. It would be able to adapt and expand, when guided the right way. And apparently, the protocol—which they wouldn't even outline for him—was the only right way, much to his chagrin.

Ming Xiu's features had softened, but there was still a hard edge to her voice. "It is indeed vague, and intentionally so. While the knowledge in itself is mostly harmless, it can potentially lead to dangerous chains of thought. It's even more dangerous for smart individuals like you, because you might draw perfectly logical conclusions that turn out to be erroneous, at best," she made a brief pause for dramatic effect, "and fatal at worst."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Fatal. As in, I could die from believing the wrong thing." There he was again, doubting her word. He was going to get scolded twice in a row.

She chafed at an entirely different issue, though. "Boundless grace, Aaron. At least understand this much: you're already dead. You truly ought to purge the concept of live Sentients off your lexicon. The denizens live. The Sentients exist; they are. You might find this difference a matter of semantics, and I know it sounds like a trivial distinction to you—it is that way for everyone, to begin with.

"But it is important." She clasped her hands behind her back, like a haughty teacher lecturing the class. "It is the difference between chimps and humans. Between plant life and mammals. Between a small village in the middle of nowhere and a sprawling galactic empire. If nothing else, keep it in mind just so you don't get odd looks from your fellow Humans; we'll be meeting with quite a few, and I would prefer that you embarrassed me as little as possible. It will already look bad enough to be bringing you as uneducated as you are."

Aaron glanced at Queg through the corner of his eye. If he had taken offense to any of her less-than-flattering examples, he was careful not to show it. He simply hovered in place, waiting as usual for the Humans to be done talking. If anything, Queg seemed to agree with everything the woman had just said.

"I, uh ... I'll be more careful," Aaron told her. "Sorry."

She kept studying him for a moment, perhaps looking for a sign that he truly understood, for once. Aaron couldn't tell whether there was satisfaction or resignation on her face once she dropped her stare.

He tried not to show his disappointment, lest she accuse him of sulking again. This conversation had been just like all the others, in the end—albeit a bit more blunt than usual, by Ming Xiu's standards. It boiled down to a lot of words thrown around, a lot of warnings and reminders of his utter incompetence, a few interesting tidbits of information ... and nothing substantial, nothing he could put to good use in his search for Alexandra. With all the scolding, he had even forgotten to ask why the texture of space was so different here.

"Well then," she said with a throaty sigh. "It looks like you won't be flying there after all. We will resort to different means."

"I'm sure I can get it right, if you let me try a bit longer—"

The glower she fixed him with nipped his suggestion in the bud. He changed what he was saying mid-sentence. "Sooo, what is it about the Pathways, that I can't figure out gravity here?"

The switch seemed to do its job. At least it made her smile. "The Pathways are one of a kind, that we know of. The structure of its weave is the most elaborate ever found—which makes sense, considering its properties. They're also endemic to Eternal, also as far as we know, while Thousand Rivers is human-made. It's like the difference between technology and nature: technology is structured, directed to a purpose, clean and defined, no matter how complex. Nature is messy and cryptic, ordered chaos, simple principles piled up and combined in fantastic ways to work better than technology ever could. Many regard the Pathways as the largest denizen of Eternal, and we walk its twisting bowels unawares of its outside appearance. Poetic, but hardly credible, don't you think?"

"Wait, wait." He was still stuck at the start of her speech. "Thousand Rivers is man-made. Humans can build entire realms." It wasn't as much a question directed at her as it was an effort to establish facts in his own head.

"Not everyone," she responded, casually dismissing the topic with a wave of her hand. "And not easily." She turned her head toward Queg. "Guide us to the nearest terminal, if you please. Find the quickest path to the Beacon. We will follow."

"Surface path?" was all he asked.

"It makes no difference."

The former Remoran took off without further inquiries, floating upward and to one side of the platform, heading straight to a ledge jutting out some hundred meters away. His gravity gland lit up considerably as he ascended.

Ming Xiu looked back at Aaron, her lips pursed slightly. "I was hoping to avoid having to carry you, but what can you do."

"I could flap my arms and take off after him, if you want," was his deadpan suggestion. He fervently hoped she did not intend to haul him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He didn't think he could stop her from doing so, if she were to try.

"If only it were that easy." She took a few steps away from the sentries and toward the center of the plateau. Mist fluttered all around her as she walked, as if she had stepped out of a sauna and into a cold winter evening. In the time it had taken her to advance three steps, the lazy dance of smoke had intensified, sped up and brightened as it swirled across her frame, and her entire body took on a fuzzy blurring-of-edges that made it look as though she was blending in with the background.

The mist curled away from her and toward a spot on the ground, gathering faster than the eye could follow about two meters in front of her. She kept on walking, and there were no dramatic gestures, no hand movements or grandiose displays as the scattered haze coalesced with a flash of luminescence into a raised platform, a podium of sorts. She stepped onto it just as its surface was becoming solid.

The thing was a work of art. The platform where she stood was shaped as a disk, meter and a half in diameter. All around it, countless spiraling, flame-mimicking glass ornaments curled and entwined one on top of the other, forming an arched wall of glossy white-green fire that went up to her waist and served as a railing to hold on to. It curved down in pleasant lines toward the back of the disk, where passengers may step onto it. Five short, sinuous legs, spaced to match the vertices of a pentagon, smoothly came out of the side of the frame and held it aloft about a foot from the ground.

Ming Xiu looked back at him, eyebrows slightly arched up, lips almost smiling in an expression that said "you may be impressed but this is effortless for me."

"Hurry up and step in," she said. "Let's not make Queg wait any longer than necessary."

Aaron closed the distance that separated them with hesitant steps, all the while gawking at the intricate patterns of flame-like sculpted glass. The whole structure was reminiscent of the piece he had seen her work on before. Quite similar, in fact, but on a grander scale.

He stepped onto the platform with studied care. He'd probably get smacked upside the head if he broke anything. "I guess this is your ... signature style?" he asked while gesturing at the elegant shapes that surrounded them.

Her smile broadened with a bit of pride, a little self-consciousness. "You could say that, yes. Most mistshapers will have one of their own." She ran appreciative fingertips across the surface of the artful railing. "I find it most pleasing. Do you not?"

They hadn't stood so close before, and Aaron noticed while she spoke that she was one of those people with exceptionally sharp canines. Not long enough to be called fangs, of course, but sufficiently pointed to lend a hint of ferocity to any expression that bared her teeth. He had a feeling that he would find it distracting from now on.

"It's beautiful," he responded a bit belatedly. He felt awkward in such close proximity, like the time Mrs. Tremmel, his high school History teacher, had given him a ride home on a rainy day. He'd been fidgeting the entire trip, uncomfortable in a way that only a teenage boy could feel. He tried to put it out of his mind in the best way he knew: by asking more questions. "So you could've done this from the start? Why have me fumble with the gravity issue for so long, then?" He made sure that his tone wasn't disapproving. He was simply curious.

"It takes considerably more effort to travel in this manner, Aaron. Particularly with a passenger." She rested her hands on the frame of the platform, closing her eyes. "A non-trivial amount of concentration that I'd rather not commit while traveling the Pathways, truce or no truce." Without as much as a warning, the whole thing lifted off the ground in a smooth, soundless motion. Aaron held on to the faux-glass railing, hoping it wouldn't break under the strain—which was a nonsensical concern, his rational mind told him, since Ming Xiu wouldn't have created a brittle transport for them to use.

"Also, I had hoped for a relaxing journey." She was smiling, ensuring her words weren't interpreted as serious reproach. "You can't fault a girl for wanting to be lazy now and then."

Aaron would have normally had some banter to respond with, but he remained silent this time. He was watching the ground shrink beneath his feet. He hadn't noticed until now that the disk they stood on was translucent, and through it he could see the unending depth of the Pathways sprawling farther and farther down there. If he hadn't been accustomed to heights by now, he would have been gripping the rail with desperately clenched fists.

They continued ascending, heading toward the ledge behind which Queg had disappeared a moment ago. Falon was able to sense the Risen at great distances, and presumably so could Ming Xiu, and everyone else. Yet Aaron could perceive nothing of the sort, and only got the faintest feeling of presence coming from the woman right next to him—much less noticeable than when he had first perceived it back in Thousand Rivers, even if now she was standing not one handspan away. Apparently the Pathways had a way of muddling his senses, somehow.

"You don't really need Queg to guide you, do you?" he asked. "That's laziness too." They were picking up speed, and they had almost reached the ledge.

Ming Xiu nodded good-naturedly. "For the most part, yes. Why perform menial tasks that others under your command are well equipped to handle?" she said with a small shrug. "The Fourteenth are excellent navigators. He will do as good a job as I could have done, and in doing so he allows me to concentrate on ... other things." She glanced at Aaron, looking pleased. "He's a useful asset. We had already considered taking him as a Human hand even before you showed up. Turning in a newborn made the choice for us."

"You know, he was terrified of you guys before you took him in."

"As well he should," Ming Xiu responded. Aaron had hoped for an explanation, but apparently none was forthcoming.

They crested the ledge, and the view beyond was an impressive sight to behold. He had been taken before by the sheer sense of size inherent to the Pathways, but now it was enough to make him seriously consider for the first time that they might truly be infinite.

The main reason for this was the particular alignment of features in front of him. For a stretch that literally had no end in sight, none of the formations ahead intersected one another. It created an irregular passageway in-between all the platforms and mounds and paths and tunnels, like an uncanny, once-in-a-lifetime alignment of trees in a rainforest that let you see all the way through to the other end. Here, the other end was on the flip side of forever.

And there was Queg, down and to the left, halfway into the mouth of a gargantuan cavern that curved up and away into the flesh of the Pathways. One of his tentacles was firmly wrapped around the one straight stalk in a mass of thick, swaying reeds.

"Well, that doesn't happen often. Impressive, isn't it?"

Aaron glanced at the woman, who was looking straight ahead at the striking scenery. He nodded in agreement.

They hovered there, motionless, admiring the view. Yet Aaron's eyes kept going back to the former Remoran down there.

"What does he even get?" he asked with befuddlement.

"I'm sorry?"

"Queg." Aaron pointed down at him. "He's become your servant, to all effects at your beck and call. What did he get in exchange?"

He didn't want to irritate her again with more questions related to the worth of non-human life, but it was an issue that had bugged him since the very first day—he corrected himself: since his first meeting with the Thousand Rivers folk. He did try to make it sound like he simply didn't understand, but he didn't think he had succeeded in completely ridding his tone of disapproval.

To his relief, Ming Xiu explained without a hint of annoyance. "He's no more a servant than a foot soldier is the servant of his general," she said, looking at the Risen with actual benevolence in her features. "What does he get? A great many things, I should say. Prestige. Relevance. Power." A dramatic pause. She was fond of them. "Immortality."

Aaron couldn't hide his surprise. "You can do that? Make him immortal just by branding him?" And try as he might, he couldn't keep his distaste out of the word.

Her expression oozed patience. "I'm a master mistshaper." Just like when Falon had spoken of her abilities, there was no boasting to her statement. "If I were more ambitious, I would aim to become one of the Boundless—but that's more trouble than it's worth, if you ask me. Anyway, you don't need to know just yet everything that such mastery entails. Suffice to say that yes, I can grant certain denizens these privileges, and they will last for as long as I exist. It's not done lightly, and it's not without its toll."

But of course he didn't need to know. What had he been expecting? Actual, straightforward answers?

"Look," he begun, "don't take this the wrong way, but the whole system seems—"

She put her hands out, shaking her head in a clear deterring gesture. "I can feel where this is going, and I'm not about to argue over slavery, caste systems or denizen rights with you, Aaron. Moderns are notorious for their convictions on these issues when they start learning how things work. Let it be enough for you to know that he hasn't been 'branded;' he is not cattle. I have essentially bestowed a part of me upon him, and the symbol he carries will always distinguish him as one of the privileged. He is a step between a denizen and a Sentient, and that is as much as his kind can ever aspire to." Seeing his protest already forming on his lips, she shot out an admonishing finger that almost jabbed him in the nose. "Save it. Just save it, alright?"

And so he kept quiet, sulking moderately. Perhaps he should be thankful. She hadn't even been upset; just in her usual chastising mother voice.

Maybe he was a simple child to these people. Trestail had been forthcoming enough about it, but Ming Xiu had always kept a modicum of respect, of understanding. She'd treated him like an equal, almost, except for times like this when he was exceedingly overbearing.

Queg had released the stalk down in the cave, and was floating up to meet with them. He stopped when Ming Xiu looked at him and extended her arm forward, a clear invitation to lead the way.

"Swiftly," she told him, loud and commanding. "There is much ground to cover."

Queg nodded in his special alien way. Then he started on his path, heading in the opposite direction of the writhing terminal, to their right, up and away toward a bulbous formation that vaguely resembled a huge beehive hanging under an equally huge arched doorway. The Humans took off after him without so much as a lurch or a jerk—something that struck Aaron as a display of impeccable control on Ming Xiu's part.

And then Queg sped up, his gravity gland becoming even brighter. They reached the beehive-lookalike and went under the archway, and Queg sped up some more, heading for the next hurdle. He banked around the rising support of an exceedingly high platform, and he sped up more, and more, the brightness coming from the sphere underneath his girth becoming intense enough to eclipse the rest of his frame.

Ming Xiu's stylized transport followed smoothly and precisely, keeping up without problems, banking and tilting when appropriate—although Aaron felt that it didn't have to do so nearly as much as it would have been necessary in true Earth-like conditions. Who knew how gravity, lateral forces and inertia really worked here? He should have been getting wildly thrown about the small enclosure, but he found that a gentle compensation on his grip now and then was all that was needed.

They went faster still, as fast as a speeding Harley down the interstate. It was intimidating, but Aaron was proud to say that it wasn't nearly as terrifying as he thought it should have been.

He lost track of how many bridges they flew over, how many arches they went under, how many tunnels they traversed, how many twists and turns and bends they went around. Soon all he could do was focus on that bright beacon ahead of them, speeding ever forward like a crazed firefly, unerringly navigating the maze of flesh with graceful ease.

There was no end to the Pathways.

________

The nine sentries lay in pieces at the end of the largest flesh bridge Aaron had seen so far. These guardians were different from the ones posted at Thousand Rivers, but the concept behind them was identical: hulking, intimidating mounds of nightmarish inspiration, specifically designed to make a healthy young man crap his pants.

They were much less intimidating when each of them was broken in dozens of pieces, scattered haphazardly all over the ground. It was hard to tell what these had looked like; judging by the shape of the burnished obsidian plates and the vaguely canine heads, they must have been close to four-legged juggernauts, towering attack dogs posed in snarling postures. Charming.

Not like Aaron could have taken a closer look even if he had wanted to. The three of them hovered close to the other side of the bridge, and Ming Xiu looked uncertain as to how to proceed. She had made clear one thing so far: they would not get anywhere near the ruined sentries, under any circumstances. Aaron didn't know the reason why, but the iron-chewing, nail-spitting seriousness that had taken over her the moment she saw the scene was enough to make him shut his mouth and obey.

She remained silent now, staring at the entrance to the Beacon as if she had a personal vendetta against it. Queg floated by her side, just as intent. This left Aaron to look at his surroundings while wondering what was going on.

The breathtaking bridge dominated the scene. It was humongous, with irregular sets of supports as tall as skyscrapers sprouting beneath it, and a surface as wide as two international runways put together. If it had been made of steel instead of creepy, pulsating stone-flesh material, it would have given the Brooklin Bridge a run for its money.

One end, the end they remained close to, was connected to a platform that served as a hub node for several paths. The other end, perhaps half a kilometer away, became the entrance to the Beacon—the realm where the census was kept, according to Ming Xiu. A large half dome arched in a parabola over the bridge at that point, and continued its way down on both sides of it. It was like an enormous amphitheater, with a semi-cirle of dismembered sentries lying at its center stage. The bridge met the back wall of the dome a short ways after that, resolving into a wide cave that sloped upward and out of sight. Even from as far as he was, Aaron could see that this cave's walls had tones of blue and gray mixed in with the reds and purplish-blues of the Pathways.

"Queg," Ming Xiu suddenly said. "Get to the middle point of the bridge. Tell me if the ripples get stronger."

The Risen took off without a word, advancing cautiously. Aaron considered asking what was wrong, glanced at the woman, and quickly reconsidered.

He didn't truly need to get an answer from her, in any case. He could feel it himself. Nothing specific, and he was certain that not nearly as strongly as Ming Xiu could—but there was a sense of wrongness originating from where the constructs had been destroyed, like the area around them was ... wounded. He couldn't put it in any other way. It reached him like the tactile version of a bad smell.

Queg was already making his way back toward them. If before he had been circumspect, now he was outright grim. "They become clearer. They bear writhen signatures."

"Cursed Void," Ming Xiu muttered. Aaron hadn't heard that one before; it was always Boundless this and portent that. Maybe it was a particularly coarse oath. "We'll go in immediately. Make your way to Trenches and ask for assistance." Queg didn't even bother to acknowledge the order; he simply spun around and shot away from them.

She didn't spare him a second glance. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes intent on the entrance of the cave. "There'll be a rear guard to cover their escape. Stay within my reach at all times unless I tell you otherwise."

The transport had already started moving, drawing a wide arch that would take them to the apex of the half dome, as far from the broken sentries as possible.

"I need you to do exactly as I say, the moment I say it. Don't ask any questions. Understood?"

"What is going on?" he asked.

Her hand moved like a mouse trap, shooting out as if spring-loaded to painfully clamp around his arm. "Be quiet." She fixed him with a glare that made Aaron draw back instinctively. The benevolent, motherly figure was gone, and in her place there was a woman whose stare was a churning blaze of charcoal, fuming and smoldering with the heat of deep magma.

"The Beacon is under attack for the first time in two hundred portents." Her voice was a hoarse growl through gritted teeth. "You will do as I tell you as soon as I tell you, or I will rip you apart myself so that you don't prove a distraction later. I will not waste a single breath saving your from your own incompetence. Do you understand?"

A few thousand years went by as Aaron looked into those seething pools of blackness. Then he nodded, wide-eyed and thoroughly intimidated.

Still holding his gaze, she pointed down at the pitiful remains of the sentries, where the sense of wrongness seemed to pulse and writhe in force, now that they were so close. "Don't look at it. Don't think of it. Don't smell it, touch it or taste it. Close your eyes, hold on to the rail, and think of the best night you ever spent with your wife."

Disobeying struck him as the most dangerous option available at the moment. Unbecoming as the request was, Aaron did as he was told without even wondering why he had to do such a thing. He squeezed his eyes shut and strove to banish everything from his mind, everything but Alexandra.

The best night ....

Ming Xiu had probably meant a certain kind of "best night." But the night of the accident popped into his mind effortlessly, like an old friend always there to share a beer with. He remembered the candle-lit dinner, the romantic music, all the intimate clichés that they had indulged in. The drive to the field by the airport, the blanket on top of the car, the stargazing and airplane watching. She loved watching airplanes land and take off, and in the dark of night there was a sort of mystical feel to it. The drive back, the drunken bastard swerving into their lane, the screeching, the tumbling and crashing.

Waking up in a hospital bed from nightmares full of pain and despair, death and worry; formless terrors in which he lost the one thing he cared most about, over and over. Opening his eyes and seeing her face, so full of concern first, and then relief, so much relief at the sight of a conscious husband. That moment, that small moment when he realized that she was right there, standing over him, nothing but a scratch on her forehead and a bruised shoulder, her hand wrapped around his feeble fingers.

There was nothing he could compare to that moment.

He held on to the memory as they plunged down the arch of the dome, their heads almost touching its smooth surface. He felt that angry wound of reality quivering beneath them in a violent gale, lashing out to anything and everything that would get close to it. In the periphery of his awareness, he could hear Ming Xiu reciting a litany that had all the trappings of a prayer said by those about to enter a battlefield.

"Everlasting vigilance, guide our steps to protect the watchful. May our thoughts prevail and our blades strike true. May the Unbound guard our path and honor those who preserve our ways."

He paid no mind to any of it.

There was only Alexandra's smile, full of joy and relief and gratitude. Her tears, wetting his shoulder, mingling with his own.

Her warmth.

The best night of his life.

10

Alexandra wanted to scream, if only to bring a different note to their chanting.

There was nothing musical to it. It wasn't even voices. It was just a vibration, a certain frequency repeated ceaselessly, like a thousand tiny fire alarms going off at once. It was produced by every one of the creatures around her, an insistent monotone that became loud only due to the addition of hundreds of different sources focused directly on her position. It resonated against every fiber of her being.

Alexandra looked all around her with mounting confusion. There was nothing tangible barring her way, no physical prison holding her in place. But she could feel it, a sort of ... field surrounding her, a warping of the space that immediately enclosed her. No; it went through her, and it was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. She focused on the wretched creatures, feeling panic rise within her.

Their antennae. Those damn antennae had been twitching slightly from side to side all this time, every one of the chitinous stalks shaking in unison. It had been slow at first, and she had dismissed it as the usual creepy twitches of their strange sensory organ. But their jerky sway had picked up speed quickly, and had now become fast enough to defy plain eyesight. Fast enough, she realized, to produce the vibration that was rippling through her body.

It was grating at a level that surpassed mere aural discomfort. There was a wrongness to it that touched her every sense, as if reality itself was changing all around her.

She could manage only small spasms of her fingers, laborious contractions of small muscles. She spoke through gritted teeth, struggling in vain to break free of the invisible constraints. "You think I'm alone here? My friends will kill you all! Release me if you want to live!"

Her flailing attempts at intimidation proved ineffectual, and soon even the smallest movement became impossible. Her eyelids wouldn't blink, her lungs wouldn't expand, her heart could not beat. She thrashed against it in desperation, telling herself that her soul did not have an actual body that could be restrained, did not have muscles to immobilize. They could take her breath away, she didn't need it. Her blood did not need to rush through her veins. She was a spirit, a being of pure energy that could not be caged, could not be controlled.

None of it worked. The grating discomfort had become a shattering rumble that shook within her, every one one of her muscles taut and strained like over-tight guitar strings, pushed to that supremely uncomfortable point at the brink of cramping.

Only her thoughts remained free to run amok, and some small part of her wished she could focus on devising a cunning plan to escape. As it was, all that ran through her mind was an endless list of curses and cussing and promises of gruesome retribution.

The creatures closed in a few steps, and she wondered in dread whether she was about to get beaten and mangled to death. Well, a second death. She wanted to laugh at the idea, and spit in their almost-faces and tell them to try their worst, because they wouldn't get very far. But the prospect of a beating was enough to make the slightest whimper escape her constricted throat.

It was then that she felt the light-headedness starting to take over. It wasn't the kind that's related to lack of breath, and it had nothing to do with heart failure. It was the same light-headedness that she had felt twice before—when, teetering on the edge of sanity, she had let herself wish for an end to the suffering. But while then it had been self-inflicted, now it was being forced upon her by the relentless assault of a thousand different voices.

She saw eddies of mist curl away from her through the edge of her peripheral vision. Her extended left arm, still holding the staff poised for attack, had an ethereal feel to it, as if it wasn't all the way there. Her vision was blurry, like shrouded behind a thin fog.

Once again, they were trying to tear her apart.

I'll kill them all. I'm going to kill them all ....

There was no escape. Struggle as she might, she couldn't move an inch. She couldn't have talked them out of it even if she could speak; that hatred spilling out of them was a primal thing, beyond restraint or reason. Her awareness was slowly fading, her thoughts becoming sluggish, her will less adamant. She felt a terrible, impotent rage bubble up against it, pushing at their influence with her last shreds of defiance.

It won't end like this. These things won't take me, I refuse! I'd sooner take my own life.

Her soul was hers alone to forfeit. She had gone through too much bullshit in order to reclaim her right to exist, only to have it taken away by some ridiculous slug-things with a vendetta against her species.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She would embrace oblivion of her own volition, if only out of spite—such a small victory, but it was the biggest she could hope for. She wasn't giving up, she told herself: she was going out with a final act of rebellion. That she couldn't think very clearly anymore might have played a part in her snap decision.

I'm sorry, Aaron.

She let go. Alexandra ceased all resistance and willed for her spirit to be scattered to the four winds, reaching out to the endless void with open arms. She almost looked forward to it, to be rid of all the worries and struggles. Maybe Aaron would be alright. He'd find someone else. He'd make it just fine.

The pain receded. She embraced the void, letting herself surrender to her own desires while denying all others. The unbearable pressure that constrained her lifted all at once; it was like traveling in an instant from a mile underwater to the open air above. Her mind expanded without boundaries, and she felt a ... rupture.

Several things happened at once.

The first and most immediately noticeable was the shockwave that was produced in the clash of ... whatever it was they'd been doing against whatever it was that she had actually done. It was like the crack of a whip, sudden and violent. It instantly spread outwards from her position and rippled all around her in a sphere of chaotic warping power: a wild resonance that shocked her surroundings with such force that the ground beneath her cratered, the fortifications crumbled, the creatures standing closest to her exploded while being hurled away.

The rest of them tumbled backwards and into each other, shrill screams rising once more from the mass of alien bodies.

Meanwhile, Alexandra's mind had snapped back to clarity. Her first thought was one of dismay. There was no way she'd let some floozy steal Aaron away from her, even posthumously. What the hell had she been thinking?

A moment later came the realization that she was in several places at once.

It was a challenge to make sense of it. A part of her was still on the ground, free of constraints at last and able to move at will. Her staff was gone ... and so was her body. In its place there was only a dense mist, twisting and churning around and within the vague outline of only part of a human frame. Another piece of her floated a few feet above herself, a misty shape linked by haze-like tendrils to Alexandra-below. Yet another part of her extended to her left, and another a few feet behind her, and another spread downwards, lying close to the ground. And each one of these parts of her was aware of one another, all sentient and self-aware and capable of sharing their respective sensory input. She could see herself, and through herself, and ahead and behind her and everywhere else, all at once.

This is ... interesting.

Her thoughts felt decentralized, as though her brain extended all the way to her toes. There were no toes. She was the mist, shapeless and ethereal.

She knew she should be afraid of this. She knew she should be at the brink of madness, trying to deal with having become a puff of smoke spread all over the place, with no body to call her own. But it felt ... manageable. Liberating, even. She was a soul, after all. This was the way it was supposed to be.

Her vision had become a mosaic of tens of different moving images that came together to paint a sphere of her surroundings. Alexandra could see the enormous portal, the guards right next to it finally taking notice of what was happening, leaving their post to help their brethren. She saw the Mount, far in the distance to the right of the black gate. She could see the entirety of "Nexus Town," and the whole matrix of strange dwellings, as well as the long, forking road behind her. Groups of travelers were rushing ahead to find out what was going on. They would arrive soon.

It was a hard thing to get used to. She imagined it was like seeing through the eyes of a bee, and it was complicated enough to give her a headache. She closed her eyes, and the chaotic scene all around her vanished. Which was puzzling, because she didn't think she had eyelids anymore. Not even eyes, really.

This is crazy. I should be scared. Why am I not scared?

Maybe her head wasn't as clear as she thought. Then again, had she had eyes before this happened? Or a head? Maybe it was all symbolic, and it had been all along. A radically different environment, interpreted by her thoughts and represented for her senses in ways she could understand. A literal "mind's eye," so to speak. Even if that were the case, did it make any difference?

So ... did I do this to myself, or did they?

She did feel apprehension then. She could still hear their screams, turning from surprise and agony back into anger. She reopened her eyes to find the creatures clambering back to upright positions, fighting to recover and form loose ranks, pushing through the rows of destroyed corpses to get to her. They were getting closer, and those antennae had resumed their sway, twitching from side to side like hyperactive pendulums.

That's about the time when panic struck: a heavy-handed blow that hit her right in the gut, making up for the delay by carrying an extra helping of intensity.

She hadn't done diddly-squat, she realized. They'd only been halfway through the process of getting her torn to pieces. She had interrupted them somehow, but now they were about to finish the job.

I need to get out of here!

The portal was right there, not a hundred feet away. But how do you run without legs? How do you fight your way through, without arms and legs to shove and punch and kick? Even if she escaped somehow in this disabled state, could she get back to normal? Oh Lord, she was already helpless. She had become some useless, semi-corporeal mist thing that could no longer put up a fight. Might as well just wait for the slaughter.

You never had legs to begin with, you idiot. Calm down and grow wings.

Alexandra did the mental equivalent of raising her eyebrows.

Belief. Could it be as easy as that? It had given her clothes, tools, a new skin. It had healed her wounds and erased her pain. It could give her a final death, if she wished for it. Moving across space seemed like a small feat, compared to everything else.

The monsters were closing in, their twitching becoming a vibration, the vibration reaching the audible threshold.

Belief. It should work. She had to believe that she was moving forward, floating ahead and over these things, toward the flat sheet of blackness that had now become her salvation. After all, what had been "running" here, if not believing that her legs were moving her forward? She tried, she feverishly tried as hard as she could to envision it and believe it and make it come true, even if all the while she couldn't shake the feeling that she was grasping at straws.

Nothing was happening. Her half dispersed body remained in place, her every fragment swirling about with her mounting agitation.

The frequency of the sound increased, slowly approaching the pitch that their chant had reached when it had been in full swing. Now that she knew what to look for, she could feel the first signs of what was to come: a faint numbness throughout her entire being, a certain reluctance in the fabric of space to accommodate her presence. It was all going to happen again.

A primal fear took hold of her. This wasn't like before, when she had faced these creatures hyped up on the lingering euphoria of her uplifting realizations and endowed with a foolish sense of invulnerability. She had been concerned only to the extent of getting in trouble, and maybe getting hurt again in some vague sense of the word. Despite the grim odds, she had felt confident in her ability to deal with the Clan, one way or another.

Now, she had experienced first-hand what they could do to her. Now, she knew for a fact that she was about to be paralyzed and subsequently murdered.

It is the kind of certainty that makes a world of a difference to somebody's survival instinct. The kind of certainty that pushes an already strained mind away from rational thought and over the edge of coherence; perhaps over the edge of madness. It pushes one to exhaust every resource available, conscious or not, in order to ensure continued existence.

She felt their invisible prison tightening around her, suffocating her thoughts, cramping her will. This time there was no acceptance, no defiance, no violent fantasies of retribution.

Only terror.

She didn't quite remember all that happened then.

She didn't know what she did. She didn't know how she did it, or whether she could repeat it if she tried. She did remember wailing the way a tortured spirit might have, with the kind of torment to its lament only reserved for the most terrifying of ghost stories. She remembered something stretching, bending and twisting all around her, within her, almost to the point of breaking. Being thrown through the air, flying like a wild gale blowing at hundreds of miles per hour. The creatures, tossed about with impossible force like rag dolls victim of a tantrum, spinning and contorting their bodies in awkward angles as they flew away from her.

And then darkness, blessed darkness engulfing her every sense, washing away all lingering traces of their crushing constraints.

She remembered becoming aware of her surroundings after simply ... floating, for what felt like a very long time. Her thoughts still felt disjointed, her mind cracked in places, her physical self—if she could say to even have one—scattered apart in a million different pieces. But none of these things mattered to her, at least not at first. Because for those first few moments of regained coherence, she could only focus on one simple, wonderful thing.

Anywhere she looked, there was not a hint of blue to be seen.

________

Alexandra floated, semi-corporeal and sullen.

She would have liked not to float, but she didn't have much of a choice. Because, turns out, the Nexus was nothing like she had pictured.

"Nexus" suggested a hub of sorts. And from what she had gleaned from the monsters—and they were monsters, there was no doubt in her mind about that anymore—she had been expecting a sort of ... subway transfer station or something, where she could follow signs to the realm that she might want to visit and take nice conveyer belts there. In fact, she'd gone as far as picturing a large circular room, with mirror-like portals lining the walls, a map at the middle, and clear-cut signposts: here be dragons, here be aliens, here be humans.

There were no conveyer belts, or signposts, or flat ground to bury a post in. There wasn't any ground altogether.

There were only waygates like the one she had jumped through in her terror-fueled flight. They hovered in mid-air, in the midst of a light, bronze-colored haze that shrowded the featureless expanse in a way that was almost mystical, while barely hampering viewing distance.

The gates faced every which way, arbitrary lengths of space separating them. On one side they were the darkest black; on the other there would be a view of wherever they led to. Sometimes there would be two together, and very rarely up to three; most often, they would be hundreds of feet, miles apart.

They came in many sizes, all of them big. Some frames were rectangular, but most were not; there were circles, ellipses, irregular geometrical shapes and more. She saw one shaped like a huge banana, far below her.

The frames would all be four-sided and angular, with colors reminiscent of a deciduous forest in summer twilight: shades of ochre, gold, copper, teak. They'd all have a pattern drawn or carved into them, and each one was unique: there were straight lines, oblong arches, repetitive symbols, jagged grooves, unassuming notches, barcode-like stripes—one had outlandish figures that gave off an obscene vibe, somehow. The portal to Carved Barrow had had a complicated series of sinuous lines that defied any attempt at understanding. She had gone far, far away from that one, fast.

Just thinking about it was enough to make her shudder. She'd never lost control so completely before. Even in the worst of times, she'd always maintained a modicum of discipline and conscious direction. It scared her, to think of how far she'd been pushed, how much permanent damage the ordeal might have caused within her. If this could happen, how much further to actual insanity? Would she recover, if it were to happen again?

Let's make sure it doesn't happen again, then. You'd have never been in that situation in the first place if you'd been more careful.

Even so, at the same time she couldn't resist feeling a bit proud of it, a bit comforted by it. It was nice to know that her resolve to fight to her last breath wasn't all bluster. She was a survivor, deep inside; always been, always would be.

She had fled blindly in those first moments after crossing the threshold between the two worlds. She remembered those creatures, hovering around her, using their pliable bodies and long tails to swim about like eels. She couldn't tell whether the things had given chase or they had just been dragged along into the Nexus with her, but stopping to ask hadn't been high on her list of priorities. She had sped away from any and all moving objects, aimlessly floating deeper into the void without even knowing how she was doing it.

Alexandra chafed at that, as she slowly calmed down and regained the ability to rub two thoughts together. Although she wasn't complaining that in the end some part of her had figured out how to do what she needed to do, she didn't want to rely on being pushed to the brink of despair in order to function. It was terribly impractical, for one, not to mention stressful and reckless. Was it truly that much to ask, to be able to defend herself without going nuts first? Why couldn't basic things like flying without wings be simple and straightforward?

She floated weightlessly, still, her ethereal body only a shadow of human form. You don't think much about how nice it is to have arms and legs and a torso with a skull attached to it until you no longer have it. The strange, all-around visual awareness, while useful, was unsettling and confusing. She felt like she was spread too thin, like she might fall apart into pieces at any moment. Being an insubstantial soul was all nice and dandy, but it was just too darn creepy.

She had been dreading to attempt to ... "integrate," as it were. What if she couldn't go back to normal? She knew it was cowardly and pointless to delay it, but she couldn't help herself. She didn't know if she'd be able to deal with it, if it turned out that she would have to exist in this state from now on. Could she even call herself a person anymore? It was an awful thought.

Stop it already. Try or don't try, but stop being such a chicken shit.

Alexandra frowned in her mind, if not with actual eyebrows. Fine. She would try something in the same vein as she had done before: to imagine herself as she should be, all nice and corporeal and whole, and think about it hard enough until she believed it to be real. It sounded like a fairly reasonable approach, considering the kind of stuff she'd pulled off in the past.

She adopted what she thought to be a ready stance—it was hard to tell, not having a body and all—steeling herself for what would surely be a painful experience.

She'd almost started the process when she caught herself. She didn't know whether it would be unpleasant or not, but it would probably help if she didn't try to do it all at once. It had been awful, the last time she'd done that.

So instead of going all the way and imagining herself in her own dark skin with pretty dark eyes and nice manicured nails, she simply went one small step forward: try to pull herself in a little. Not be so spread out, be a little less dispersed.

She pulled toward and into the center of her being, or at least pictured doing it in her mind. Figuring out how to pull without muscles is not as trivial as it might sound.

Nothing happened.

She tried some more, just in case.

Nope, nothing.

Well, so much for that.

This wasn't going well. She pushed down the nerves that kept trying to surface and make her go into a panic. No big deal: she'd try going all the way, then. She had done stuff like this before. She just needed to picture herself the way she wanted to be, and believe it as reality. It shouldn't be any different than getting her skin to shift colors, and it shouldn't be all that difficult.

She closed her eyes, or the equivalent of it, and strove to still her troubled mind. She normally would have focused on her breath to calm down, but there was no such thing as breathing in her current state—which was a great contributor to the freak-out factor of the whole experience.

She imagined her own body as it had been before death, trying to capture all the small details that make the anatomy of a person unique: a small, round birthmark on her left bicep; a sparse scattering of freckles on her cheeks, nose, collarbones and chest; one chipped tooth in her upper jaw, making it look like she had two canines in a row; slightly crooked pinky fingers; outie belly button.

Perhaps she was a tiny bit slimmer around the waist. Her butt might have been just a tad more firm. Her hair not so stubborn and unruly, her nose not so wide. Can't blame a girl for seizing such a unique opportunity.

She pictured herself as being that body. It wasn't that hard to do—she had lived in it for a good while. She didn't just look and act exactly like it; she was it. She convinced herself of it, and pounded the idea in her mind until she believed it.

She thought she felt a tingling sensation wash over her, subtle and ephemeral. She opened her eyes, slowly, more hopeful than she should have allowed herself to feel.

Nothing had happened, again. Still she floated, semi-corporeal and sullen.

Alright, alright, don't panic, Alex. Just think for a moment.

It just couldn't be that easy, could it. It probably wasn't a matter of physically squeezing her ghostly body into a ball and then molding it like silly putty, she realized. Forget about a brute force approach, it was much more ... metaphysical than that. A matter of fixing what was broken, bringing clefts together, gluing up the fractures, that sort of thing.

How in blazes does one do that?

Alexandra could almost hear dad's voice, leaning over her shoulder as they stared into the computer case. If you want to fix it, the first thing you always do is find out what's broken.

Right. Take a look at herself, then, searching for whatever was wrong. Introspection.

She was pretty good at that. You can't go through hundreds of hours of psychotherapy without learning to look inside yourself and figuring out what's going on in there. She had learned to tell apart motivation from rationalization, catch in the act the little lies and delusions concocted by the unconscious, call out the fallacies, confabulations and biases on their bullshit—though mostly in hindsight, admittedly. And if she'd had a dime for every time she had answered a question of the "why do you think you feel that way?" type, well. She'd have a lot of worthless money right about now.

It used to bug her that stupid mistakes and dubious, id-driven justifications abounded throughout her life, regardless of all that she had learned through the years of the way the brain actually worked. But she'd eventually resigned herself to the fact that, most of the time, that's the way the brain works: heuristics and auto-pilot, preservation of self-image and snap judgements. Constant self-awareness would be exhausting. Paralyzing.

Sometimes, however, it could become the only tool to deal with the problem at hand.

She tried to relax and really push aside all other concerns for the moment. It was hard to be at ease while immerse in a completely foreign environment, where any hostile creature could sneak up on her. She had gone far away from any discernible routes between waygates, but traffic between realms still popped up in the distance.

Alexandra pretended that none of that existed. There was no weird-ass Nexus with its random portals and funky fog. No inter-realm travelers ready to make her life miserable, and definitely no murderous slug monsters with twitching antennae of doom.

There was only her living-room couch, a burbling table fountain and a glass of wine. Aaron was upstairs playing some RPG or another, the muffled sound of the cheesy voice-overs reaching her in a garbled murmur. She could almost hear Hammock playing in the stereo in front of her, soft guitar riffs and slow percussion gently rocking her to sleep. It was Sunday afternoon, they'd just eaten an awesome lunch from Nino's, and she was going to take a wonderful nap.

This kind of thing didn't usually work very well for her. She'd always had trouble disconnecting from her immediate surroundings, as if her paranoid mind refused to stop looking out for whatever might come at her. It was probably the reason why she was such a light sleeper.

But this time it worked like a dream. She could almost feel herself sinking in that couch, her head lolling back, her breath calm and content. It took away all the anxiety in one gentle stroke. She felt as if, were she to open her eyes, she would be in her home again, and none of these terrible things would have happened. All the more reason not to open them and stay in her cozy little fantasy instead.

Maybe she would focus on breathing after all. It was hard to think of a more corporeal action than breathing. It encompassed the most basic physicality of the human body: the chest heaving, the flow of gases through the lungs, the renewal of blood and life itself. She breathed in her tiny pocket dream, deep and steady. Deep and steady.

She didn't even have to search. The wrongness was so obvious, staring her right in the face.

It had nothing to do with what the monsters had done. She had stopped them with her own attempt at self-destruction, creating a sort of ... resonance, an overlap in the interference between the two effects that had rippled violently and set everything completely out of whack for a moment. It had interrupted her own dissolution, leaving her in a twilight zone halfway to complete non-existence. A part of her was still embracing the dissipating mists, holding on to a desperate last choice without even knowing it.

It was all right there, in webs of textured patterns and waves that tangled throughout her being; she didn't feel them or see them or touch them, she simply ... sensed them.

She didn't fully understand any of it. It was like trying to read a foreign language and only knowing enough to get the gist of it—no, that wasn't it. It was much bigger than that: she felt like a caveman, staring at the flames in wonder, aware only of the broadest details of how fire worked. The caveman knew nothing of the exothermic reactions that made it possible, or why the fire needed air to breathe; he only knew that the fire brought light and warmth, cooked food, and was dangerous.

Just like the caveman, Alexandra was unable to grasp the complexity of all this new information that she had become aware of. But despite her dim understanding, she could tell so many things just by feeling at the texture of the space she occupied, things that she was now noticing for the first time. She could see the signatures of the Clan in lingering traces of their influence, neutralized and innocuous. She felt touches of her own doing, alterations to her basic form that translated into a duplicated ring, tough-as-steel nails or (yes!) a firmer tush. Snippets of knowledge, memories, emotions, dinner recipes. And the vagueness, the interspersed swathes of raw undoing, lending her a diffuse, ethereal constitution.

It was so fascinating. Where did this new awareness come from? Had all this always been there on display, ready to be seen if only she had taken the time to look? No ... no, something was different now. She felt it, she could almost see it, trace it back to its point of origin. Something else had happened back there, when brazenness had mixed with despair, when embracing oblivion was the last possible act of defiance. Something far more subtle than the whip-crack, more profound than freedom from a makeshift prison.

Some sort of barrier had been breached. She could feel the remnants of it, like battered double doors, burst open and barely held up by broken hinges. She felt it as a ... an enrichening of her perception. She couldn't recall whether that was a real word, but it was appropriate enough. She was unsure of how it had happened, or why this boundary was there in the first place. But she knew that its shattering allowed her mind to go farther out, search deeper through everything around her—herself included.

This is how she could see that there was nothing to fix, really. Nothing was broken. Her permanent state of dissolution was the equivalent of sleeping face down, with her face smothered by the pillow. Her unconscious self was too dumb to realize that this position wasn't comfortable anymore. No wonder she couldn't breathe in her dream, d'uh. All she needed to do was wake up and lift her head.

And so she made the conscious effort to let go of the void and embrace reality with every part of her being.

It sounded esoteric, even metaphorical. It had the ring of advice right out of a self-help book. But in this place, such concepts had a tangible component, a measure of availability and immediacy that allowed her to do these things in a literal sense: she pushed away the tantalizing mists that clouded the mind, while holding on to the weave-like patterns of the space that enclosed her. There was nothing physical about it: she did this with the same muscles that push away a concern or embrace an idea.

Alexandra could feel those vague streaks of not-being receding from her psyche, like thorny vines shrinking and shriveling into harmless, brittle husks. It was only a moment before their touch was no longer noticeable.

She'd thought that her mind had been as clear as it ever was, but the experience was like removing a blurry filter from a camera lens. The remnants of the sluggish fog that had seized her finally lifted, banishing apathy and apprehension alike. She felt focused and driven by purpose once more.

Alexandra took a sip from her wine glass, taking a moment to relish its soft caress as it went down her throat. She sighed, stood up, and opened her awareness to the world around her. The illusion crumbled at once to reveal the coppery stillness of the Nexus.

Her body hadn't returned to normal, but she was no longer sullen about it. Everything felt different now; the way it should feel. The unfathomable vagueness was gone, and in its place remained a clear sense of malleability that she could seize as she pleased.

She brought together every tiny piece of her, pulling from the core and pushing from the outskirts. She did it slowly and deliberately, directing the flow of consciousness toward the outlined shade of her frame. She came together like a cloud of dust that had suddenly become magnetized, attracted by the pull of her will.

She did picture herself then, whole and substantial. She didn't need to imagine all the details, or place every strand of hair where it was supposed to go; that wasn't important. She knew all these things instinctively, just like the heart knows when to beat. What mattered was the concept of solidity, the belief of a definite, unbroken self.

The dust became mist, the mist wrapped around a human shape, the human shape coalesced and resolved into the naked body of Alexandra Gretchen. With a not-so-wide nose, a slightly narrower waist and a butt firm enough to crack walnut shells.

It took her a little while to get her bearings and adapt once more to two-leggedness. She had to shake her head a couple of times, blink repeatedly, squeeze her eyes shut. Clench and unclench her fists, flex her toes. Her strange relaxation fantasy popped into her head, unbidden. It had been so vivid, like she was really there. It struck her as a dangerous thing, to be able to get lost in reverie like that. It had been hard to leave behind. Even now she felt tempted to indulge in some other fantasy far away from here, and leave all the struggle and uncertainty for later.

She shook her head again, clearing her thoughts. She was starting to feel ... normal. Or less weird than before, at least. Alexandra looked down at herself, and couldn't suppress a smug grin. She inspected her body with a great deal of satisfaction, extending her arms in front of her and turning them this way and that. It was nice to be back to standard stereoscopic vision, looking down at perfectly normal limbs sporting plain ol' dark skin.

Um. Way too much skin. A black cotton tank-top and snug sweatpants hastily materialized, also black. She wasn't a big fan of nudity in a public environment, alien onlookers or not.

She imagined her staff, and changed its colors to better suit this new environment—earthy tones, golden patterns—but did not go as far as summoning it forth. If there was to be no walking involved, the weapon would be nothing but a hindrance, unless she needed to actually hit somebody. In fact, there was no real reason to worry about such a small concern like matching staff colors, but, well ... it was her staff, dammit. It had to remain stylish.

She looked past her own body, into the swirling fogs of the Nexus and at the disorganized portals that sparsely littered them. Now that she was no longer a freaky wraith, she kept expecting to start plummeting downward any moment. But as more time passed and a downward pull refused to make itself present, she allowed herself to believe that her current environment had no such thing as gravity. Or maybe the place was still trying to figure out where "downward" was. The complete lack of surfaces to stand on was rather disorienting.

Alexandra wondered if this was what floating in space felt like. She waved her arms from side to side a couple of times, testing the medium she was submerged in. She felt a small amount of resistance to her movements, making her gently twirl in place. It felt like a fluid medium, but the resistance wasn't nearly as much as water would have offered. Still more dense than air, though. There might not have been gravity, but she was definitely not in a vacuum.

She paddled with her legs as if she was underwater, then stopped. She gained a moderate amount of momentum and glided ahead for some twenty feet, friction slowly decreasing her speed to a halt.

She frowned at the whole deal. She hadn't had legs to paddle with a moment ago, and yet she had zoomed up and down this place like nobody's business. How had she done that? Compared to such a way of getting around, this physical way of swimming through the air seemed ... pedestrian.

Who the hell cares? Get going already!

Right. Thank you, annoying inner self. There was a reason why she had fought so hard to get there, and she wasn't getting any closer to her goal by fluttering about in mid-air like an idiot, pondering at inconsequential nonsense. She could get around comfortably; that should be enough for now.

She needed to go back to the area where she had arrived at and search the neighboring gateways for any signs of "bipeds." The prospect wasn't as intimidating as she might have found it not ten minutes ago. Those damn creatures were mostly harmless at long range, and it wasn't as if she was about to walk into a huge group of them anytime soon; she'd bolt at the first sign of their presence. Besides, surely they wouldn't be looking for her anymore, now that she was well out of their hair. Antennae. Whatever.

Alexandra took her first good, non-disjointed look at her surroundings. Every object—what few there were—looked as if it was lit from the back, regardless of where it was, giving the impression of looking darker than it should. Perhaps it was due to the contrast against the light fog that eventually took over in the distance.

And disorienting didn't get even close, she thought as she turned. Without a recognizable frame of reference, there was no way to tell left from right, up from down. If she spun around with her eyes closed, she would not be able to face in the same direction twice.

Luckily, every one of those distant gates was unique in some way or another, and there were some that were truly gigantic, becoming excellent candidates to act as an improvised Star of the North. BananaGate, way below her at the moment, would do just fine. Although visibility was eventually impaired by the bronze haze that spread throughout the realm, the humongous wedge-shaped portal would remain visible for a good while. And once it became too dim to spot reliably, she could just choose a different one in the same general direction; she wouldn't go in circles as long as she kept the list of guiding stars memorized. Giant-scale bread crumbs floating in space.

Now she only had to figure out from which way she had fled.

It was easier said than done. Her mind had been too busy screaming in terror to take note of such unimportant things as "how far did I go" or "which direction did I choose." And she had fled for a while, not stopping until much after the last of the stranded Clan had faded out of sight. Blind panic could be so inconvenient.

She spun in place, trying to recognize familiarities in the scenery while struggling to remember anything useful. Everything looked so similar ....

There were a few loose clusters of gates here and there, and she vaguely remembered passing one such, veering far to the right of it in her haste. She also remembered catching sight of BananaGate earlier, and it had looked smaller then. Yeah ... it had been off to her left and upward. With those bits of information and her current position, she should be able to figure it out.

After thinking about it for a little longer, she concluded that there was only one cluster that would accommodate both memories. It had a pair of gates very close to one another, oval-shaped and oriented to be facing each other straight on. Three more lay maybe half a mile away from them, each in a different direction. Those portals were rectangular, just like the one at Carved Barrow. The cluster was quite far from where she was at; all that she could make out was the shape of their frame, surrounding a sheet of blackness or a colorful blob, depending on which way they were facing.

"Welp, there you have it. Might as well get going."

Her own voice was a welcome change from the complete silence of the Nexus. She hadn't realized until now how absolute that silence was. Even Carved Barrow hadn't been like this, where not even footsteps would be heard. The more she thought about it, the more eerie it became. She made a mental note to talk to herself more often, appearances of insanity be damned.

She aligned the plane of her body in the direction she'd chosen—a bit to the left of that loose five-cluster—noted once more her position relative to BananaGate, and started paddling with her legs like a fin-clad diver.

She hadn't gone fifty feet before she saw a tiny dot emerge from one of the ovals, travel leisurely through space much the same way she was, and disappear into the oval straight across.

Oh, yeah. Travelers. She'd forgotten about that.

"Should I try to make contact?"

She kept on going, pondering the question. She would if it turned out to be a human, no doubt. But what if it wasn't? Were there different creatures other than the Clan in this place? Would they all be as warm and cuddly as those fugly lizard-slugs had been? What if she got close enough to make out a traveler's features, only to be found out and chased by some other awful monster? She didn't know if she could handle a repeat of her social experiences so far.

On the other hand, what was the alternative? Wander about undetected, hoping to stumble upon the one blessed portal that would take her to Human Heaven? Did such a place even exist?

She hadn't meant to ask that question, but it had shown up all the same. The answer to it wasn't as ready in her mind as it had once been. It turned her guts to realize that she didn't even know what to think anymore. After everything that had happened ....

Alexandra pushed aside that particular concern for the moment. She would have time for soul-searching later, when she wasn't floating around in hostile territory. For now, focus on the task at hand. Things were complicated enough as they were.

She weighted her options. She had carried a reactive role up until then, reducing her choices to either fight or die, acting on extremely scarce information and wildly inaccurate assumptions. For the first time, a real choice opened up in front of her without being pressured by the immediate need to survive. She could actively seek out travelers, cautiously study them from a distance, and approach them if they looked promising. Or she could explore the portals until one of them looked pleasant or familiar enough to step through and investigate. Of course, one didn't exclude the other. The choice came down to either avoiding passerby or chasing after them.

It didn't take her long to decide to do the latter. Now that she'd escaped, the whole point of her journey was to find Aaron. Well, maybe not the whole point anymore; she'd also like to find out exactly what was going on with this awful afterlife. But reuniting with her husband was her ultimate goal and, barring a chance encounter, the only way she'd be able to find him was with the help of other people.

She knew there were humans like her, somewhere in here—the thing she'd interrogated had said just as much. It was only a matter of time until she stumbled upon one of her kind; she simply needed to be careful not to approach anything that had more (or less) than two legs.

She prayed for things to turn out alright almost out of reflex. She faltered toward the end of the short prayer, and her vacillation brought a pained grimace to her face. She shook her head and pushed it all off her mind again, a stern look of determination taking over her features.

Alexandra made an effort to go faster, trying to remain optimistic as she swam through the dense nothing. Maybe it would all be over soon. Maybe she'd just have to get over there and start a conversation with a helpful gentleman out on a inter-realm stroll. They'd shake hands, exchange polite niceties, and laugh at the whacky adventures she'd had.

"Aaron Gretchen?" he would say in a thick British accent. "Oh, but of course I know him. He's a fine ol' chap, just go through that door over there!" She did a pretty decent impression of it with her mutters.

"Right-o! Much obliged, good sir! Top o' the morning to ya," would be her response. And easy as that, she would get through the portal and find Aaron sitting under a tree, reading the latest novel to fall into his hands. He would look up and smile that smile of his, put the book down and stand up. He would be wearing a nice white T-shirt, a bit stained from yard-work, tight against his skin, a small tuft of chest hair showing. And those black jeans, worn and discolored, that made his butt look so ....

A hint of movement brought her out of her daydreaming—my, but it was so easy to get lost in fantasies here. she saw another dark dot, followed by three more behind it, emerging from one of the oval-shaped gateways at the center of the five-cluster she was heading to. The portals were big. They had to be at least forty or fifty feet tall. Their interface was currently parallel to her eyesight, so that only one side of their frames could be seen. They were mirror images of each other; she could make out an undulating pattern repeated all through their height, like the profile of violent waves at sea.

The figures floating from one oval to the other were more than dots now, actually. She must have been going faster than she had estimated, because now she was close enough to see—

Oh. Well, okay then. There would be no exploring this cluster. Whatever those tendrils were, they were definitely not legs. And no human she knew would have a long, fat tail fluttering behind them. Time to veer much farther to the left: better safe than sorry.

She sighed, adjusted her trajectory and kept on paddling forth, more disappointed that she wanted to admit. More weird-ass stuff, instead of her English gentleman. How many aliens would she have to deal with? Were they all aliens? There had to be humans somewhere, for crying out loud.

Alexandra stopped moving her legs for a moment, taking another look at the scenery as inertia carried her forward. Another loose gathering of portals lay farther ahead, and something about it looked vaguely familiar. BananaGate appeared significantly smaller, but still well within visible range. She looked around drearily, taking in the slow-moving, ever-present haze; the unfathomable distances; the gateways to a thousand somewheres, scattered sparsely, like stars in Seattle's night sky. It was all so quiet. So lonely.

Desolate.

Depressing.

Her gentleman would be straight ahead, just you wait. He would be traveling to a party in a different world, in fact. He'd be all smiles while explaining everything, and she would find herself in Aaron's arms shortly after.

She rolled her eyes at herself. "And then monkeys will fly out of my ass," she muttered.

For some reason, the sound of her own voice didn't bring nearly as much comfort as it once had.

________

The silhouette had two clearly delineated legs.

It was little more than an elongated shadow, advancing across her field of vision like a slow-moving torpedo. It had the round shape of a head at the front, with a mane of hair fluttering lazily at its back and shoulders. It had clothes of some sort, a dark blue and tan affair. It had what were, very definitely, feet. From top to bottom, it was everything a tall human body should be—including an all-important pair of long legs. Alexandra couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman, but she figured she would honor her British gentleman fantasy by settling on it being a "he."

He traveled toward an as-of-yet unknown destination, his limbs unmoving and held close to his body. Judging by his trajectory, he had just emerged from a circular gateway barely within viewing distance of that loose cluster that had seemed familiar to her—a cluster which had turned out to be the one the gate to Carved Barrow belonged to. She kept an uneasy eye on that one at all times, even if she was staying twice as far from it as what she would have deemed a "safe distance."

It was unlikely that she would have learned of this lone traveler if she had relied on her regular senses alone. When she first became aware of him, he was no more than a speck of dust against the bronze backdrop. But there had been something else that had driven her to approach and look closely, something she had never felt before. A thrumming sensation, almost a thumping, really, irregular and unpredictable—it bypassed all of her senses to go directly into her head. Or rather, it touched all of her, not just a certain sensory parcel of her mind. It reminded her of the instinctive feeling of proximity experienced when someone walked up behind her in a small room—usually Aaron hoping to startle her, the jackass. But amplified a hundred-fold.

It was a complex thing; it carried with it a direction and an approximate distance, like a sound would. It also felt ... soft, but with hard edges, like a raven's wing. It carried a sense of weight as well, yet not in the physical sense. Of ... power, maybe? She didn't understand it as much as she intuited it.

it had been unsettling when it first showed up out of nowhere, and she'd had a brief moment of panic thinking that she was about to have a seizure. But she quickly understood that it was coming from outside her head, and she had felt irresistibly compelled to investigate it. And so the two-legged silhouette had been spotted.

The sensation became more noticeable to closer she got. Now that she was close enough to call it a biped without a doubt, she fretted at her lower lip debating whether to hurry up and intercept him. She hadn't realized until now that "biped" did not necessarily mean "human." What if it was some horrid monster that simply happened to stand on two legs? What if it went ape-shit at her, try to tear her throat out while calling up all his friends? What if it could breathe fire and burn her to a crisp?

Are you being cautious, or looking for excuses to procrastinate now?

What was that proverb? "Good things come to those who wait, but not to those who hesitate." How do you tell "waiting" from "hesitating," though? It was such a worthless proverb, honestly.

She had to remind herself that she would need to take a chance with a stranger at some point, and that it wouldn't get any better than this. Her gut feeling was telling her that she should go for it. Not giving it any more thought, she coaxed her legs into movement.

That sensation, that uncanny thrumming ... it called to her, in a way, like an undercurrent pulling at her down the river. This person was different to every other creature she had come across. Maybe all humans gave off this strange vibe. Did she create this ... "undercurrent" as well? She must not have, since the man would have noticed her already, otherwise.

It was as if Alexandra's thoughts had been his cue. The man stopped abruptly, his head tilting slowly, like trying to figure something out. Then his head turned sharply to face in her general direction.

Alexandra lifted a hand as greeting and tried to smile, fighting down the surge of nerves in her abdomen that wanted her to turn around and abscond posthaste. Where had that confident gut feeling gone?

The man whipped his body around to face her. Then he started his approach, directly toward her. She prepared a greeting.

"H—"

Only the breathy whisper came out of her throat. The man drew nearer, and with the shrinking distance the "he" became an "it." Her smile froze in a shocked rictus as its features resolved into too-large round eyes, a beak of a nose, feathery scalp. The mane of hair was a plumed gown, or cloak, or a natural growth for all she could tell. The hands were four-fingered and too long, the feet were talons clad in shoes that could only be described as "bird sandals."

Alexandra didn't have to think about it long. She didn't think about it at all, actually. She spun around and all but exploded away from the avian creature, a near-incoherent string of whispered swear words and curses against her misguided instincts pouring off her lips. Her panicked burst of speed would have been the envy of any Olympic swimmer.

"Human," the bird-man called out without slowing. "Halt."

Halt my ass! most of her brain thought, while a tiny part of it noted the business-like tone and authoritative demeanor.

This was a creature that expected obedience from her. Far from complying, Alexandra put every ounce of effort she had on getting the hell away from her pursuer. She'd had her fill of alien encounters for a lifetime.

It wasn't working. The bird-man was gaining on her, and without moving a muscle while doing it.

"Stay back!" she yelled at it, risking a glance behind her. The thing was no more than a hundred feet away, its expression an unreadable mask. Its face was like a mask, with its large owlish eyes, bony crests at the temples and angular jaw. Its wide beak, a squat, diamond-shaped dome, vibrated as its spoke.

"No harm will come to you, human. Cooperate." Its voice was a series of rapid clicks and articulate squawks. Alexandra understood it flawlessly, for some reason that she wasn't about to question at the moment.

"I've heard that one before!" she shot back while trying to go faster, growing a bit more desperate. How could it move so fast? It wasn't even trying! She could almost see it, the way space was bending, or being altered, or manipulated ... if only she could stop to pay close attention to it.

Another panicked glance placed the thing at fifty feet. The thrumming sensation was so close that she could feel it rattling inside her skull, so to speak. There were no corners to turn, no obstacles to use as a way to slow it down. It was going to catch up and it was going to ... do whatever it planned to do to her. Once again, she was left with her usual choice to make, this time in its most literal terms.

Fight or get caught.

She spun around, adopting a ready stance. "Stop, or I'll hurt you!" she shouted. "Go away!"

The threat wasn't terribly inspired. Her momentum kept her drifting backwards as she positioned her fists, and the whole "floating in mid-air" business deprived her legs of any reliable purchase. Still, she figured it should be intimidating enough.

The bird-man slowed and came to a graceful stop at thirty feet away, hovering with natural ease. For the first time, Alexandra could see how very not human it was.

Its skin was of a brown, muddy color, coarse and scaly without going as far as looking reptilian. Its arms were long and narrow, going past its knees when left to dangle. The legs had knees indeed, but then curved at another joint at the calf, where a sharp and polished talon sprouted out of an ornate orifice in the fitted pants it was wearing that looked specifically designed for that purpose. It also wore a tightly-clad, sleeveless red tunic, with a collar that covered up to its neck, and tailored to allow the feathered mantle sprouting from its shoulders to flow freely. The fluffy mane was a pristine arrangement of white and blue feathers in linear patterns; white tufts of feathers also covered its elbows and forearms, temples, the top of its skull. They made it look ... distinguished.

She made eye contact, feeling herself tremble with equal parts apprehension and ferocity. The creature didn't look concerned; it simply stayed there, motionless, its head cocked to one side. Sizing her up, maybe. Figuring out exactly what had fallen into its hands.

Then there was a slight change to its poise, along with a certain variation in the quality of its otherworldly thrumming. The impression Alexandra got from it was one of ... reassurance.

"You are lost," it said, holding out a placating hand. "You seek answers. Be calm. No harm will come to you." Its brow remained immobile, and there were no creases around its eyes or along its cheeks. But the tufts of feathers at its temples quivered and oriented in subtle ways as it spoke, conveying that its demeanor was meant to be soothing, non-threatening. Like a mother would speak to a scared child ... or a hunter to a startled deer before he goes in for the kill.

"Back off," Alexandra replied in a voice that was as hostile as she could manage. "I'm not taking chances with aliens again."

The avian creature hovered forward ever so slightly. "I can answer your questions. I can take you to more of your kind. Be calm."

"You can promise me the moon, but come any closer and you'll be seeing stars."

What if this is the helping hand you've been hoping for? the voice in her head quipped in. She tried to pay it no mind: it was the same inner voice that had advised her to chase after this thing in the first place.

"There is no reason to turn violent," the bird-man carried on. "I am aware of your plight. Cooperate, and all will be well." It was almost as if it wasn't listening to what she was saying, spouting heartening sentences regardless of her concerns. It got just a little closer, just about twenty feet away.

She had taken for granted that it could understand her language, just like she was somehow able to understand its weird chirping noises. She'd have fretted at her lip if she wasn't so intent in looking like a credible threat. "Don't you understand what I'm telling you? Talk if you want, but get the hell away!" She emphasized her words by shaking her clenched fist menacingly. Then realized how feeble it must have looked.

"I understand what you say." It kept inching closer all the same. "There is no reason to fight. You have endured much, but you need not worry any longer. Let me help you."

It wouldn't stop advancing. She could put some more distance between them if she wanted to, but what would be the point? The alien could outpace her at any time it wanted.

Her head was full of conflicting impulses. Besides the irrational desire to turn tail and run away, she wanted to lunge forward and take her chances at attacking the thing. She was fed up of being taken for a fool and manipulated and chased after, of being at the mercy of entities that she knew nothing about. For all she knew, she was just about to get jumped by the creepy bird-like humanoid. Might as well lash out first and let violence sort out her problems.

The more civilized, perhaps more gullible part of her wanted to trust. She wanted to trust so bad, and give up the burden of keeping herself safe, letting go of the "me against the world" mentality. After all, it knew that she was a human. It must have known more of her kind, at the very least. That much alone was heartening.

And if not trust, at least indulge in some information gathering. She was pretty damn curious to see what this creature was all about. It was so different, yet strangely familiar. If she could begin a conversation instead of this messed up "hunter-prey" interaction, she might at least get a few answers before things turned sour.

She settled for attempting the latter, only pretending to relax her posture a bit. "Just ... what are you?"

"My species is called—" the word for it, a short click-chirp-click that had a grandiose sound to it, appeared to have no translation into Alexandra's language. But she understood the concept behind it, a sort of rudimentary etymology of the word that the creature had used. It loosely translated as a series of ideas in her mind: of the skies, pertaining to song, people of the wing. It painted the picture of a civilized society of avian origins.

The bird-man continued, getting a little closer with every sentence. "Your kind refers to us as the Chirm. We maintain a large presence in many Nexus realms, as well as many gatherings beyond. I perceive traces of the Clan in you; it is unfortunate that your first dealings were with them." Fifteen feet to go. "I would be interested to know how you escaped their grasp."

It wouldn't keep getting closer if it only wanted to help.

"Listen to me. I'm willing to talk. But only if you stay where you are."

"You have nothing to fear," the creature responded, never breaking eye contact. Another inch closer.

"I'm warning you."

It was then that she became aware of a second undercurrent, popping into being in roughly the same direction from which the first one had originated. It was distant now, somewhat masked by the one she was receiving from this "Chirm" in front of her. It felt almost identical in its nature, yet subtly distinct. She understood it fairly quickly: same species, different individual. If she had to guess, she'd say that this guy's partner had just emerged from that same circular portal she'd seen earlier.

Another surge of panic threatened to seize her. She couldn't deal with two at once; she didn't know whether she could deal with just one. Her troubled frown became a scowl, her jaw clenched with sudden anger.

"You called your friends, didn't you. You're just stalling for time, am I right?"

It looked genuinely confused for a second or two. Then understanding dawned on it, and its feathers shifted to convey pleased surprise. "A sensate, are you. Remarkable, for you to manifest such talent so early. You must let me help you." It edged closer still. Ten feet.

She lost what little patience she had left. "Are you dense? What part of 'don't get any closer' don't you understand?"

A ... halo ... surrounded the bird-man. Had it been there before? It spread around it like faint tendrils of mist, blurring the alien's edges, making it hard to focus on any one feature of its anatomy. They spread toward her, drawing closer as slowly and harmlessly as the creature had been. She eyed them with wide-eyed alarm.

"Don't be afraid, human."

It was so tempting. Something in the way it said "human" was a little disturbing, but she didn't want to care about it anymore. All this suspicion was exhausting. If the creature had wanted to hurt her, it would have been more straightforward about it by now. Why try to calm her down, get on her good graces, try to initiate a conversation, just to attack her at the last moment?

"Yeah ... " she said, feeling a little confused with how easily her anger and suspicion were dissipating. It edged a bit closer still, but its approach wasn't nearly as worrisome as it had been just a moment before.

In truth, the creature had been nothing but gentle. What was there to worry about? It was acting a bit stubborn, maybe, but treating her with care and patience, like one decent human being to another. Not even like a human being; like she was a startled animal, clueless to the realities of civilized life, to the way everything actually worked. Like she was a runaway kitten. An untamed horse.

Cattle.

It had said "human" the way a human might say "dog."

She snapped out of it, repelling by instinct those weird tendrils that were starting to wrap all around her. A perfectly rational Alexandra might have given the benefit of the doubt. An Alexandra that hadn't been almost murdered multiple times, hadn't been persecuted, terrorized, cheated and nearly undone might have taken the alien at its word, trusted its alleged good intentions.

This Alexandra was in a different mind-set entirely. She knew that to survive a fight, a real fight, you must do the unexpected and put an end to it quickly. You feint a punch and break the knee joint with your heel. You act like a mouse and then bite like a viper. You do as if you are going to go for unarmed combat, then make your staff flash in your hands at the last moment and crack the alien's skull with it.

It was a desperate move. She didn't know what she had expected to happen when she tried it. Maybe for the alien to avoid the blow in a swift motion, then stare at her accusingly. Maybe for it to dissolve into smoke for a moment, letting her attack pass, and then coalescing back to normal, looking smug and condescending. Maybe for her staff not to even show up, neutralized by advanced bird-man mojo.

The last thing she had expected to happen was for the staff to make contact, bludgeon the Chirm's head, and blow it off its neck like an over-sized golf ball on a tee.

There was gore, at first. A trail of bright red blood, almost orange, followed the mauled head for a while. The body rotated slightly with the impact, jerking with a few sudden spasms before going limp the way one would expect a headless corpse to do. All the while, an ear-splitting scream filled the space around it; the agonizing shrill a parrot might yell if one were to drive nails through its wings. It didn't come just from the skull speeding away: it vibrated forth from the whole body of the creature.

And then everything ... dissolved. It happened slowly, almost reluctantly. As if the body was consciously trying to hold on to its solid state. The blood spread into a humid mist that gradually became transparent; the lifeless body blurred, color draining from it in small increments until it became a dense fog that scattered before her eyes. She could see the remains of the head become undone in curls of smoke before it disappeared into the distance. Even the ghastly remains that had stained her staff were gone in a eerie puff of bloody mist.

Disturbing as it was, none of it could hold a candle to what she felt at a far more ... mystical level. The compounded sensation of throbs and thrums that had accompanied the alien up until now became an unbearable mess the moment her weapon made contact. A flailing cacophony of forceful booms, sharp whip-cracks, creaking rumbles, like an earthquake that shook the fabric of space in all directions, and an entity stuck in the middle of it, grasping for any purchase it could find, and failing, and lashing out in desperation. She understood it with ease, the way the sunflower understands the cycling of the Sun: the Chirm's life force writhed in its death throes, gave out and dissipated, and it struck her in a way she was in no way prepared to endure. She felt it lodge itself deep within her, reaching down and staining her insides.

Was this what it felt like to stare a man in the eye as he died?

The undercurrent faded away into nothingness over the next ten seconds, along with the remnants of its body. The stain remained, foul and virulent.

I killed it. I just ... killed it.

She made her staff vanish without even thinking about it. It hadn't felt this way with the Clan. It had felt like survival, then. What she'd done to them hardly weighted on her conscience; it'd been like killing monsters in order to get to the next level, so to speak. But this ....

This felt like murder.

Maybe it was murder. She had acted on little more than a hunch. What if she'd jumped to conclusions? What if she'd just gone from victim to criminal, ruining her one chance to set things right in the process?

It was still with her, that feeling of being treated as potential property, of being regarded as less than human. It was real, as real as the disgust she felt for what she had done. She'd been cornered, and she'd given ample warning. She'd made the right choice, the only choice. Right?

Its buddy is still out there, and it's not going to be happy. Run!

That other, more distant undercurrent pulsated in the outskirts of her sphere of awareness; it didn't seem to be getting closer, just traversing space from right to left in the same trajectory the one she'd killed had been following. But that could change at any moment. Was she ready to confront another one of them?

Run. It was the smart thing to do, to get away from any possible retaliation and try her luck in a completely different area. The bird-man had confirmed beyond doubt that there were other humans to be found, somewhere. There was no reason to stay in what would soon be a doubtlessly hostile domain.

She went over what the creature had said: give her answers, help find her place, take her to others like her. A dark cloud passed over her features as the dots got connected in her head. Other property like her. Other pets that knew their place and knew how they should behave in the presence of the Chirm. It had promised the answers she sought, but never said that they would be the answers she wanted.

The thought was enough to make her feel sick. Human souls, taken as ... trophies? Slaves? How messed up was that? It was as awful a concept as she could stomach. It was harder to deal with than the notion of demons and eternal torment, in truth. Demons were evil and fiendish by definition, they were supposed to make deserving souls suffer for their sins. Terrible things were expected to be found in Hell. But these humanoid birds, these Chirm, they were frighteningly close to ... people. Civilized, polite, gentle. Like a nice, harmless slave driver from ancient Greece.

Granted, Earth's history was filled to the brim with slavery. It still existed everywhere in the twenty-first century, and she'd hardly done much more than be outraged by it. But this was the freaking afterlife! That things could be like this went beyond disturbing. It was anathema. It deeply, thoroughly pissed her off.

On top of that, there would be many humans just like her within Chirm territory, if what the bird-man had said was true. Heck, Aaron would probably have been taken in by their friendliness, knowing him. He might be in their power at that very moment. That thought alone was enough to make her blood boil.

She stirred into motion, paddling furiously toward the circular portal. She'd probably get discovered in no time, and be forced to run deeper into the unknown realm, and face the by now familiar "fight or get caught" not-choice many, many more times. But so what? The alternative was to abandon a bunch of helpless people, potential allies, possibly her own husband—in exchange of what, exactly? Taking a blind chance by fleeing somewhere else?

Running would be leaving her fate entirely up to chance, she reasoned as she gained speed. She'd eventually come across some other species, that might or might not help her. Or she'd walk into some other realm, and she might or might not find someone friendly. Judging by her experiences so far, hoping for "someone friendly" was a losing bet.

Alexandra was done with all that. She would reach her fellow humans. She would be as careful as possible, and would take no foolish chances if she could help it. And if she was plunging head-first into the maw of the beast, then so be it. At least this way it was her choice to do so. Her heart was in the right place; sometimes, that's all you can ask for.

The circular gateway came into view. She hadn't realized that she had fled so far. It was hard to tell whether she was zooming ahead or crawling along at any given time, with so few objects around her to use as reference. The thrumming coming from that other Chirm remained distant, its trajectory constant and intensity consistently decreasing. It hadn't detected her, apparently. All the better.

She approached the portal cautiously, trying to gather as much intel on the other side as she could before going through. If it looked too dire, she might not even go in, and chase after the other guy instead.

She clenched her jaw at the prospect of another interrogation. She'd get information from it, one way or the other.

Just like all the others, the portal was huge, leaning toward humongous, and its size wasn't even close to the biggest she'd seen. It was at least forty feet in diameter, with a patterned frame that drew countless zig-zagging lines at right angles, like superimposing triangle waves. It wasn't long before she could get a good view of the scene beyond.

It was a featureless sheet of pale blue, from where she was hovering—which was off from the side, at about forty five degrees relative to the surface of the waygate. She figured that she was looking at the sky of whatever land lay beyond. She swam all around the perimeter in a wide circle, getting a complete visual of the landscape.

It was beautiful, she had to admit. She would have called it magical, if she'd been in that kind of mood. The ground was mountainous, craggy, Grand Canyon-like. She could see miles of it, since the it was far below the exit of the portal. The thing must have been either floating in mid-air or wedged in the wall of a cliff; either way, it was way up in the air. The sky was blue, and it looked like an actual, honest-to-goodness sky, unlike the oppressive blue dome of Carved Barrow. Large islands of land floated in that sky, supported by nothing at all. She stopped counting at thirty. The majority of them were home to enormous citadels, full of ornate towers and pointy minarets, colorful and majestic. Cities in the clouds, castles in the sky.

Looking more closely, Alexandra noticed a translucent platform surrounding the other end of the gateway, round and smooth. Made of glass, maybe, or solidified air, for all she knew. Hopefully she wouldn't plummet to a head-on collision against those magnificent mountains the moment she stepped in.

She found it curious how the sight of a hundred floating citadels didn't even faze her. Why, of course there would be flying fortresses. Where else would the advanced civilization of bird-people live? It made such perfect sense.

Rolling her eyes at her new sense of normal, Alexandra looked on for a little while, trying to figure out what to do.

She couldn't just charge in and expect to carve a path to wherever humans were at. She didn't even know whether there would be humans in this particular realm. Stealth would be necessary, if she wanted to accomplish anything at all. Which meant, she thought with a grimace, that it was time to bust out her nifty camouflage pattern once more.

She was already bracing herself for it, when she thought of a much better, much more morbid alternative. She'd seen what these guys looked like. She'd had rather close contact with one of them. What better way to infiltrate their domain than impersonating one of their own? Could she make herself look like the Chirm she'd killed?

You got over your murder incident awful quick, girlfriend. Go ahead and desecrate its remains, why don't you.

The thought made her scowl resurface. She had acted in self-defense. It might have been done impulsively, but the impulse had been well-founded. She'd done what she had to, and she couldn't let irrational scruples get in the way of her goals. Whatever shame remained would have to be shoved aside and dealt with at another time.

No more hesitation. Alexandra pictured the bird-man as she had seen it up close, with all of its avian weirdness. It was funny how she could remember even the slightest details, if she tried hard enough. The crests at the temples had six pointy features, tilted just so. The middle finger had been two and three-fourths inches longer than the index. The feathers at its elbows curved in such a peculiar way.

Physical appearance wouldn't be enough, she realized. There was something about this kind of creature, that strange undercurrent, that she could detect from great distances. She was deeply aware of that other Chirm still, getting farther and farther. And the one she'd dealt with had been able to pick her out at a distance as well. She was certain by now that she must give out some sort of thrumming signal, just like they did—so she would need to mask that, somehow. Or alter it to replicate theirs, ideally. How does one go about that? Did she just believe it as truth, just like all the other stuff?

Just concentrate. There'll be no half-assing this thing.

She sought deep within herself, reaching for that enhanced awareness that had allowed her to deal with her ghostly anatomy problem. If she could hear her own voice and feel her own touch, she must be able to sense her own ... vibrating signal thingie, as well. She really needed to settle on a term for it, if only to speed up her thoughts. She wanted to sense her own ... "undercurrent." She liked that term well enough.

It wasn't hard to become aware of it. It had to be something similar to the avian undercurrent, and, having felt theirs, she knew at which level she should "listen." It was like picking out her own heartbeat without feeling for a pulse; it's always there, but you have to know how to listen for it.

Her signal was in fact like an overly creative heartbeat, quite distinct from Chirm signatures. It had more of a wavy feel to it, a deep bass with valleys and peaks, a subdued snare wobbling erratically. There was a cyclical component to it that she could pick out after a while, but there would always be slight variations to cadence, or pitch, or amplitude, or all of the above. It didn't come from any specific part of her: it simply was a part of who she was. There was no reason to think she wouldn't be able to change it. She might not be able to replicate the Chirm undercurrent to its last beat, but she'd felt enough of it to be able to come up with a pretty damn good counterfeit.

Alexandra gathered in her mind all the alterations she wanted to make and held them there. She'd never been all that great at multitasking before, but keeping track of every single thing seemed effortless to her at that moment. She could think of a hundred different details to take care of at once—from tiny nuances in appearance to the exact tempo necessary for a credible avian thrumming—and still have room to keep an alert eye on the portal at all times, wary of any more travelers.

There was an almost physical sense of anticipation to this change, much more intense than it had ever been before. It was the most ambitious shift she'd attempted so far, and she could feel the not-fully-understood forces she was tapping into swelling and crackling with her, like pent-up energy aching to be released.

You're nuts, Alex. You know that, right?

She let it happen. It was like connecting a bridge inside of her that joined intention with ability, flourishing into the definite results that she desired. She marveled at how very literally this place took the old shtick of "mind over matter."

There was the customary mist, and there was pain, and it was awful, but at least this time she had braced herself for it. A small comfort when it feels like your skin is turning inside-out, but it helped, somewhat.

"The pain will only be passing. You should survive the process."

It was over before she could complete the sentence in her head. Nothing like quoting Aaron's RPGs to make everything better. He'd played that one game so often that she could quote half its lines.

Alexandra allowed some time for her rattled senses to settle, then assessed the situation. She felt the same, inside. But the changes were immediately noticeable, without even actually looking at her limbs and torso. Her skin felt tougher, her fingers sharper, her talons ... well, like talons. Her nose was elsewhere, and trying to open her mouth only made her beak rattle a bit. Funky.

It wasn't perfect. It couldn't be; she still didn't know how to fly without moving, and she had no idea what kind of language the bird-people spoke. If caught in a bind, all she could hope for was to make random chirping noises and hope for the best.

But this was as good as it was going to get. There was no sense in delaying any longer; time to get going.

She held onto the frame of the portal with one four-fingered claw and positioned herself in a way that would let her walk in—as opposed to swimming through the middle of it and possibly falling flat on her face, once gravity got a hold of her. Her talons clicked on the frame's surface as she settled on a crouch.

Alexandra the covert, Chirm look-alike spy took a deep breath, and she wondered whether her lungs still looked human beneath the plucked bird skin. She very much doubted that the changes had gone as deep as her internal organs.

You don't really have lungs anymore, Alex.

She breathed out in open defiance to her own thoughts, and stepped through.

________

Their names were Tami, Meli, Tish and Yuri. Short, diminutive words, evocative of light and cheerful things. Names fit for pets and children's toys.

They were all dressed in colorful clothes, sort-of kind-of like the ones the bird-man had been wearing—and that Alexandra wore now—but more festive, more frilly and ornate. Dolls dressed up to their owners' liking.

They had followed her commands without question or hesitation. Come with me, follow, stop. Tell me your name, tell me where can I find others like you. Between their input and her ability to track distinct undercurrents, she'd been able to gather a group of four sad little humans that quietly trailed behind her as she coursed through the air.

Tami was short and a little on the plump side. Her skin was fair and her red hair was shoulder-length and curly. Her lips were the deep crimson of bloodstained satin. She was quiet, demure and obedient.

Meli was a burly mass of a man, almost wider than he was tall, and all of it muscle bulging under skin that was dark like pure chocolate. "Broad" was the word for Meli: broad shoulders, broad chest, broad nose and lips and jaw. Decidedly attractive, if you fancied that kind of thing. He would have been the embodied ideal of a manly man, but for one thing. He was quiet, demure and obedient.

Tish was a wiry affair of long arms and legs, except for a rather generous bust. Her blond hair, pale as straw, made waves down to her middle back. Sharp blue eyes, cast down and timid, rounded up the Nordic Tribeswoman look, which was betrayed by her unassertive behavior: she was quiet, demure and obedient.

Yuri was a male counterpart to Tish. They could have passed for identical twins. He was thin bordering scrawny, with eyes like ice-shards and a strong nose. His close-crop hair was like a cap made of sunlight. Not to be the odd man out, he was quiet, demure and obedient.

They weren't the first ones she had been aware of. They had simply been the only ones she'd been able to approach without getting too close to one of the numerous bird-things that populated the realm. She had found her little humans in what she could only call "voluntary confinement": just standing in the corner of a stark room within the floating citadels, behind a colorful line on the ground, their heads bowed, their eyes glazed over. Tami and Meli had been by themselves, while she had found Yuri and Tish together. Little more than cattle held in a rope-bound pen.

From the very start they treated her with the unfettered deference a trained dog would have for its master. There was no curiosity when she barged into their quarters and ushered them outside. No surprise or suspicion when she demanded they tell her where to find the rest of their kind. No will to do anything else but follow her orders. They were ... broken.

Any one of these things would have upset her. Put together, they had her seething with barely contained rage. This was the fucking afterlife. Were these pathetic beings the souls of hideous criminals? Had they incurred the unforgivable sins in life that would grant them an existence as wretched as this? Or were they just as guilty as she was, perhaps? She had narrowly escaped their fate, after all. If she hadn't gotten lucky with her quick blow to the head, she might have been on her way to her very own rope pen by then. Did her sins warrant eternal slavery at the hands of these bizarre avian people?

The skin she was wearing and the thing she was pretending to be had filled her with a steady supply of disgust.

But she had to put up with it. Alexandra had been striving to do what every disguised infiltrator in every piece of fiction she'd seen would say to do, and that was to behave as if every ounce of her belonged where she was. She flew from place to place as if she'd been born sailing through air currents, demanded everything, asked for nothing, and stayed well clear of any avian signatures floating around, while doing her best to look very pissed off, which hardly required an effort in the mind frame she was in. It had worked quite well so far.

Figuring out how to move through the air had been suicidally simple. She'd had no time to waste, so instead of fighting against her apparent ability to excel under extreme pressure, she had embraced it wholeheartedly—in the form of free-falling toward the ground beneath the portal until the knowledge came to her, or until she went splat. Whichever happened first.

If it hadn't worked, it might have been impulsive or reckless to try something like that. Darwin award-worthy, Aaron would say. But since it had worked just fine, the word for it was "decisive," and quite possibly "genius."

Now that she could look at the intricacies of flight with an analytic eye, it was no wonder that the Peter Pan approach hadn't worked for her earlier. As she slowly unraveled its mysteries, she could see how it didn't have much to do at all with the belief-based stuff she could pull off. It felt much more grounded, much more ... technical. Maybe it just didn't come as naturally to her.

Alexandra and her cadre of sorry human slaves kept on heading toward the next target, a feeble signal within one of the hundreds of levitating estates that served as homes (nests?) for the bird people. The closer she got to it, the more she felt like she hadn't thought out her rescue expedition nearly as thoroughly as she should have. When you go rescue someone, you normally have an exit strategy. You have a place to take the rescuees to, a stronghold, a safe-house, a hidey-hole in the ground. You have an alternative plan to deal with unforeseen contingencies.

She didn't have any of these things. She didn't even have a primary plan, much less a secondary one—unless "go in, look for husbun" counted as a plan, that is. She probably shouldn't be rounding them up at all, and should be figuring out instead what to do with the few she'd managed to "steal." Hell, a mass rescue mission hadn't even been her intent to begin with: all she was worried about was finding Aaron. Yet looking at the broken state of the poor souls she had come across, she wasn't so sure anymore that she wanted to find him here.

Alexandra stopped her advance and turned to look at them, holding out a claw-like hand to signal them to stop. They did so immediately, taking care never to meet her eyes—which filled her with a bout of frustration that she was mindful not to show. There wasn't even a tiny spark of rebelliousness in them, and it looked entirely too convincing for it to be just an act. What if they didn't want to help her once she revealed her true self? What if they tried to turn her in?

Maybe you should leave them behind and get out while you can.

She refused to even acknowledge the thought and turned to question Tami.

"Is there a place where no one is likely to go? Somewhere we can be alone and undisturbed?"

As she spoke in chirrups and squawks, Alexandra saw something then that gave her a little hope. A brief hint of suspicion, quickly concealed dread. Wholly loyal dogs don't fear the prospect of privacy with their masters.

"I suppose ... caves below ground level, Great One." She had one of those husky voices that sounded as if she had a permanent sore throat. "And your private quarters, of course."

"Good," Alexandra said, the gears in her head turning. "I want you to take us to the nearest one where you think no-one will find us. Not even your kind." She extended an arm and made a shooing gesture. "Go!"

The red-headed woman obeyed immediately, the three others trailing behind her with a blank expression. Alexandra hoped there was rueful resignation behind those neutral faces, but she wouldn't bet a rotten fish head on the possibility.

She followed close behind. With luck it wouldn't be far. It was only a matter of time before someone found what she was doing a little strange and approached to investigate. It was foolish to keep on finding more of these guys without having anywhere to take them, without cluing in some of them into what was really going on. She felt like she was in way over her head, and in desperate need of allies.

They descended steadily until they were gliding close to the mountainous surface of the realm. After a few minutes of travel, Tami pointed at an opening on the side of one of the countless steep slopes that could be found down there. Alexandra saw several other openings of various sizes scattered through the landscape. There must have been a whole network of tunnels underground.

She took the lead to approach the entrance that Tami had suggested. She was no more than twenty feet away from it when she first sensed the disturbance.

"Genesis ripples, Great One." Meli rumbled, facing to the left of the cave they'd been about to enter.

Distracted by the unpleasant sensation that was washing over her, her first comment was less than inspired.

"What?" she asked in a bit of a daze. What she was feeling was akin to an undercurrent, but not really. While the undercurrents were like listening to different radio stations, this disturbance felt like being next to a hurricane warning system when it was going off at full blast—not in the sense of ear-splitting sound, but in the sense of a solid wall of sonic power that rumbles in your chest, rattles your teeth and shakes you down to your core. It was coming in unpredictable spurts from the direction Meli was facing. He hovered motionless, as if listening closely.

"He said 'Genesis ripples, Great One,'" Tami helpfully put in.

Alexandra glanced at her. Was she being made fun of? That'd be nice, actually.

"Explain yourself," she demanded.

The confused look in Tami's face lasted less than a second. "A newborn integrates nearby, Great One."

"It's human, Great One." Meli's deep voice carried enough disbelief to tell her that such a thing didn't happen often, or at all.

Alex paid closer attention herself, trying to ignore the in-your-face-ness of it in favor of picking out details and nuances. Even with the stark contrast in delivery, she could immediately perceive a certain familiarity to it. That capricious bass, that subdued snare. The thrum and wobble of an overly creative heartbeat.

Somebody else. Somebody else! Alexandra shot toward the cave nearest to the spot where the grating signal was coming from, rushing to be there before this whole "integration" deal took place.

This was huge. Somebody else. And not some cowed thrall sapped of resolve, but someone just like her, with whom she could share this terrible nightmare. It couldn't be her husband, since they had died at the same time—but she would take anyone at all at this point. She'd have plenty in common with them, since no doubt this person had blown up just like she did. The casualties back on Earth must have been up in the millions by then, tens of millions. It was about time one of them was sent her way.

Don't rush to mourn the death of so many people or anything.

She felt a bit of shame at that, but it didn't slow her down any. She could help this person get their bearings. She could teach this person how to function, what to expect, what to be afraid of. She could share her story and listen to theirs, and they could set out to fix everything together.

The extent of her excitement made the wide smile creeping onto her lips turn brittle. She hadn't realized how unbearably lonely she felt until that moment, when the prospect of finally meeting a kindred spirit promised to put an end to her solitude.

She strove to rein in her enthusiasm, even as she dashed into the cave and negotiated its winding passageways toward the tremulous crescendo. She'd had high hopes as well for the human souls already in the realm, and look at how that had worked out. She still hadn't gotten over the disappointment of finding servile wretches where she'd expected reluctant captives, and she had no reason to believe that her luck on these matters was about to change.

The jarring signal led her to its point of origin within the tunnels. It pulsed and churned right in front of her, in a place that did not look significant in any way: a spot about a foot away from the wall, a few feet above the rocky ground, halfway through a tunnel that was just like any other.

The source of the signal itself didn't look like much: hardly more than a rippling distortion of the space it occupied, swirling in place like heat rising from sun-baked asphalt.

But simple appearances were deceiving. Alexandra couldn't have ignored it any more than she could ignore a grenade exploding in front of her face. She felt the hammering throbs coming from it in every part of her, growing more intense, more urgent. Something approached, and it was ripping apart the weave of reality in order to get there.

Alexandra studied it with fascination. Had it looked and felt like this when she showed up? No wonder those filthy Clan had been ready to jump her.

The reality rift suddenly came together to coalesce into definite shapes. It resolved into a ball of mist that flashed into a human form, two feet in mid-air. It immediately fell the distance and collapsed to its hands and knees.

Alexandra could do nothing but stare. It was a woman, clad in very, very old-fashioned armor pieces that belonged in a museum all the way over in Shanghai, in a display of what ancient soldiers would wear. The armored outfit consisted of hundreds of small rounded plates laced together over cured leather. White cloth could be seen wherever no armor was strapped: under the shoulders, one of the elbows, the back of her legs. Tall leather boots protected her feet all the way up to below the knee. At some point she must have been wearing a helmet, because her tight bun, dark as night and soaked with sweat, was plastered to her skull.

And there was blood. The woman was drenched in it, staining armor, cloth and skin alike. Her hands, particularly the one that was missing a glove, were almost completely red with it.

She looked up from the ground, fully alert. She saw Alexandra and widened haunted eyes that were dark and heavily slanted. The bloodstains on her face bore streaks down her cheeks, dirty paths carved by tears. The woman all but jumped away from Alex, clambering to her feet and almost falling on her behind as she backed away in a hurry, looking around with mounting panic.

"Stand back, demon!" she spat. There was a wild cast around her eyes as they searched the confines of the small cave.

Alexandra stared on, momentarily numb with the shock of how fast everything had happened.

Demon? Why in the world—

Aw, shit!

In her crazy rush to meet with her new friend, she had completely forgotten to get rid of the bird-man look and feel. She put out her hand-talons in front of her, taking a small step toward the woman out of reflex. "I'm a friend! Everything's alright, I can help you!"

The woman's sword was out of its scabbard and pointed straight at Alexandra's neck before she even completed her step. The fact that there had not been a sword at all just a second before did not seem to register in the soldier's brain. "I want nothing of what you have to offer, dark one." Her words quivered as they came out, the sound of them somehow disassociated from the shapes her mouth made. Then her voice went raw. "Where is Yun?"

"Please ... " Alexandra begun, her legs almost taking her another step forward. She was stopped in her tracks by the terrible image of the woman lopping off her head in a sudden lunge, just like she herself had clubbed the thing she was now impersonating.

Alex couldn't blame her. She wouldn't have listened either, had the roles been reversed. There would be no hope of talking through this mess without reverting to her human form. She took two long steps back, hands spread out in a placating gesture.

"Look," she said, "things are really complicated, but you gotta believe me. I am just like you, I'm just wearing a disguise. I'm going to take it off, alright? And then we can talk." Which was easier said than done, but she wasn't about to go into details at the moment.

The Asian woman kept on looking all around the small tunnel, as if searching for something. And all the while making sure to keep watching Alexandra's every move. "If you've hurt Yun, demon, I will end you." The desperate, fearful quality of her voice turned her threat from dire to heart-wrenching. It was so thick with the fear for a loved one that it stirred Alexandra's own anxieties over what might have happened to Aaron all over again. She took another step back, shut her stupid, stupid beady eyes, and fought to get that can of worms sealed and put away once more. She had enough anxiety to deal with as it was.

"Just hang on, alright?" she told the woman with more emotion than she'd meant to. Then she hurried to figure out exactly what to do to look normal again, before her new friend decided to drive a sword through her guts.

She might have called it "wearing a disguise," but she knew that it went much deeper than that. She didn't feel as much disguised as she felt ... morphed. There would be no simple taking off the mask, no straightforward "undo" button. She had to shift back to human form in the same way that she had abandoned it: delve deep into her being and shape it anew.

The prospect alone was frightening—could she make everything the way it was supposed to be? Did she know all the details necessary to restore herself? Would it be just as goddamned painful as before?—but she hardly had any time to fret over such things, what with the deranged soul flying off the handle not fifteen feet away from her. Shifting right in front of the woman's eyes would be hard to explain, but once she looked normal again (and not like some grotesque bird-demon from Hell) she should be able to get her to listen.

Not wasting any more time, she tapped into the enhanced self-awareness state that was becoming increasingly familiar to her, concentrating on all the different elements that made up the mess that was Alexandra Gretchen. She took all the psychological aspects and neatly put them aside, letting them remain untouched. She grabbed the emotions, the fear, the anxiousness, the anger, and pushed them where they would not interfere. She gathered all those avian features scattered throughout her being and focused on altering them, trimming them, or getting rid of them. She put in her soft curves, her lean muscles, her features and imperfections—the knowledge instinctive and automatic like the drying motions after a shower. Most important of all—and, at some deep, undefinable level, she knew that it was the most important part—she recalled her own thrumming signal, crystal-clear in her mind, and replaced the Chirm's hard edges with her own erratic rhythm.

She put all these things in place like pieces on a chess board in the play just before check-mate. She did it swiftly, methodically. Once everything was ready and hurting to just become, she willed them loose.

A short ten years later the pain subsided, the mist departed, and she found herself on all fours on the ground, staring at her wonderful human hands—dark skin, orange fingernails and stylish gloves included. The woman was in the exact same spot as before, which led Alexandra to believe that it might not have taken so long after all for the full-body migraine to go away.

That was the time when her group of unwitting rescuees chose to show up behind her.

"Great One?" Tami asked, wary like a child finding a creepy stranger at her doorstep, and wondering whether she should run screaming for her parents.

Shit, shit, double shit!

Plenty more curses ran through Alexandra's head as she clambered to her feet and turned to face them. But of course they would follow her inside, either of their own volition or simply because "follow" was the last thing she'd told them to do. She looked at them for a second, still struggling to gather her wits after the strain from the transformation. All four of them were staring at her as if she was an Eldritch Abomination from Beyond. They'd probably seen the whole thing.

What in blazes was she supposed to do now?

And, just as she was about to spout the first reassuring nonsense that came to her head, the tip of an awfully sharp sword pressed against her back. It prickled the skin to the left of her spine, the blade carefully placed to slide between her ribs and pierce right through her heart.

"Not another step!" the soldier said over Alexandra's shoulder, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Alexandra tensed her whole body, not daring twitch a muscle. "Or I will dispose of your 'great one' before you can breathe another word." The point of the sword dug a bit further to demonstrate her resolve. "I don't know what you are, shape-changer," she went on, fear taking a back-seat in her voice to the heat of impending violence. "But I will not ask you again. Where. Is. Yun."

A hundred times shit!

She had turned her back on an armed, unstable opponent. How stupid could she get? How many more stupid mistakes could she pile up on this mess? She feverishly scoured her brain for a solution, any solution to get out of her predicament. The droplets of blood trickling down her back and staining her hooded shirt made it hard to concentrate. Maybe she could command the thralls to help subdue her. Maybe if she lunged ahead in a forward crouch she could—

The blade pressed harder, digging into her flesh, and she let out a yelp that silenced the part of her that kept urging to take up her chances in a fight. "Speak!" the woman yelled.

Tears of frustration started welling up in her eyes. It wasn't fair. Why did things have to turn out like this?

This was one of those moments when a true survivor would find just the right thing to say. A true hero of fantastic inclinations would gather her wits about her, put a plan together in the blink of an eye, save her skin and accomplish the whole quest in the process.

She might have done it, if it had been some thing threatening her, instead of someone. She might have come up with a clever story, if the embodiment of her latest, greatest surge of hope weren't holding her at sword-point—if, after all the bested challenges, it hadn't been her own kind that threatened to murder her.

Then she might have asked herself, "What would I believe, if the roles were reversed? What would I expect?" She might have realized that if she claimed ignorance, she'd just be accused of lying. If she tried to explain, she would get laughed at. She should have known that telling the truth would sound worse than any fabrication she could come up with.

She should have known to lie.

Funny, all the things that go unthought-of when someone's got a sword ready to stab your heart.

"I ... I don't ... " she begun in a thready whisper, then swallowed and started over. "I don't know who Yun is." She turned her head the tiniest fraction, eager to make eye contact. "I swear I'm not—"

There was a scream seeping through gritted teeth, carrying with it an endless expanse of rage and sorrow and maddened grief. There was a sharp stab of pain that lanced through Alexandra's chest. A gasp, harshly interrupted. The blade of a sword in front of her, red and slick with blood.

She stared at it in shock, working to take in a breath that would not come.

"When you get back to the Abyss," the woman said close to her ear, voice ragged and desperate, "tell whichever demon-god you serve that Ming Xiu will not rest until Xiaoping Yun is freed and returned to her."

Then she withdrew her blade, shoving away her opponent with her shoulder as she did so.

Alex kept trying to breathe in, but couldn't. She struggled to take a few steps and remain upright, but her knees buckled. She tried to staunch the flow of blood, but her hands would not obey her.

She collapsed over an expanding pool of crimson, her eyes glazed over, her mind drifting away. As the world around her faded, Alexandra sent out her last thoughts in prayer.

She asked for Aaron to find better fortune than she had. She asked for him to be somewhere far away from here, somewhere safe, somewhere happy. Somewhere he would eventually forget about looking for her.

She asked to maybe find peace at last. She was tired; so, so tired. She could use some peaceful rest.

She asked why—not accusing or angry, just ... curious. Why?

She asked for forgiveness.

For the first time that she could remember, she wondered whether there was anyone listening.

∞

"Fucking sex trade." Heat has entered her voice by now, a mixture of contempt and bitterness. By my account, she is entitled to a lot more anger than that. "I still hope my sister got knifed and dumped somewhere I couldn't find back then." She does as if to shake her head, her movement somewhat impeded by my being there. "I know it sounds awful, but it's the damn truth. Anything's better than being taken."

11

Ming Xiu's sword flashed in and out of existence in a blur, cleaving foes asunder in a perfect dance of martial prowess. There was nothing gratuitous about her movements: no unnecessary flourishes, no flashy spins or twirls. She kept her every action functional and to the point, and her economy of movement only added to the deadly beauty of her attacks. Curls of mist trailed behind her every step, imbuing her motions with a diffuse halo of mystique.

Her bow was there only for the half second it took for an arrow to be drawn and loosed, unleashing shot after shot in-between sword swings with unfailing accuracy, seamlessly transitioning from one weapon to the other. It was as if she had a preternatural ability to know exactly where the next target would be.

Her targets were, for lack of a better word, monsters. A wide-eyed Aaron watched it all in mute shock, hiding behind a crease in the clear gray walls of the cave. He felt like the useless sidekick in an action movie, screaming in terror as he tagged along and being generally worthless while the protagonist took care of every problem.

He didn't scream in terror, but he had the "being worthless" part well covered. Even after spending all those hours learning the basics of several martial styles—supposedly so that he could get a feel for all the different disciplines and then choose one to specialize in—he had no pretenses of knowing how to handle himself in a real combat situation. He was much more likely to become a liability if he joined the fray, so he concentrated on staying put and not being a target, just like he'd been told to do by the whirling embodiment of death that lay at the center of it all.

Ming Xiu had masked their undercurrent, told him to hide where she pointed, and then shot headlong into the hapless writhen rear guard, without so much as a battle cry. Never mind that there were dozens of them, a hundred or more, swarming from one wall of the large cave to the other. Never mind that each was the approximate size of a well-fed horse. Never mind that they looked like beasts pulled right out of a nightmare, with their scaly black skin, sinuous bodies and gleaming claws. "Writhen" was an appropriate name for the things, Aaron thought: they slithered and writhed like snakes when they moved, giving the impression that they would twist free no matter how hard you tried to hold them down. Standing on two powerful legs and with a long, prehensile tail, they looked like elongated raptors with a bad case of radioactive mutation, comic book style.

And he'd thought Queg was bad.

Each one of them had two long antennae sprouting from their receded foreheads: they went up, then bent sharply downward in a long curve, with pointy ends all the way to the floor. The stalks swayed with every movement, and they seemed to have a particular significance, as Ming Xiu made it a point to slice them clean off at any chance she got. Many bow shots had sheared one or both antennae off some approaching creature—a testament to her unfailing accuracy, as the appendages were hardly five centimeters thick. The arrows vanished before they even hit the floor, but by then the damage had been done.

At some point before her charge she had changed into a more battle-worthy outfit: a bright red, silken robe with a high collar and white buttons running down one side of her bust, and long silken pants wrapped tight at the shins, just as red. Very traditional, almost ... stereotypical. Aaron presumed that her change of clothes had more to do with custom than with protection or functionality.

Not like she needed protection, in any case. The woman was untouchable, moving with enough speed to defy plain eyesight, taking skill to a level that simply went beyond human. She moved so fast that it was a challenge even to figure out what she was doing.

The few blows that she didn't dodge or parry with her sword were turned away by some sort of dynamic shield of her creation, conjured to strike at and deflect each oncoming attack. Every time it came into being it looked like a lightning-quick dancer's ribbon orbiting around her, soundlessly intercepting enemy swipes and thrusts to redirect them elsewhere.

Gravity seemed to be little more than a small nuisance to her. As Aaron watched, she jumped in the air, shot three arrows three different directions in the blink of an eye, moved sideways while airborne—dodging a multitude of claws, tail swipes, antennae stings and thorn-like projectiles in the process—and dived back into the mass of monsters, silvery sword flashing to take the head off the nearest one. Inhuman screams of rage and pain accompanied her every move, as every move brought ruin to one enemy or another.

There was plenty of blood as a result: a black, viscous ichor that oozed more than poured and slowly spread through the rough, almost white floor of the cave. Yet somehow even that couldn't touch her. Her clothes and skin remained unblemished in the midst of all the madness.

How much of a threat can these things be, when just one of us is capable of this?

It was a valid question as their numbers dwindled down to the point where she was no longer completely surrounded by a mass of vicious creatures trying to overpower her. The piling corpses weren't a problem, as she didn't stay in one area long enough for them to become a hindrance to her movements.

With the reduced chance of crossfire, the more distant writhen had started to grow more daring with their projectiles—razor-sharp thorns the size of knitting needles. They seemed to spit them out of an orifice right below the gullet, making an unpleasant sound when they did that reminded Aaron of a cat choking on a furball. The needles cut through the air quick as crossbow bolts, but most had a way of passing through where Ming Xiu had been only a moment ago. Those that struck home never made it past her conjured "steel ribbons"; in fact, many projectiles would get hit by either the ever-changing shield or a swipe of her sword, getting redirected into some other monster of her choosing.

About half their number had succumbed to her onslaught already. That was about the time when they started breaking. Apparently these creatures were no mindless beasts: once they figured out that they couldn't overwhelm her with numbers and no amount of ranged fire would deal with her, they started to recede as a unit. There wasn't so much as a call for retreat; it was more like a silent agreement between all of them that it was time to change tactics. The monsters closest to her spread out around her and focused on bogging her down, while the rest scrambled toward the distant exit of the cave, shooting volleys of suppressive fire to keep her at bay.

Or tried to keep her at bay, anyway. Ming Xiu disposed of those that stayed behind without slowing down, speeding between them in a blur, sword severing limbs, guts, necks. The shimmering blade sliced through their black flesh like a beam of daylight through darkness.

Then she immediately took off toward the receding tide of writhen, not bothering with such a mundane thing like running. She shot through the air like a cannonball, zig-zagging around the dead, arrows flying from her bow, ribbons of steel deflecting oncoming needles. She smashed into their ranks head first—or rather, slid into them and disappeared.

They'd gotten far enough away for Aaron to have trouble keeping track of what happened next. The cave passage was at an upward slope, and corpses littered the way, so his effective field of vision was quite limited by then. But he could imagine well enough, seeing how their formation got disrupted into chaos, the outer layers fled in both directions, the inner layers roared in agony. Sometimes she'd emerge for a few seconds above the melee, a spinning beacon of red and white within the murky sea of black over black. She'd shoot those trying to get away and get back into the thick of it.

She did not get all of them, either from oversight or from being too busy dodging five million attacks per second. And those that she did not get were heading straight for Aaron.

Well, maybe not straight for him, but in enough of his general direction to make him feel very, very uncomfortable.

He pressed himself against the rock of the cave's wall, burrowing as much as he could into the crease he was hiding behind. It wasn't enough to cover his entire body from sight, but it was better than just standing in the open.

It wasn't enough. Or maybe line of sight wasn't the problem. The pair of writhen that were getting away stopped abruptly and tilted their head this way and that, like picking out a scent with their ears. Then they focused on him.

Damn undercurrent. Yet another subject he would have loved to know more about. It was that strange sensation of distinctiveness that he had become aware of when he first entered Thousand Rivers. Despite all his questions, all he'd been told about it is that Humans called it the "undercurrent," and that it was part of every Sentient. It was specific to individuals, but there were many shared traits within the same species. It was a sort of signature that everybody created just by existing, and that could be detected by all other Sentients with varying degrees of accuracy. Many denizens could feel it as well. And apparently, the writhen were one such species.

Ming Xiu had probably masked it only during her initial approach. In fact, he knew for certain that it was no longer hidden: he could sense her a little ways ahead, vaguely. It felt stronger than usual, presumably from all the stuff she was doing. And it was hard to tell, but he thought he could make out hints of strain and a sense of deep focus to her usual vibe. He was getting pretty good at that; the undercurrent was such a fascinating phenomenon for him, and he had focused on analyzing it at every opportunity ever since he became aware of it.

He stared at the beasts in frustration, all these thoughts running through his head at breakneck speed. If Diego and Co. had been more forthcoming, maybe he could have learned to mask the signal on his own, and now he wouldn't be worrying about the two snake-raptors trying to decide whether to keep on fleeing or chew on his face.

One of Alexandra's accounts about her "lively childhood adventures" popped in his head.

If you can't escape, and you know they can kick your ass, you gotta act tough and hope for a bluff to work. All pleading ever did was let them know that you're helpless. If you act like you can't wait for them to come at you, they just might decide it isn't worth it and change their minds. Or give you a chance to run for it.

They probably weren't the exact same words she had used, but the lesson was easy enough to remember. Puff up your chest and hope for the best. There was the small detail that it hadn't worked for her that one time back then, and she'd gotten beaten and robbed of her dismal, grimy possessions. Better skip over that part.

And so he scowled fiercely at them, and reached for the gravitational weave of the realm, and almost pissed his pants with relief at finding it without effort, as it happened to be quite similar to the one present in Thousand Rivers. He gave it a good shove and found himself shooting forward and up in a tall parabola that would land him right in front of the things, if he didn't alter his course. He took care to bare his teeth and look as generally fierce as a pale-skinned man in a T-shirt and baggy jeans can look. He felt like a basketball going for a three-pointer, and thrown too short.

Aaron had started yelling at the top of his lungs at some point during his ascent, probably from the realization that he was charging a pair of vicious monsters that could easily rend his flesh with a flick of the wrist. Yet for spectators not privy to his thoughts, he must have looked fairly intimidating, fearlessly jumping to attack like that. He hoped as much, at least.

The creatures roared in response, making a sound that was like the squeal of a pig taken down an octave or two. They took a step back in unison, lined up their gullet-holes, and spit.

Holy crap!

He pushed at the weave again in a panic, amplifying the strength of its pull while inverting its orientation. Combined with the inertia he carried, his trajectory went from basketball to land-to-air missile, hurtling toward the ceiling of the enormous cave at a very unhealthy speed. The ugly needles missed him by centimeters, as a result from both hurried aiming and his flailing efforts.

He corrected his suicidal climb with barely a moment to spare, but not without overcompensating. Aaron dropped directly toward the monsters at approximately a million times terminal speed. Now he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

It must have been too much for the already rattled writhen. He probably wouldn't have had a chance in hell if they'd started out fresh, but after seeing half their comrades get chopped to pieces by the crazed Human deathbringer and resolving to run for their lives, any monster's nerves would be a bit frayed. Aaron's aimless assault proved to be one berserk Human too many for them. Braying more deep squeals, they scattered in different directions from where Aaron was about to land, turned tail and ran back toward the Pathways as fast as their legs would take them.

The triumphant berserk Human scrambled not to splat against the ground. He managed, mostly. He did something not quite right, though, and instead of landing on his two feet he was violently sent rolling and tumbling to the side until the wall of the cave saw fit to stop him with a punch to the ribcage.

He was still pretty new at this.

He lay on his side for a while, first busy seeing stars, then trying to figure out who he was and why did he hurt. The knowledge came back to him eventually, and with it came a warm feeling of satisfaction at the thought that Alex would be proud. It was enough to bring a smile to his lips: he'd just bluffed his way out of certain de—certain severance. It felt so stupid to use the word, but, hey, when in Rome and all that. The switch in terminology did help a little to deal with the fact that death was a very real possibility in the afterlife.

He clambered to his feet and looked up the slope to check what was going on with Ming Xiu. She had probably murdered every one of them by now.

It turned out that she had, incidentally. Or at least there was no-one left standing. The cave had become a carpet of motionless corpses drenched in blood.

It was weird for him to think of that black substance as "blood." Blood was supposed to be red, for one. But what else could he call it? It was a dense liquid that poured out when you made lacerations in the flesh of the aliens, and it presumably flowed within their bodies carrying nutrients, whatever those might be in this place. That hemoglobin wasn't present in its cells seemed like a small detail to split hairs about.

The stupidest details seemed to bother him at the most incongruous times.

Ming Xiu was walking over to where Aaron stood, her strides brisk, sword still in hand. He could get a good look at it for the first time: contrary to what he had expected, there was nothing ornate about it, other than the abnormal brightness of its blade. It was a straight length of double-edged steel, maybe a little under a meter long, a little over five centimeters wide. The hilt had a golden, triangular guard and an entirely unassuming pommel. As she approached, the silvery weapon vanished with a burst of dancing mists that looked artful in a very deliberate way. She smiled a kind smile at him, and it managed to inspire more fear than a wolfish one ever could.

He looked back at her in silence for a few beats.

"Are all Humans Super Saiyan?" he finally asked.

Her smile became a touch jaded. "Gibberish words. This is more references that I have no way of understanding, isn't it."

"I guess I shouldn't ask why the Zerg are attacking this place, then."

She sighed. "They'll get old soon enough for you too, the more frustrating it becomes never to be understood. I can't wait for that moment to come, for one."

Jeez, he wasn't that bad. It wasn't his fault that the Humans of the afterlife couldn't be bothered to keep up with popular culture.

"Shouldn't you understand the concept of what I'm saying, though?" He asked, a little confused. "Falon went on and on—"

She silenced him with a cutting gesture of her hand. "Not the time, Aaron. No more questions. We're far from done here." Her expression hardened once more with concentration, and her feet lifted off the ground shortly after. She gave him that unyielding look that admitted no contest to her commands. "Follow."

She begun sailing through the air toward the exit of the cave that led to the realm proper, slowly at first so he could catch up. Aaron tried his best to keep up with her, and mostly succeeded, in his own wobbly way.

Now that he'd spent some time closer to her, he could feel a definite difference in Ming Xiu. There was something about her that let him know that she was ... tired.

She didn't do anything as overt as panting, or as obvious as looking worn or spent. She still looked every bit the stately matron, all calm features and not a hair out of place, although the silken battle garb took away from that image, somewhat. But the beginnings of exhaustion were there, at a much deeper level underneath her fresh outward appearance. It was in her undercurrent, mostly: there had been a measure of strength before that was now missing from it, making her signal more feeble, less commanding. It was still plenty strong, but noticeably less so.

It had been the first question he'd asked once he realized that food and rest were a complete non-issue in Thousand Rivers. It was as basic as it got: everything needs energy to do anything. He'd seen denizens eat, sleep and poop, albeit in wildly different ways than what he was used to from Earth. But Sentients did none of those things. Where did their energy come from?

Needless to say, he had not been told. He'd been told instead that the laws he knew did not apply any longer. To be content with the knowledge that he would never grow tired again. He'd been told to be patient and all the standard bologna. But there was obviously something fueling Ming Xiu's amazing feats of strength, and she'd spent a significant amount of that something fighting the throng of ugly monsters.

Of course, he wasn't about to ask about it, especially with the woman being in "take no prisoners" mode. He could take all the stonewalling only for so long before finally giving up on asking important questions.

In any case, he wasn't in the greatest disposition to start a conversation at the moment. Ming Xiu was speeding up, and keeping level with her was becoming more and more of a challenge. They were passing over the sea of mangled bodies, and the terrible smell had hit him square in the nose just a second ago. It was positively awful, like opening that forgotten, five-month-old tupperware at the back of the fridge with Thanksgiving leftover in it. The sight of it from above was just as pretty, too.

Ming Xiu was saying something, but it took him a little while to focus and he missed the first few words.

"—They'd have fled in all directions, instead of focusing on me." She sounded a bit more friendly now. Maybe she felt bad for being rude to him. "I made sure to shoot down those that broke off to give word of our disruption, but I might have missed a few. There might be more up ahead, and they might be expecting us. I might not be able to keep them from noticing you this time: if they spit thorns at you, dodge randomly while you flee back down the tunnel. If they come at you, avoid their stalks at all costs. If they get enough of one within you—stalk or thorn, doesn't matter—you will be paralyzed and at their mercy."

His eyes widened at that. Suddenly his daring bluff back there seemed much more reckless and much less daring. He'd avoided disaster by little more than dumb luck, apparently.

"Poison?" he asked. He would have preferred to be more articulate than that, but keeping up with the woman without crashing against the floor or ceiling was hogging most of his attention.

Ming Xiu gave him a look that made him feel like a tenth grader asking whether the moon was really made of cheese. She looked like she was going to say something else, but settled for a nod instead. "Yes. Just like poison. At the sight of hostiles, stay fifteen meters behind me and don't draw attention to yourself." A smile played on her lips as she looked ahead again. "Unless you think you can scare them off, like you did earlier."

So she had noticed. He'd begun to fear that his unparalleled act of bravery would go unrecognized. "Scary," was all he blurted out between aerial boosts.

"I must apologize for that. I could have done better."

The funny part about her statement was that it had the sound of honest self-criticism to it, as opposed to boasting through false modesty. Even if Aaron couldn't imagine how she could have possibly "done better," try as he might. He tried to say as much, but only a grunt came out. It'd have to do, for now.

They left the killing field behind, thankfully. After about a hundred meters of silent travel, they were almost at the end of the cave. He could feel more than hear the roaring sounds of battle in the distance. Not like there were gunshots or the clang of steel against steel or anything, but the clamor that reached him could belong only to a massive gathering of enraged individuals, all yelling hatred and killing one another. It was enough to bring a lump to his throat.

The exit opened up to a beautiful twilight sky of dark blues and purples, its only flaw the lack of an actual Sun. What looked like a solitary star shined in its place: a steady white dot, halfway between zenith and horizon. They landed where cave became open ground, Ming Xiu like a dove, Aaron like a lump of lead.

Parallel to Thousand Rivers, the exit of the tunnel was a large plateau that led to a sprawling vista of the realm. The view was blocked at the moment by crumbling structures and the corpses that littered the floor.

The dead piled up all around a half circle of sentries that mirrored those outside—or would have, if the ones outside hadn't been torn down. These were still intact; they were the only things left standing, really. Just like Aaron had guessed earlier, they did look like towering obsidian dogs, liberally sprinkled with thick spikes and ever-burning flames. They faced inward, straight at whoever might emerge from the cave, for all the good that would do: by all appearances, they had gotten outright ignored by the attackers. What was the point in a safety measure that was all bark and no bite? The most they did was give a "home team" psychological advantage of dubious worth.

Pure chaos spread at the feet of the statues. Roughly half of the corpses were the black shapes of the writhen. The other half were creatures that Aaron hadn't seen before; a few of them remained mostly whole, letting him get a good idea of how they looked.

The best word he could come up with to refer to them was "golems." They must have stood at least two and a half meters tall, with thick torsos, thick arms, thick legs, all made of some hard material that looked like a mixture of rock and metal—but not hard enough to withstand the bolt-like needles recently lobbed at them, apparently. A small head poked out under hunched-over shoulders that were wider than the hips. All limbs were long, but the arms were longest, suggesting that they walked on all fours. Colors varied greatly, from maroon through green to blue and many more in-between, all of them of a subdued nature. The only bright spot was in the motif they all shared on their left shoulder: a silver sunburst, with a black, thin lemniscate at its center. It wasn't identical from one to another: there were small variations in every one that he could see, as if they had been hand-painted with care. And a great deal of pride.

Ponderous metal gorillas. Rather stereotypical bodyguards, truth be told. He'd expected something more imaginative from his people.

They weren't all fists and brute force, though. Many had a long quiver attached to the side of their abdomen; fused to their bodies, looked like. Some of the quivers still contained the long projectiles they were meant to hold: one-piece javelins as long as Aaron's arm, carved out of white stone or a similar material. Countless of the throwing spears lay scattered on the floor, and plenty jutted out of the dead attackers.

It was clear that they had fought to defend this position, and had been overrun. Aaron wanted to think that Humans had staunch allies willing to die to defend them, but he knew better by then. At best they would be Human hands, chosen and claimed to serve Humanity just like Queg had been. But probably they were little more than pets set at the front-line of defense to die by the hundreds, like a host of attack dogs sent to the slaughter.

Paying closer attention to their tiny heads—well, tiny compared to the rest of the body; they were the size of bowling balls—their faces were not bland and expressionless like he had expected. They were uncannily human, with two eyes, big eyebrows and pronounced underbite. He saw grimaces of pain in them, and fear, and determination, shock, peace, pride; a gamut of emotions that he hadn't considered possible in what he kept thinking of as "monsters" and "creatures." Those faces brought what was happening closer to home, taking away the uncaring, almost amused sense of detachment that he had felt about it until then.

"How dare they do this," he heard Ming Xiu say. She had taken a few steps into the mess, taking in the scene around her. Aaron could feel the anger radiating from her location, cold and terrible.

He hesitated only briefly before taking a few steps toward her. "What do they hope to accomplish? If you can kill a hundred of them without breaking a sweat, surely—" he interrupted his sentence when he came close enough to see what she was seeing. "Holy crap," he finished in a whisper.

The view beyond the plateau was an enormous crater tens of kilometers across, like a giant bowl buried in the landscape. It was surrounded by a jagged mountain range that ran its entire perimeter; what lay behind those mountains was a mystery, just like it had been in Thousand Rivers. The bowl's surface was of white rock, with bluish tinges here and there that looked like linear growths of quartz, distributed in an ornamental fashion. At the center of it rose a structure, and there was no doubt in Aaron's mind that he was looking at the Beacon that everyone kept going on about. It shone with a light of its own; it was huge and it was stylish and magnificent, and it would have dominated his attention if the crater hadn't been a battlefield worthy of Mordor versus Isengard.

A solid mass of black pushed against a much smaller line of subdued colors and bright shoulders. It was like a river of tar making its way down the slope, slowly overflowing a dam that struggled to cover all sides at once. There were no fortifications to defend the structure, no wall surrounding its perimeter: the defenders were spread in an irregular half circle that had to constantly stretch even thinner to cover the flanking attackers. Projectiles streaked back and forth between the armies, white javelins falling where they may, black needles shot without much regard of which side they would land on. The golems comprised the main body trying to repel the writhen, but small pockets interspersed within the disorganized enemy lines evidenced the real driving force behind the resistance efforts. Aaron wouldn't have known exactly what they were, if he hadn't been able to sense them.

The Humans fighting down there were few, but it looked like each one of them counted. Some of them danced like Ming Xiu had, gleaming weapon in hand, mist trailing behind them as they jumped and dodged impossibly, cutting down opponents at blinding speed, one at a time. Others used the ground beneath their feet as their weapon, using sudden growths of rock to scatter, maim and disrupt the creatures around them, cocooning themselves in a dynamic shield made out of the stone they manipulated for protection, then making it burst and sending shards of it in all directions.

On the left flank, a swirling ball of mist two stories tall was being defended by a particularly fierce group of same-colored golems. The mist churned and flowed to congeal into the shape of a gargantuan construct, a human-shaped brass giant of smooth surfaces and sleek lines. It proceeded to rampage head-long into the mass of writhen, its enormous arms swinging from side to side, tossing the creatures about by the dozen. Its skin shrugged aside the deadly thorns thrown at it like they were pebbles. The signature coming from it was decidedly human.

Two figures, female as far as he could tell from afar, were traveling along the outside of the large central structure on a platform much like the one Ming Xiu had used to traverse the Pathways. One of them looked solid, more corporeal than everything else surrounding her. The other was ethereal, as though her skin was about to break up in a puff of smoke. Together they focused on the ground they passed over, working so close to one another that their undercurrents were mingled and superimposed as one. They went slowly, and as they went a five-meter-tall rock wall sprouted from the ground behind them, leaving a dent in the land leading to it, like a miniature moat. At the rate they were going, it would take an amount of time that they did not have to finish the entire perimeter before the writhen tide crashed against it.

As Aaron looked on, a large chunk of rock was pulled off the ground close to the Beacon, made to levitate high in the air, and then lobbed at the fluid horde of monsters. A human figure back-flipped off it at the last moment and flew away before it could be targeted. Hundreds got crushed and more were sent sprawling in all directions, but it barely made a dent in their numbers.

"This shouldn't be happening," Ming Xiu said, her eyes intent on the battlefield. "The culprit won't go unpunished, this much I swear."

It took Aaron a while to find his tongue. A sense of dread had been steadily creeping up his spine. "Could we ... lose this realm?" His concern wasn't all sympathy for the Human plight, he admitted to himself—although he did feel a surprising amount of it, considering that the Humans of the afterlife hardly felt like "his people" just yet. He had to check that damn census, and he couldn't do that if the building succumbed to a freaking invasion force.

She looked at him impassively. "I killed two hundred and seventeen of them back there," she said, as if commenting on how many spots she'd counted on the baby giraffe at the zoo. "But as you can see, they vastly outnumber our forces. Numbers is what makes any assault against us even remotely viable."

"Why doesn't everyone just fly up and drop rocks on them or something? Just like the guy over there did."

She was shaking her head. "'That guy' is Yuri Zharkiev, one of the Boundless. He's one of a kind. So far, you've been exposed only to those of us with a great deal of talent. But not everyone is like that."

As she spoke, one of the pockets of contention closed up, swallowing whole the person that had been fighting there. After a moment of frenzied activity during which every creature nearby swarmed to the spot, there was a jarring distortion to the undercurrent coming from the area that rattled Aaron's senses, like a violent burst of feedback in the middle of a classical concert. It died down slowly. Painfully.

And then there was nothing.

Aaron had thought that Ming Xiu was pretty angry before. But now she practically quivered with rage at the sight, and he could tell that it took every bit of restraint she could muster not to run down there and start killing everything in her path.

It came to Aaron then that she probably knew the name and story of every single person down there. These weren't just compatriots, tied to her in an abstract "One Human Nation" kind of way. They were close friends and they were getting murdered in front of her eyes.

"I'm holding you back," he heard himself saying. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, so solemn it was. "Don't worry about me and go help them. Avenge them."

She wanted to. It was visible in her taut poise, her clenched jaw, the fire in her eyes. She closed them instead, releasing some of the tension that gripped her. "We're not invincible," she said in a hoarse whisper—perhaps more to herself than for his benefit. Then she seemed to realize who she was talking to, and made an effort to regain her composure. She continued in a clear voice. "I would fall, eventually, and it would not make a difference. Alone, I would be wasting my efforts. Our best bet is to wait for Queg to arrive with help from Trenches."

Ming Xiu glanced at him, and Aaron could see that inner struggle still being fought within her. She couldn't keep the venom out of her words as she continued to watch the disaster unfolding ahead. "The writhen are cowards and lickspittles, known thralls to several hostile races out there. They would not do this on their own, and they certainly would have never ignored the sentries without direction. Some Sentient race is behind this attack, and we will find out which. And when we do, they will be purged from the face of Eternal."

There was a finality to what she was saying that allowed no shadow of doubt to be cast upon her prediction. It sounded like Humans had experience in the purging business.

These thoughts were running through Aaron's head when something in the sky caught his attention. He thought he was imagining it at first, but it only took a couple of seconds to realize that the lone star in the sky was indeed getting brighter.

Ming Xiu followed his gaze, and her expression changed entirely, from murderous intent to shock, then joyous wonder. A swirling halo of mist surrounded the star as it grew in size and brilliance, darker tendrils orbiting furiously around it, casting a dance of shadows upon its swelling surface. It went from distant light to a blazing white sun that illuminated the whole realm.

A pleasant warmth washed over them. Ming Xiu couldn't contain a gasp, and then sighed as if a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"What just happened?" Aaron asked, uneasy. Something good, he hoped.

He looked at her, and saw something that almost brought tears to his eyes. Sometimes, you don't realize how much you miss certain things until you get them back.

It was a sight that he'd taken for granted on Earth. Such a commonplace, unimportant thing, yet now it was a sight of exotic beauty, precious and magical.

Ming Xiu's features were a mask of stark contrasts, as the white blaze coming from the sun shrouded her in darkness, bathed her in light. Everything in sight, from his own hand to the distant cliffs, cast a shadow upon the ground and upon itself. Radiant light, clear and pure, bearing the gift of shadows.

"The Silver Sun has arrived," she said, exultant with pride. "The Unbound are here."

________

A number of questions ran through Aaron's thoughts, most of them fairly inane, such as "What?" or "Where?"

He didn't get the chance to voice them before the answer materialized above the battlefield.

It hadn't taken him long to realize that the afterlife was big on fog, mist, smoke, and all its subtle variations—at least as far as Humans were involved. Almost every little supernatural feat was accompanied by some sort of stylish mist effect, cool and mysterious. Ming Xiu had used it purely for dramatic purposes, sometimes, knowing full well that it looked pretty damn awesome.

So it didn't really come as a surprise to him when a bank of hazy clouds gathered over the big crater in front of him. Although wispy at first, it condensed into a dense fog that steadily descended upon the battlefield, covering the entirety of it in a matter of seconds.

It wasn't just fog. a kind of energy rippled through it that conferred it a sense of ... purpose. It gave off a feeling of displeasure and outrage that yearned for retribution.

Aaron had thought that the battle had been noisy and brutal, but in truth it had been nothing compared to what followed then.

Horrible, horrible screams rose from that fog, all the more chilling because they didn't belong to human throats. They were the agonized wails that happened before particularly painful deaths—the kind of deaths described by a verb followed by the word "alive." They were screams that told a story nobody would ever want to hear.

They went on for a while. Or at least it felt like it. Aaron put his hands over his ears, but it didn't seem to help in the slightest. It was as if the dreadful cries propagated at a much deeper level than sound, resonating through the very fabric of reality.

It all died out abruptly. The silence that followed, absolute and sudden, was small relief. It wasn't the peaceful silence of mountain-top excursions or library studies. It was the eerie stillness of the midnight mugger waiting behind the corner, the serial killer approaching his next victim. The kind of silence so loud that it rings in your ears and makes you want to yell only for the sake of breaking it.

The fog churned on, uncaring. Then it moved faster as it whirled upon itself, rolling over the landscape to flow inwards, converging toward its center.

It left nothing in its wake. No maimed corpses, no unsightly body parts, no bloody stains upon the pristine white rock. There was no sign that the writhen had ever been there. It arched around the handful of Humans on the slanted field, leaving them untouched, still standing there with their arms spread in enraptured gratitude.

The fog receded to condense in the middle of the battlefield. Tendrils of it orbited around the growing sphere of pulsating mist, much like they had around the star-turned-into-sun that still shone upon the scene. It all drifted upwards to hover high above the field, in plain sight of anyone that might be watching, and as it moved up it started to become less like haze and more like a defined shape.

That shape was the frame of a human body, graceful and androgynous, devoid of color, clothes or features. A mane of mist flowed like a halo around its face, capricious and unsubstantial. More mist curled around its body, went through it, poured and drank from it. The mist was it.

The Unbound's voice boomed across the realm. They didn't bother with the charade of sound waves and ear canals—the Unbound knew the nature of this reality, and would make use of it accordingly. The voice wasn't so much loud as it was imposing; it spoke directly to Aaron's mind, as well and everyone else's. There was a certain ... finality to it. A heightened specificity that left no possible doubt as to its meaning and intent.

"Times of peace have made you complacent." It was a woman's voice, deep and smooth. It was a man's voice, clear and moderate. It was a child's voice, and an elder's voice, and a dozen other voices joined into one indeterminate blur. The voice of humanity, now full of stern reproach, like a parent scolding their children. "You neglect your training. You grow careless in your surveillance, relying on a ruthless reputation that you no longer strive to maintain. You abandon the upkeep of fortifications and defensible positions, in favor of lines and shapes better suited to please your tastes. This is what happens."

A lone writhen materialized before the Unbound as they spoke. The beast looked like the real thing, twitching and looking in all directions, rather agitated. It went crazy the moment it saw whom had summoned it forth, screaming and squealing in utter terror, its legs struggling in vain to paddle away. It was all cut short when it got crushed against the ground, its dark blood spattering everywhere. It hadn't so much fallen as it had been violently thrown from the sky.

The Unbound let the ensuing silence stretch for a time before resuming their speech.

"Must I remind you again of the dangers that surround us? Must I remind you of your past?" A succession of images flashed by the corpse as she spoke: lifelike holograms of a variety of creatures standing beside it. Unless they were all giants, they were enlarged for the benefit of the audience. "The Sentients resent our dominance, and can strike anywhere, at any time." The image of a sleek, blue-skinned humanoid with marked fish-like features was replaced by a squat, hardy-looking biped covered head-to-toe in hair. "We were hunted, once. We cowered before those whose power couldn't match our own, forced to hide or serve simply because their numbers were greater." What looked very much like a cyborg faded, followed by a bird-like alien with large beady eyes, taloned legs and a mantle of feathers on its back. "They still hold some of our numbers, hiding them from our efforts through guile and cowardice, imposing their will on those who rightfully belong to our fold." The last image was of a tall and slender frame, dark skinned, elegant and graceful. It could have been easily mistaken for a particularly wiry, elongated human.

The last of the holograms faded, and something that Aaron couldn't explain compelled him to focus all of his attention back on the unfathomable being in the sky. "You have grown to rely on my protection. I am left to wonder, are you worthy of it? Or have you slipped into the decadence of those that came before us? Will you let yourselves be vanquished by rabble," her ethereal arm gestured to the gruesome stain on the ground, "because you grew too comfortable to remain vigilant?"

She let the weight of her words sink in for a moment, the intensity of her presence searing hot in Aaron's thoughts, and presumably everyone else's.

"Other matters require my attention. I ask you to take pride in the task I set before you. You will make this realm a bastion of Human ingenuity, an inexpugnable fortress that will be a testament to our resilience and permanence. You will spare no resource to erect a worthy stronghold to protect every name of our species."

Something changed in the way she held herself then. The Unbound's form became grander, more ... official. Her words had a transcendent quality that carried the weight of millenia behind them.

"Heed My Voice And Remember, My Brethren. Let The Writhen Assault On The Beacon Be Known As The Seven Hundred And Fifty Second Portent. Let This Portent Mark The Onset Of The Beacon Stronghold. Let This Portent Mark The Genesis Of The Writhen Purge."

Something told Aaron that this realm hadn't been the only audience for her announcement. Could this ... being talk to everyone everywhere, all at once?

She went back to her previous "unaugmented" state, regarding the Humans before her like a pastor would regard her flock.

"The Silver Sun will shine upon you again once your task is completed." Gusts of mist started swirling around the Unbound's figure, enveloping her fluctuating frame in a glimmering sphere of light and shadow. "Always remain vigilant."

The sphere shrunk steadily as her form dissolved into it, until it finally collapsed upon itself in a burst of smoke that vanished into the twilight sky.

The Unbound had departed, and so did the Silver Sun wink out of existence, replaced by a tiny white flicker that was but a pale memory of the uplifting warmth and radiance that had come before it.

Silence fell upon the realm, pregnant with the lingering influence of the Unbound's appearance. Then someone cheered, down in the crater; a wordless yell of pride and triumph.

A chorus of cheers followed the first, and this was followed in turn by the jubilant bellows of the thousands of golems still standing on the now peaceful battle lines.

Ming Xiu didn't join in, but looked like she might have if she had been standing among them. She turned to look at Aaron, her stance much more relaxed than only minutes before, but still reserved enough to convey that she would not forget what had transpired this day.

"The Unbound guard our path, Aaron," she told him, proud and exultant. "They bring light to our existence."

Aaron had mixed feelings about the whole experience. "Well ... she was kind of a douche, wasn't she? I mean, she saved the day and all, but what's up with the lectures and throwing—"

Ming Xiu found no humor in Aaron's comment. She closed the few steps that separated them, leaning forward with earnest intensity, a warning in her eyes. Aaron got the impression that he was a few seconds away from getting slapped across the face.

"The Unbound's wisdom is infinite," she said in a harsh voice. "It is only because of them that you exist. Who do you think instated the protocol? Why do you think Queg was so eager to bring you to us? The Unbound freed us, elevated us from an existence of misery and persecution. Mocking them is mocking the very essence of mankind, and I will not abide it."

Whoa. "Um, sure. I'm ... I'm sorry, I was kidding, I didn't know."

Her features softened slightly at Aaron's apology. She backed off and relaxed again. "No, you didn't. This is why I would have rather waited some more before bringing you here. There is much you don't know still, and your ignorance will reflect poorly on Thousand Rivers and myself. Not that we care much about such things, but it is something I would rather avoid, all the same."

Aaron nodded, trying not to be confrontational—even though he wanted to defend himself further. He stared at the spot where the Unbound had been hovering just a minute ago. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from what had witnessed on that battlefield.

"So ... is she a god, then? Our god?"

Ming Xiu sucked in the air through her teeth, making a hissing sound. "Boundless grace, you're a barbarian." Her face was wrinkled up in a cringe. "Never let anyone hear you say that. The Unbound are never to be worshipped."

Aaron's frustration was getting harder to conceal. "Look, if you want me to function in a crowd, you're gonna have to at least tell me the laws that govern your— our society. Otherwise I'm going to stay a barbarian and get myself thrown in jail or something."

"Jail," she muttered with amusement, shaking her head. "You belong in apprenticeship, not in a crowd. You are under my protection, for the time being, and no harm would come to you just for being ignorant, anyway. The most you'll get will be a few gasps and odd looks." She let a smile slip before carrying on. "And the occasional reprimand, when you say something particularly offensive."

"Yes, well. My point stands."

"I will keep that in mind." She used a tone such that Aaron could almost feel her hand physically patting his cheek, it was so patronizing. "It's not complicated. Be polite at all times and keep questions to yourself while we're here. I will speak in your behalf, we will do what we came here to do, and then we will go back to Thousand Rivers to resume your training."

Aaron resolved to bite his tongue and just look down into the crater. He'd be accused of sulking shortly, no doubt.

The cheers had died out by then, and the human figures down there had gathered a short distance from the Beacon. They stood right next to the unfinished end of the impromptu wall, talking among each other.

Meanwhile, the golems had mobilized with quiet efficiency to take care of anything that remained out of place. There were no writhen corpses to take care of, thanks to the Unbound's horrific sweep—Aaron was happy not to find out any details about that— but there were plenty of fallen combatants on the Human side; their bodies must have added up to at least one third the number that was still standing. They organized themselves a pair to each corpse, carrying them off the battlefield and disappearing into caves that Aaron hadn't noticed until now: little more than holes in the ground with entrances that bulged out in a mound and slanted abruptly downward. Other golems went around collecting white spears and black thorns, also carrying them underground. A detachment was making its way up the slope toward Ming Xiu and Aaron's position, probably aiming to clean up the mess up there.

"Looks like you have lived through your first portent," the dark-haired woman said as she stepped toward the edge of the plateau, beyond the half circle of sentries. "And not just that, but witnessed it while it was happening. Not many can claim that much."

That's super. "I'll blog about it later," Aaron said, still feeling despondent. He told himself that he wasn't being childish; he was just riled up still by all the nightmarish screaming.

Ming Xiu shook her head again, studied patience in her expression. She motioned for him to follow. "Let us get you introduced so we can take care of our business here. Hurry now, I'd like them to dispatch a messenger as soon as possible to welcome the assistance we sent for."

Then she jumped off the edge of the crater without even checking if he was following her.

Of course, there was no reason why she should. What else was Aaron going to do?

________

The Beacon was tall.

It seemed even taller when looked at from the very bottom of it, and Aaron had to resort to craning his neck as far back as it would go in order to see the top. It looked like a palace pulled right out of a storybook, much taller than it was wide, full of elaborate towers stuck close together and stretching upwards as if competing with one another. Its walls were of the same unblemished white as the surface of the crater that surrounded it, without a single window to break its uniform look. Aaron thought that some crenelations and portholes and freaking catapults would have come in handy just a moment ago. Maybe the Unbound had had a point.

Its central tower wasn't narrow enough or twisty enough to be called a spire, but it was halfway to getting there. It reached twice as far as any other, ending at a point that was almost as tall as the sides of the crater. Near the top of it, maybe fifteen meters below the needle-like tip, its surface shifted to form a ring of white stone. Within it, hovering in mid-air as if suspended by a magnetic field, there was a silvery sphere that Aaron presumed was the Beacon's namesake. There didn't seem to be anything functional to it that he could see; it didn't shine or appear capable of blinking signals or anything like that. It just hovered there, sitting pretty.

At least he could rest assured that the Humans of the afterlife were well acquainted with fashionable architecture.

They had landed a small distance away from the gathering by the improvised wall, and approached at a leisurely pace that gave everyone plenty of time to notice their arrival. Ming Xiu's attire rippled and shifted as they drew near, back to her simple travel outfit of cream colored dress and tall boots. The group's conversations had died out before the newcomers had gotten even close, and they all watched in silence as the pair closed the distance.

Feeling like he was approaching the popular clique back in high school, Aaron raised a hand as greeting and coaxed out a "please don't beat up the new kid" smile.

It was a wasted effort, apparently. All eyes seemed glued on Ming Xiu, and Aaron might as well have been invisible.

There were twenty-seven of them, standing together in groups of twos and threes, and they were of wildly varying nationalities, facial features and skin colors. They were all beautiful or handsome in their own way. Most were friendly, but reserved. Some showed signs of respectful deference. Three were openly welcoming. One regarded Ming Xiu with a sneer that could be nothing but hostile.

Not every Human within the realm was in sight; Aaron could sense twelve more inside the palace, making their way out now that the threat had passed. Just like his mentor had said, not everybody was endowed with the talents to fight off an invasion while ludicrously outnumbered.

Sneer Man took a few steps toward them and made no effort to conceal his animosity. "Is it safe enough for you to come meet us, Ming Xiu? Or do you want to wait some more, just in case?"

To her credit, Ming Xiu didn't lop off his head with a swipe of her magical sword. In fact, she kept every ounce of her composure, and even smiled at him, albeit in that icy way in which a waitress smiles at a rude jackass of a customer. "It's been too long, Yuri. Meeting with you is always a pleasure. You made the Unbound proud, back there."

"Not thanks to you, obviously. If they hadn't come—"

"Trenches would have come to the rescue." She made a vague gesture with her hand toward the entrance of the realm, her voice all pleasant politeness. "Please send an emissary to the interface. They must be told when they arrive that the Silver Sun has shined upon us and danger is no more."

Yuri Zharkiev, a tall, wiry spindle of a man dressed in simple T-shirt and fatigue pants, got in Ming Xiu's face before he responded. Just a little closer and their noses would have touched. "You could have joined," he said in a low, contemptuous rasp. "You could have saved Chae Sun."

Ming Xiu's features turned somber, dropping all pretense of friendliness. There was anger there, but also pained shame. "I had no way to know. I would have led the reinforcements when—"

"As far as I'm concerned," Zharkiev butted into her sentence, his words honed to cut deep, "Chae Sun was severed because you held back when you shouldn't have." Then he walked past her, threw a "get out of the way" glance at Aaron, and took off toward the realm entrance atop a small disk made of the rock beneath his feet.

Ming Xiu remained standing there, eyes staring ahead, nostrils flared. It was hard to say whom she was angry with at that moment.

The rest of them didn't seem to know how to proceed. Apparently they had collectively decided to give her some space, conflicted as they were between the desire to welcome her and reluctance to approach her after seeing their leader—as far as Aaron could say, that is—tell her off in such a crude manner. He imagined that not even they knew how to feel, after the joy and pride of cheering for a victory that had seemed impossible, while also feeling compelled to mourn for a lost comrade.

Eh, to hell with it.

Aaron resolved to take it upon himself to break the uncomfortable tension. He was tired of acting like a little mouse, hoping not to get noticed. Humans were humans, no matter how wise or ancient, and good manners paired with a cheerful disposition were always appreciated. He put on his Insurance Man face and stepped forth, hoping that the cheers would prevail over the grief in their minds.

"What a charming guy!" he said, hooking his thumb to point at the man flying away behind him. "I sure hope everyone's just as easy going here." He kept on walking toward the group of people, briefly raising a hand as greeting while blabbing off his mouth with niceties as sincere as he could make them; they weren't fake, they were simply ... enthusiastic.

"I've never seen anything like what you did. That was insane, I don't think I'd ever have the courage to face what you guys did without going crazy." He nodded into a brief pause, then put his hands up in front of him in a mild placating gesture. "I'm ... really sorry for your loss. The reason Ming Xiu couldn't help is because she had to babysit me. You should have seen how angry she was up there, I really can't explain. Please don't be mad at her."

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder-blade. "Aaron," Ming Xiu said, sounding a bit befuddled. "What are you doing?"

"Apologizing, and making friends, I hope. We're gonna spend eternity together, right?" He flashed a friendly smile at the group of people. "Might as well get started on the right foot." He took another step forward, toward the nearest person in front of him—a tall, fair-skinned woman with wavy blond hair that cascaded down her back, dressed in an airy white gown fit for an elf maiden; she had been one of the three that looked eager to welcome Ming Xiu. He extended his hand as he closed in and said, "My name's Aaron Gretchen. Nice to meet you."

The woman smiled after only the briefest pause. That had to be a good sign. She took his hand and gave it a dainty squeeze. "Ooo, a modern. I'm Lianne. Nice to meet you too, Aaron." She looked positively amused by the exchange. It was all Aaron was going for, really.

"Say, would you mind introducing me to your friends, Lianne?" He glanced at the rest in a good-natured way. They were looking back at him with an assortment of fairly cordial dispositions. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm new here."

The blond woman's smile broadened at that, but he could hear Ming Xiu's frown in her voice. "That'll be enough, Aaron."

"That's alright, Ming Xiu," Leanne said, by all appearances enchanted with Aaron's efforts. "Newborns are always so shy. A chatty one is quite refreshing." She turned her attention back to him. "I'll get you introduced in just a second. I'll be right back."

Leanne side-stepped him, and then proceeded to throw all decorum out the window and almost tackle Ming Xiu to the ground with a hug. Two others, a man and a woman, broke off from the group and patiently waited for their turn to do the same, effectively burying the hardly-over-five-foot woman in a pile of affection.

For her part, Ming Xiu strove to keep her composure while doing her best to reciprocate. There was something about the gesture that went beyond a simple hug, Aaron noticed. Their undercurrent seemed to mingle for a second there, making the contact that they shared that much more intimate. Something passed between them that left the foursome looking a bit more relaxed after they were done with all the greetings.

"Aaron," Ming Xiu said, her hand resting on Lianne's forearm. "Juliana will be busy helping design the Beacon Stronghold to be your guide, unfortunately." Lianne started to protest, but Ming Xiu spoke over her words, giving the three of them an intent look. "So will Jan and Naomi. They will do the Unbound proud."

Jan—a muscular thirty-something with blue eyes and buzz-cut hair so light that it was almost white—and Naomi—a dark-skinned beauty with small mouth and nose, large eyes and a dark, curly mane that framed her face like spirited fireworks—exchanged a look before turning their gaze back at her. They met her eyes for a while, seemed like they were going to refuse, then deflated and looked down. Their lips curved up even as they did so. "It will be as you say, Ming Xiu."

"Off with the three of you then. You better have a few good ideas by the time Aaron and I are done in the archives." Ming Xiu made a shooing motion toward the palace as she spoke.

Lianne sighed and gave Ming Xiu another hug, far more reserved this time. "Do come find us when you are done?" she asked, making doe eyes.

"Of course."

Apparently satisfied, the young woman turned to follow the other two. It was so odd, Aaron thought: their relative ages had nothing to do with how old they looked. In fact, they all looked roughly the same age, which was "adult age." Yet Ming Xiu was clearly the trio's senior. It wasn't just the manner of speech or the way she carried herself—which, admittedly, was a large contributor. There was another factor to it, something far more intuitive. Aaron suspected that it was this unknown quality that let others know that he was a newcomer to the afterlife, among other things. Probably yet another aspect of the undercurrent.

Lianne walked by, regarding him with an impish grin. "Always do what the sifu says. A pleasure to meet you, Aaron Gretchen." She winked at him, then turned around and honored Ming Xiu with a curtsy, of all things. Aaron was pretty sure that it was a tongue-in-cheek gesture, judging by how she scampered off to join the other two on their way inside. The three of them disappeared behind the ornate arch of the entryway.

Ming Xiu watched them go, sighed, and stepped next to Aaron. Then she took another step to address the remainder of the crowd. She did so humbly, letting go of her usual stately demeanor. Her pride and poise were gone, her eyes were cast down, her shoulders slumped. She stood before them like a prisoner on trial.

"I am sorry I did not join you. I had good reasons to stay my hand. But Chae Sun is no more, and I could have prevented it. I hope you can forgive me."

The twenty-three Humans listened to her, then shared looks with one another. There was such variety among them, it was like a United Nations summit where most attendants carried a successful modeling career. There was the odd man out with an eccentric beard, a pleasantly plump figure or an exceptional facial feature that wouldn't have made the cut for professional modeling, but it didn't necessarily make them unattractive. In fact, the defining quality that brought them together was their individual uniqueness. Even their clothes, all sharing the simple functionality necessary for freedom of movement in a battlefield, were cut and colored in highly individualized ways, even if many shared a certain Asian flair reminiscent of Ming Xiu's own attire.

"There is no need for you to do this," a tall brunette with the strongest nose Aaron had ever seen said. He recognized her as one of the women that had been building the wall as the battle raged.

A Japanese man in honest-to-goodness ninja garb from neck to toe spoke right after her. "You sent for help. You would have saved us if the Unbound hadn't." The outfit looked enough like the real thing to make Aaron feel a little intimidated.

Another person stepped forth; a sleek, clean-cut man of marked South African features that would have looked most comfortable in a suit. The fact that he was bare-chested at the moment did nothing to detract from that impression. "It is unlikely that you would have made a difference if you had joined in by yourself, Ming Xiu." He closed the few steps between them, stopping short of putting his hands on her shoulders. His voice was a deep bass that rumbled with every word. "Yuri is only grieving in the only way he knows how. I doubt he truly blames you." He shared another meaningful look with everyone else. "I know that no-one here does."

Ming Xiu nodded and ran her gaze through the group of diverse people. "Thank you." After a small pause, she brought her index and middle finger to her heart, like she had done when leaving Thousand Rivers. "We remember Chae Sun."

Everyone mimicked her gesture, repeating her words in a widely staggered chorus.

After a moment of silence, the strong-nosed woman chimed in. "Let's undo this wall, Joan. Clear the way for the Beacon Stronghold."

"Maybe we should leave it there, work it into the design," a petite woman responded, and Aaron knew her for the second of the pair that built the wall in the first place. Her flaxen pixie haircut and skin-hugging, long-sleeved clothes were rather flattering on her, and seemed to reinforce that "slight of frame" look.

The two women then carried on into an increasingly heated debate on the architectural intricacies of the future fortress, walking off while pointing at several locations and arguing every step of the way.

The dark-skinned man in front of Ming Xiu followed them with his eyes, his lips parted in a very white smile. "They'll eventually agree on something, and it'll be worth the arguments," he commented. Then he turned his head to look directly at Aaron, his features friendly and inviting. "I hear you bring a new member to our midst, Ming Xiu. Excellent news, and sorely needed after what has happened." He stepped closer to Aaron and offered him a hand to shake. "My name is Lesedi Zuma, friend."

He took Lesedi's hand and gave it a healthy squeeze. "Pleasure. Aaron Gretchen, in case you didn't catch it."

"Lesedi is the chief scribe here at the census," Ming Xiu put in. "He will be recording your entry, as well as Queg's."

The man gave Aaron a funny look. He was growing familiar with that look by now. "A little ... inexperienced to be taking him out just yet, is he not?" he asked after letting go of his hand.

"Special circumstances," Ming Xiu answered. "Don't ask or you'll get him started and he will never stop."

Aaron shot her a dirty look, which she promptly ignored, speaking as if he wasn't even there. "I'd like to get him down to the census as soon as possible. When you have a moment?"

Lesedi glanced across the small crowd behind him. They had lost interest in the new arrivals by now and were gathered in small groups again, immerse in conversations of disparate levity. "Give me some time to settle things down with them. I'd also like to talk to Yuri before doing anything else, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," she responded right away. "We will wait for you there." The woman gestured in her usual way for Aaron to follow, and started walking toward the gigantic structure.

"Ming Xiu," Lesedi called out before Aaron had taken the first step. She looked at the man over her shoulder. There was a hesitant pause.

"It's good to see you again," he finished with a fond smile. She nodded in acknowledgement, smiling as well. Then she tilted her head at Aaron so that he would get moving.

Aaron looked back and forth between them, waved a "see ya" in the group's general direction, and walked over to follow in Ming Xiu's footsteps.

________

"So ... a bit of history between the lot of you, I gather?" he finally got to asking.

They walked through the bowels of the Beacon, deep below ground. Apparently the structure stretched down just as far as it did up, possibly more. It also spread outwards, with each level expanding to cover a larger area the farther down they went. According to Ming Xiu, the census was at the very bottom.

For all its outward splendor and majestic needle-like towers, the inside was ... austere. Furniture was non-existent save for the odd table here and there, and decorations were limited to artful patterns in the white stone, elaborate motifs in doorways, the occasional statue. There were no lamps, as everything was illuminated in the typical diffuse, shadowless way; no windows, as there was nothing to see but naked rock; no helpful signs for ease of navigation, at least that Aaron had noticed.

The layout of rooms and passageways didn't go as far as being a maze, but it was certainly complicated enough for a tourist to get lost after a mere ten minutes of exploration. At the moment they were following a path that curved in a wide spiral around the perimeter of the building, sinking deeper underground at a lazy slope. The walls were wide apart, the ceiling arched over them a full three meters over their heads.

Ming Xiu gave him a sidelong look that let him know she was well aware of how long he'd been wanting to ask his question.

"There is history between most Humans in Eternal, Aaron. We exist for a very long time. We are bound to meet a lot of our peers."

Gee, was he gonna have to pry? "Sounds like you've more than just 'met' some of the people here, though."

She nodded. "Juliana, Naomi and Jan were my pupils many portents ago, as you might have gathered. Juliana is the oldest, then Jan and Naomi were brought up together." Aaron didn't think she was aware of the affectionate grin curving her lips as she spoke. "You might think you are a handful, just as Falon thinks she was. But you've got nothing on those three." She glanced at him again, and she seemed to restrain whatever else she was going to say on the matter. "I shouldn't tell you that. They are my equals now, and rightfully so. Make sure to treat them like you would treat me."

"Don't worry," Aaron said. "I'm not about to ask them to hang out some time or anything like that. I'm pretty sure they see me as a kid, just like Falon does." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of it.

Much to his surprise, he didn't get chastised for not putting up with it quietly like he was supposed to.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," she told him. "I know it's a hard thing to deal with. Everyone knows that you are in fact a grown man, but you will understand how it is, with time. If it helps, think that we are all wise octogenarians that know much better than you do on every subject you can imagine."

Ah, she wasn't chastising him. She was just yanking his chain. "You are all entirely too attractive for that to work, I'm afraid."

That got a laugh out of her. "Yes, well. Don't let that take you in. Just like in every society, there are some very ugly people out there, in different realms. I'm not just talking about outward appearance, of course." She made a vague cutting gesture with her hand, like severing that train of thought. "But that shouldn't concern you at the moment. I will say that Yuri Zharkiev isn't one of them, though. We go a long way back, longer than most. If anything, he cares too much. Don't let what you saw of him today color your future dealings with him."

Aaron nodded, a bit uncertain. The man had been a certifiable ass, but who was he to judge? He put forth his next question as casually as he was able. "And Lesedi?"

"Lesedi is a good man. He cares for the census like it's his offspring. A large part of it is his offspring, in a way." Another sidelong look. More amusement in her voice. "Why would you ask me about him?"

He considered responding "just curious," but what the hell. He shrugged and said, "What can I say, I'm a big gossip. I might be stepping out of line here, but he seems to be way into you. Betcha there's a story somewhere in there?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "We would be talking from here to eternity if we were to trade stories on every single person I've met. And you do step out of line, newborn Gretchen." She hesitated a moment, and then spoke in a more serious tone. "I trust you won't be silly enough to bring this matter up with Lesedi."

"Um, sure," he said. The corner of his mouth curled up. "It's really none of my business, Honorable Teacher."

He got an unladylike snort for a reply.

They reached the end of the downward path, crossed an archway shaped like a rounded wedge, and found themselves in a large, circular courtyard with a vaulted ceiling and a big hole at the center that dug away from the room in both directions, like an elevator shaft. Three more doorways stood left, right and center, shaped just like the one they had come through.

There wasn't much else to it. Concentric patterns throughout the dome, a silver sunburst and lemniscate engraved on the floor. Not even some measly benches. Aaron could imagine the architects deciding to put this empty courtyard here simply because they hadn't put one anywhere else.

They walked slowly toward the center of the room as they spoke.

"This place is deserted," Aaron said. "You know, I would have expected something as important as the entire Human census to be protected by a whole bunch of people. How come there's only forty of us around?"

A smile played on Ming Xiu's lips. It was the kind of smile that showed up when he asked a stupid question and she was in the mood to indulge it. "Tell me, what was the population of the city you died in? 2021 Seattle, was it?"

He didn't know what that had to do with anything, but he played along. "It was about, uh ... a million, maybe? No, wait. Seven hundred thousand, I think."

"I see. How many people would you say that would remain in Seattle, if you spread its population through every city in the country?"

Aaron got an inkling of where this was going. "Uh, not many? I don't know. If there's, like, two hundred cities, it'd be about ... three thousand per city? Something like that."

"Alright. Now spread that population all over Earth. And then all over—"

"Thirty five hundred, actually."

Yes, fine. Take all those people and spread them all over the galaxy, and then a few more galaxies beyond that. How many people do you have left to manage every settlement in your intergalactic empire?"

He lifted a hand in surrender. "Alright, I get it."

"There are barely over five million active Humans in this census. The Beacon is heavily populated, Aaron. With a few exceptions, most Human realms are inhabited by about ten of us, and that's plenty to spare."

It sounded like she was going to say more, but Aaron interjected before she did. "Half a million settlements," he said, baffled. "Aren't we spread way too thin?"

"It is necessary." Her voice took on a steely inflection. "The more areas in Eternal under our control, the less newborns get severed upon birth. The more widespread our dominance, the less likely other races will be of doing harm to our young."

There was true conviction behind her words, enough to hint at bitter past experiences of some kind or another. Or maybe it was just a heartfelt belief in the worthiness of the Human agenda. Either way, Aaron decided to veer from that topic.

"And I guess all these settlements are realms just like Thousand Rivers?"

"There is as much diversity between realms as there are Humans. Many are simply homes, tailored to the tastes of its tenants. Some are but outposts, staging points for our advance. Thousand Rivers is more of a ... personal endeavor, but it functions as a teaching retreat as well. The protocol mentions it specifically as one of the realms denizens should take newborns to. Maybe I shouldn't, but I take pride in that, and that's part of the reason I don't want you to make a fool of yourself."

Well, she's awfully chatty for a change.

"I'll have it in mind," Aaron said, hopefully without a hint of sarcasm. He honestly didn't want to tarnish her reputation or anything like that. She might be frustrating at times, and she'd been pretty scary during their trip into the realm, but the woman was a good mentor. He'd had much worse teachers throughout his student career, that was for sure.

Ming Xiu carried on. "As for protection in the sense of defensible positions and safety measures, well ... the Unbound spoke the truth, in short. We keep thousands of golems here, but they are hardly a proper defense force."

Huh, Aaron thought, they really are called "golems." How about that.

She kept on going. "The simple truth is that we have grown complacent. Overconfident. I would like to claim I'm any different, but you saw Thousand Rivers. It could hardly be defended against a force half the size of the writhen army that attacked earlier."

"Why didn't everyone just bunker up inside this place? You could hold out forever in this maze."

"Not against creatures like the writhen. They are capable of undoing anything that bears our touch, with enough numbers. You could say they've been specifically bred to be a threat to us."

The fun never stops in crazyland. "Bred?" he asked. "By whom?"

She seemed to find the question amusing, for some reason. "Our enemies, of course. The Unbound showed you some of them. But enough of that." Ming Xiu pointed palm-up at the round pit a few steps in front of them. "That is the quick way down. I trust you would like to get your search over with?"

"Uh, sure. I thought we already were taking the quick way down, though."

"I decided to take the scenic route for a time, so we could put some of your ... dire questions at ease." She smiled kindly. "I do try to give you answers where I can, Aaron."

It was a startling contrast, the current amicable demeanor against her earlier harshness. It reminded Aaron of how he'd felt then, making him more aloof than he'd usually be. "I ... appreciate that. Like I said before, not knowing what's going on gets really frustrating."

She nodded magnanimously. "Your exposure to the writhen changes certain things. I can be more forthcoming on some issues." She then gave a meaningful look at the big hole on the ground. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, uh. We just ... jump in, or ... "

"Indeed." She stepped up to the edge, talking as she went. Her tone was all business again. "Control your descent the way you know how. Take your time and follow when ready. I will wait at the bottom."

Then she dropped in with a small jump. Aaron approached the edge and looked down.

Holy crap that's deep.

The woman traveled steadily down the shaft, feet first, her arms slightly spread, the skirt of her cream dress oddly still. She went fast, but at a measured pace; possibly half as quickly as a free-falling human being would be expected to drop. Aaron knew that if he concentrated and tried really hard, he'd be able to sense glimpses of the touch she was exerting on the space she occupied—and that it would be leagues more subtle than anything he was capable of.

With the white background and the lack of shadows, it was impossible to determine just how far down the bottom was. But there seemed to be plenty of floors to go through between his current position and the last one he could discern. He took a deep breath and reached to feel for the esoteric texture of the medium he was immerse on.

He wasn't nearly as decisive as she had been, of course. He carefully manipulated the force pushing him down to lift him up instead, and then maneuvered to hover perfectly still at the center of the pit. Doing so only took seven tries and a moderate amount of struggle.

Then he allowed the downward slant to slowly resurface where he was floating, while flattening the region that he was moving into so that it wouldn't alter his advance in any way. It happened in starts and spurts at first, whenever he stopped short or over-compensated his influence—but the trip grew more steady the further down he went.

He figured he might as well get the practice. He couldn't fathom how this could possibly become second nature over time, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try. It definitely was a lot more work than just free-falling and compensating now and then with bursts of upward pull, but it was also a hell of a lot more elegant. He couldn't wait 'til he was able to just take off and fly about like friggin' Super-man. Until then, his every mental resource went into not embarrassing himself too much.

What he saw when passing every level only registered marginally, concentrated as he was in not plummeting down. It was mostly more of the same, be it drab corridors or deserted courtyards or nondescript rooms. He did see a few golems here and there, but the sight was too fleeting for him to figure out what they were doing. He couldn't imagine what tasks needed to get done in a place like this, anyway. Water the space-plants and mop the space-floors, maybe.

Ming Xiu had become a dark dot waiting for him, way below. When he finally made his way to her about five minutes later, she was regarding him with a hint of pride in her features.

"Your progress in non-standard travel is impressive," she told him as soon as his feet touched the ground with a surprisingly quiet thump. "It is a common talent, but very few understand it as quickly as you have."

It took him a few seconds to comprehend that he had just gotten a compliment. They were so rare that he didn't quite know how to take it.

"I, uh. I barely manage to keep afloat most of the time."

"That you manage is impressive enough," she said as she gestured for them to get going. "It's not far now. We should be able to search for your wife's hypothetical entry before Lesedi gets here. Queg will come with him, I would wager."

He almost asked how did she know that they weren't already there waiting for them, but he only got as far as opening his mouth. They were too far up for Aaron to feel anything, but he was sure that she was able to sense everyone's position within the realm without effort.

Ming Xiu led the way through a network of wide tunnels that was indeed like a maze. While the surface of the realm might have been stripped of viable lines of defense, the underground complex beneath it showed signs of having been specifically designed to stave off invaders. There were dozens of twists and turns to disorient those unfamiliar with the layout, and several choke points along the way where defenders could hold out for an indefinite time.

They arrived at a long hall that led to an archway hardly wide enough for a person to fit through. The walls of the hall were lined with rows of embrasures, carved through the live rock; a hollowed-out area could be seen through the portholes. Aaron was surprised not to see a moat and a drawbridge protecting the gate. Effective or not, it was depressing to see how low tech everything was.

An elven maiden stood at the arch. Aaron did a double-take that would have been right at home in a silent film. She hadn't been there just a moment ago.

"Ming Xiu of Aerie," the unknown woman called out in a clear soprano. "And ... a man I have yet to meet. Born of the Pathways, and ...." Her perfect mouth curled in distaste. "Uneducated."

On closer inspection, there were no pointy ears to mark her as an elf of Tolkien lore. Everything else was there, though: large, almond-shaped blue eyes; hair like a cascade of molten gold that flowed down to her waistline; fair, immaculate skin; a vaporous dress to hug slender curves. Queen Freaking Galadriel in the flesh.

"Unbound honor and guard you, keeper." Ming Xiu's voice was formal, detached. "Thousand Rivers is my chosen home, as you well know. Aerie lies an eternity away."

"Yet you keep it close to your thoughts, all the same. As well you should." The woman paused and glanced at Aaron. He couldn't help but feel like a bothersome fly under her intense scrutiny. "You may enter."

She didn't step aside. She simply turned into a puff of mist that disappeared into the depths of the room. Ming Xiu looked at Aaron, then rolled her eyes for his benefit. "Some of us have a penchant for the dramatic, as you can see," she said in a loud whisper that didn't care about being heard. She tilted her head toward the archway. "Between her and Diego, there's enough theatricals for a troupe of pretend magicians."

Aaron considered teasing her about the slew of dramatic pauses and flamboyant speech she was prone to indulge in. "Who is she?" he asked instead.

Ming Xiu's general tone told Aaron that there was no lost love between her and the woman. "Marion Baterich is the keeper of the census. She maintains its proper organization and carries out the manipulation of the entries. She sees this as her calling, and takes her mission very seriously, so I would keep to yourself your attempts at humor for the time being."

Attempts at humor. Ouch.

"You might want to just keep quiet altogether unless spoken to," she continued. "She is also one of the Boundless, in both sensation and displacement, and will not go for long without reminding you of that fact."

Ah. "The Boundless," frustrating topic number three hundred and fifty two. Through the bits and pieces that he had heard and seen, he knew that they comprised the elite in specific fields, the best that mankind had to offer at certain tasks. He'd been promised more details "when he became ready," but everything he'd learned about them implied that they were exceedingly rare.

By the sound of it, this one didn't seem to be much more than a glorified librarian. Which was a fine occupation and all, but not terribly awe-inspiring.

"I thought Lesedi was the ... chief something-other?" he asked.

"Lesedi is the main force behind the creation of new entries. Him and other scribes update the entries with new information. Marion ... well, Marion does everything else."

Aaron frowned, a bit puzzled. All this fuss to take care of a list of names? How complicated could it be? When he'd first heard about the existence of a census, he'd imagined it was a file cabinet somewhere, maybe going as far as tomes in a shelf behind a bored clerk. He'd seen enough of the realm and its people by now to expect something needlessly grandiose, but come on, this was getting ridiculous.

Noticing his expression, Ming Xiu put out a placating hand and gestured toward the archway. "You will see."

They stepped up to the door and crossed it, first Ming Xiu, then Aaron. He stopped in his tracks the moment he went through.

The chamber that lay beyond was unlike anything he'd seen so far.

As usual.

It was massive, large enough to dwarf the biggest, fanciest auditoriums on Earth. It was taller than it was wide or deep, with a ceiling so high up that it was hard to believe that they were underground; the top-most part must have been close to the surface of the crater where the Beacon was nested.

After spending so much time traversing a structure that was mostly white on white, the first thing that called to Aaron's attention were the colorful symbols and patterns all over the room. They ran the whole range of visible light, from subdued purples to blazing oranges and everything in-between. They hovered above rows upon rows of thin, upright slabs of some kind; there was one symbol or pattern for every array of slabs, and hundreds of arrays for every row. The rows of arrays of slabs were organized like shelves in a library, lining the walls from bottom to maybe halfway to the ceiling, with more rows spaced through the room at regular intervals, also stacking upward. It was more like one of those enormous warehouses where the shelves went so far above ground level that a crane was needed to access them.

It was an impressive sight, but it was pushed into bizarre territory by the fact that each slab, every one about the size of an open newspaper and as thick as your average paperback novel, simply floated in mid-air without any visible support. Most were a bright, glossy gray, the color of pearls; some of them were a much darker shade. They lined up perpendicular to the walls, each one floating independently but arrayed in sequences that could be as long as fifty or sixty or as scarce as a solitary slab under its colorful symbol. They averaged to about ten per symbol, resulting in an uneven distribution of gaps within each row. There were ... sixteen, seventeen, eighteen rows total, counting the two that ran right next to either wall, which wrapped around the entire perimeter of the chamber to end a few meters away from the entrance.

Even if the room hadn't been breathtaking in its scope, there was something else that would have given him pause anyway as soon as he crossed the doorway. Because upon crossing the threshold, thousands of tiny separate sensations had prickled at his awareness like the psychic equivalent of a gentle summer drizzle, so numerous and diverse that for a little while he'd only been able to stand there, stunned with wonder. The almost imperceptible signals were just like the undercurrents he was used to, but felt vague and jumbled in a mass of dissimilar patterns—except maybe one or two that seemed to come at him a little more acutely, from somewhere in the enormous room. He could read enough into the whole of it for him to realize that there was one faint signal for each one of the slabs.

"Your business here?"

Aaron gave a little start. Marion's voice came from somewhere above and to his left. He looked up to see her examining a particular group of slabs that were lined up against the wall behind him, under a golden pair of symbols that looked vaguely Cyrillic. Looking at them, he felt like he should know what they stood for, even though they looked like no language that he could understand. It was as if he knew the meaning of it, but he was unable to interpret it into something concrete.

He left it alone to focus on the woman. "I, uh ...."

"We search for a name," Ming Xiu put in. The chamber left a fair bit of open space at its entrance—a reception of sorts—and she was standing right in the middle of it. Aaron noticed that the floor was covered in meter-wide square tiles that alternated between the same sunburst and lemniscate that had covered the courtyard upstairs, and another design that he hadn't seen before: an arrow in which the shaft twisted in elaborate spirals. He found it strangely pleasant to look at.

The keeper vanished into mist, drifted down in the blink of an eye, and reappeared at ground level, a ways from Ming Xiu. "And all that you know is a name, I see." Her tone was rather condescending.

Aaron spoke up, in a voice more shy than he'd have liked. "She's my wife, I can tell you all sorts of things."

Marion arched an eyebrow at him. "Can you, child?" She traveled in the same manner to stand a few paces before him. Say what you will about needless dramatics, the woman knew how to make the most mundane things—such as taking a few steps—look pretty damn cool. "Can you tell me any specifics on her undercurrent then? A realm of residence, past or present? A region? A point of integration?"

"Um, no, I—I guess not," he responded, a little intimidated. "Can't you just, you know, go up to the terminal, hit 'CTRL-F'?"

Both her eyebrows went up at that, in an expression that asked "Did you really just say that?"

Ming Xiu intervened before the keeper could respond, using her patient instructor voice.

"Entries are sorted by region and realm of residence, Aaron. For all the wonders of our existence, the technology you are used to is not possible here. Searching through millions of individuals is much simpler when you have a realm or an undercurrent." She looked at Marion, her expression neutral once more when addressing her. "Which we do not have."

"Wait, what?" Aaron butted in before the keeper could talk. "Wouldn't it make more sense to sort it alphabetically?"

Marion's eyes were not only imbued of breathtaking beauty, but were also remarkably expressive. Right at that moment, they were looking at Ming Xiu and saying "Your dog is barking again."

The dark-haired woman limited her admonition to the amused smile she used when it was time for Aaron to feel stupid. "Indeed, Aaron. It would be much simpler for you to search it, if it were that way. And I presume you would use modern English characters?"

"Sure, I guess," he conceded.

"What about cultures that do not use your set of characters, then? Should I submit to your imperfect rendition of my name, for instance?"

"No, you could ... " he paused to think about it for a second or two, "there could be a separate set for each different culture like that, I guess. There can't be that many."

"I see," she responded, all gentle serenity. "Truly there are not that many, in your time. How about all the people that came before you? How will you accommodate the name of every human being from all the eras of Earth's history? The Phoenicians, the Sumerians, the Native Americans of yore. How will you accommodate those that come from a time when written language did not even exist?"

Aaron had pursed his lips by then, understanding the point that she was hammering into his skull. It didn't stop her from carrying on with it, still using a tone that conveyed nothing but understanding and patience, as if to tell him that he wasn't the first one to question how the census was organized.

"You might opt then to sort everyone by nationality, but the problem is the same. Just think of your nation alone; how many different names did your region receive over the centuries? And not just that, but there are hundreds of civilizations in our timeline that wouldn't be able to agree with one another on where their borders were located, and the name of the land they inhabited would be meaningful to them alone. You run into similar problems by using time zones, parallels, physical attributes, lineage, time of death. A system based on any of those falls apart under closer scrutiny for one reason or another.

"You see, Aaron, the problem with using information from Earth to sort this census is two-fold. It is a problem of standpoint and perception, as I have explained. But it is also a problem of misguided identity. This census is not intended as a record of those who died on Earth, but as a record of the Humans that exist on this side of the divide. You may still think of yourself as American. You might see me as Chinese, see Falon as British, see Lesedi as South African, see Marion as whatever it is that she is supposed to be at this time." The keeper's brow knit with displeasure, but Ming Xiu didn't spare her a glance. "But the truth is that all of these things have become meaningless. They are nothing but inconsequential trivia, such as the color of your eyes or the name of your parents. It is but another remnant of our primitive origins." She gestured at the monumental chamber all around her. "This record of our population breaks clean of the shackles that bind us to that old mentality, and embraces the nature of our existence in Eternal."

Silence stretched for a moment, as Aaron mulled over what Ming Xiu had just told him. It might have been the longest answer she'd ever given to one of his questions.

"Truly, Ming Xiu," the keeper said a short while after, "could you not have imparted this knowledge at an earlier time? Perhaps at a time when I would not have to suffer through it?"

"Aaron is a rare case, Marion." Ming Xiu walked over to his side as she spoke. "He came to us unscathed, lacking every sign of extreme stress or trauma. It is only recently that I have become able to delve deeper into the nature of our existence."

"I see." The keeper turned to address Aaron. She was the kind of person that addressed instead of talked, regarded instead of looked. "Shall we have her name then, so that we can get started? My duties languish while you dally."

Are you for real? Aaron thought. He managed to restrain a chuckle and not let his amusement show—it probably wouldn't do to laugh in Marion Baterich's face. He said instead, "her name is Alexandra Gretchen. Her maiden name was Sanders."

The woman frowned lightly. Even her frown was a work of art, when performed by her flawless features. "I cannot say I have knowledge of this name, but there are many entries that I have not touched. Pronounce it again for me, if you will. Try to remember the way she spoke it to you."

"Uh, okay." He did as he was told. She hadn't actually spoken her name to him as such, since they had exchanged names through chat, and how often do people tell their full names to those that already know it? But he had heard her say it plenty of times, to surveys, clerks, bank tellers. She answered her cell phone with it, when the call wasn't social. She was quite fond of her name, and always made sure to vocalize it well.

Marion nodded. "One more time. Don't slow it down."

He raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. It felt moderately silly.

She listened carefully, her eyes closed. A moment later, she nodded again. "Wait here." Eyes that were as blue and bright as a clear summer sky narrowed with suspicion. "Do not touch anything."

Sheesh.

Not even waiting for a response, she soundlessly vaporized, mist-traveled up and forward, and materialized at about the three-dimensional mid-point of the chamber's sparse reception. Her arms were spread out at a downward angle, her lush mane of golden strands flowing about her in a way that was too perfectly awesome to be anything but deliberate.

Then she became slightly translucent, and a shimmering halo wrapped around her figure, like an angelic aura ready to carry her off to Heaven. Alexandra would be bopping him across the head by now, so much staring Aaron was doing.

The halo grew and spread from every part of her, questing out into the room with a myriad independent tendrils of a hazy nature. She started moving forward, slowly making her way ahead between the two "shelves" that ran down the middle of the chamber.

He watched as her diffuse form methodically traversed the length of the room, ghostly tendrils extending in all directions, like tasting the air that surrounded her. At the rate that she was going, she wouldn't reach the other end for a good while.

Ming Xiu stood at his side, watching as well. She did not wait for the inevitable questions.

"You sense the undercurrents in this room, I presume."

He nodded. "Yeah. I can't make sense of it, but I do feel it."

"Every plate contains an entry, as you have probably deduced by now. Any hypothesis as to why they are so large?"

Well, that's new. Was she encouraging conjecture now, instead of stymying it?

"Um. A very large font?" he ventured. He hadn't really thought about their size, to be honest.

Her lips drew half a smile, looking at him. "I suppose that would be the case, although not in the sense that you mean." She glanced back at Marion, then turned around and softly lay a hand on his forearm. "Come. It takes a fair amount of time to perform this kind of search, even for one such as her." She took a step toward the door.

"Wait," Aaron objected, a bit of anxiety bubbling up. "I'd like to look while she does that. She might find Alex at any moment."

Ming Xiu looked at him over her shoulder. "She will not stop until she has queried every entry. In the meanwhile, I can explain to you what it is that she's doing, among other things. You do want to learn, don't you?" She took a few more steps, then left the ground to approach an array of entries on the wall next to the entrance, some five meters high. Aaron could have sworn that he sensed a tiny ripple in the space she occupied when she did so, but he might have been eager enough to imagine it.

After another fretful glance at the gorgeous elf-angel hybrid, he followed Ming Xiu all the way to the wall, then concentrated on traveling up. He finally managed to hover right next to her after shooting past her up and down a mere five times.

Six plates floated in front of them, under a wide, green and blue pattern of squiggly lines that looked like a tangle of lightning against an emerald sky. Again, Aaron felt as if he was only a second away from attaching words to the symbols, but the words never came.

All plates but one were of the lighter shade. The fourth entry from the left was the color of ash.

"This," Ming Xiu said as she gestured at it with both hands, "is Thousand Rivers."

So that's what felt so familiar about the tiny signals in front of him. The signals were all such an almost imperceptible warble to him that he hadn't recognized them for what they were until then. He leaned closer to the slabs, and made an effort to put Marion's search out of his mind so he could concentrate on the undercurrents present in there. Yes, that was definitely Falon. That last one was Rama, no doubt about it, and there was Diego as well. And the first one on the left was a faithful duplicate of the signal embodied in the woman right as his side—it was not exactly the same, though. There was a certain ... dynamism missing from it.

"Upon creation of an entry, an imprint of the subject at hand is made." She pulled out her own entry as she spoke, using plain old physical contact. She handled the plate as if it was weightless; for all Aaron knew, it was. "A mistshaper and an architect must collaborate to create this plate, as well as a scribe to enter the information in it." She glanced at him as she clarified, "in case you don't know yet, Diego is an architect, and Falon possesses the kind of talent that a scribe would need." She looked back at the entry. "You could say that it contains a very small part of me, and you would not be inaccurate. That is the reason why they must be this large: it is a sizable amount of information that cannot be stored and used properly in a smaller vessel."

Ming Xiu turned the entry around so that Aaron could take a look at it. "Besides that, it also contains the type of mundane information that you would expect a census to keep."

The entry displayed two different sets of characters, engraved rather than typed on the surface of the plate. One was what looked like Chinese writing. It probably was an ancient dialect, considering where and when Ming Xiu came from, but it was little more than an assumption on Aaron's part since he didn't have a friggin' clue about reading Mandarin.

The second set of characters was both fascinating and frustrating enough to give him a headache. Just like the symbols and patterns above the rows of slabs, each discrete character was a word that wanted to form on his lips, but wouldn't. The script looked as complex and dense as Chinese or Japanese, but the shape of it was more reminiscent of Arabic, prone to curves and long lines. And on top of all that, there was a component to it that defied description. An extra element within the symbols that wasn't necessarily visual, that did not need to be read in order to be interpreted.

"Do you understand what is written here, Aaron?" Ming Xiu asked him.

He frowned and concentrated some more, and stared at it until he went cross-eyed. He glanced at her, then back at the thing. He really didn't want to say "no"; he could feel it all at the tip of his tongue.

Finally he pressed his lips together and shook his head in defeat.

"It's conceptual script," she said. "You are trying too hard to read it. Don't worry about it, it will come with time."

If you say so ....

She put the entry back in its place. Every other plate drifted slightly to accommodate it back into its proper slot. "It simply lists name, current region and realm of residence, point of integration, portent of entry, and any exceptional talents. Then, in my native language, it lists my name, country of origin, time and place of death, and ... " she left the sentence hanging and grew quiet for a few seconds. "Well, you are free to include any other information you see fit," she finished, her voice brisk, like shoving unwanted thoughts away from her mind. She looked back at him and gave him a somewhat self-conscious smile. "We will be updating my entry shortly to list Queg as a Risen under my care."

He didn't say anything, and looked at her thoughtfully, comprehension showing slowly in his features. It wasn't much of a stretch to figure out what else she had put in there. Ming Xiu had lost someone, and had searched just like he was doing. She had probably gotten her own entry here during that search, however long ago—just like he was about to do. Maybe she had bugged somebody else to help her look in here. Whether she had done as much or not, the fact that it had all been fruitless for her was rather disheartening. He tried to push the thought away, before it could diminish his hopes any further.

He knew that if nothing turned up in this search, he would be leaving a message in his own entry for Alexandra. Maybe she was looking for him just like he was looking for her, and she would eventually arrive at this census, with any luck. So he would want to make absolutely certain that she would know it was really him, and for her to know where to find him.

He would put her name in his own entry, listing her as his spouse. He'd probably also leave something goofy and sappy for her to laugh at. It was a pleasant thought, to have her laugh at last after a long and frustrating Hunt for the Missing Husband.

He glanced at Marion for a moment, checking on her progress; she was maybe three fourths of the way to the back wall, and presumably she would do a few more trips between different rows before she was done. His mood continued to deteriorate as he imagined a desperate and anxious Ming Xiu in his place, waiting with baited breath for somebody else to search the census at her behest, all her hopes resting in the remote chance that the person she was looking for had been added as an entry already. And not finding it, and ending up, after who knows how long, giving up on her quest to find her loved one. He didn't know if that really had been the case, but it made for one hell of a depressing picture.

"Ming Xiu ... " Aaron begun, softly. He had to know. "For how long did you search?"

He felt her stiffen at his side. She glanced at him, then looked ahead to watch Marion as she continued to query the bizarre database. Not saying anything, she drifted back down to the middle of the chamber's reception. Aaron followed in his clumsy way, stopping next to her. He wondered in silence whether he had gone too far by asking about it.

It was one long minute before she spoke, in a quiet voice that carried wounds as old as time itself. "I searched for far longer than I should have. Longer than you'd consider reasonable, or logical, or sane." Her eyes were lost in remembrance. More silence followed, and when she spoke again the wounds had closed into ugly scars. "I defied all those who told me as much. I shunned friends and duty, and continued to search until there was nowhere else for me to go. I was foolish, and selfish." Her eyes met his. There was a mixture of feelings there that Aaron found hard to interpret. Remorse and sorrow. Determination, embarrassment. Kinship.

She reached out and placed her hand on his, her touch delicate like a beam of moonlight. "It only gets worse, Aaron. You keep holding on, and it makes you shrink and embitter and rot. It withers your soul until all that's left is but a husk of what you used to be. And it's all for nothing." She shook her head lightly, her voice laden with regret. "Less than nothing."

There was a lump in Aaron's throat. Her words were heavy with the weight of ages' worth of knowledge and experience. How could the hope of proving her wrong be nothing but senseless? He felt something inside of him collapsing, and he had to struggle not to fall apart completely. "I can't let her go, Ming Xiu." His mouth quirked downward as he fought back the tears, conviction muscling through the encroaching despair. "I'm not going to, I can't."

Her hand squeezed his, both a gesture of understanding and an attempt to command his attention. "Do you think you are the first, Aaron? Do you think you'll be the last? There are so many here that lost a loved one. We all learn to move on, to give up on what we used to be in order to become what we will be." She let go of his hand and looked away. "The alternative is nothing but suffering, until you lose yourself completely."

Aaron kept quiet, maintaining a stubborn set to his jaw. It was daunting, but he couldn't falter just because everybody else had. Just because they said it was impossible. He was not going to give up that easily, and especially not when he had barely started.

"I do wish it weren't true." Ming Xiu carried on. She sounded uncertain now, reticent—like confiding something that she knew she shouldn't be saying. "Even now, a part of me hopes that you will be different, that at least you will get to find the woman you left behind. I've let myself hope for it, misguided as it is." There was a hint of surprise in her voice by the time she finished her sentence.

Aaron looked at her sideways. He was still gathering his resolve to resist any and all discouragement, and it took him a moment to register that she had pressed her lips together, as if trying to reach a decision before continuing.

She did so after another minute of silence. "Against my better sense, I am going to offer you a deal." She kept her eyes on Marion's methodical movements as she spoke. "If you find anything in this census that might lead you to Alexandra, I will assist you in following up said lead, in any way possible. You have my word on that." She faced him then, hard iron in her gaze. "But you will not repeat every mistake I made. If there is nothing here for you, you will agree to stop actively searching for her. I will not watch you hurt yourself for nothing, indulging your sorrow and guilt in an aimless chase after a memory. You may leave a message for her, in case she ever makes her way here. And then you will move forward with the rest of us."

Aaron studied her for a while. His first instinct was to say "no" right away. How could she expect him to agree not to search for his wife? He had hardly made an attempt to find her yet. He wouldn't be able ever to look at himself in the mirror again if he surrendered so early.

But Ming Xiu hadn't made her offer lightly. Something told him that she was going out on a limb by offering as much, and that he shouldn't pass it up without serious consideration. After all, if this angle did pan out, he would still be lost without her guidance.

Even then, it didn't take him long to shake his head. "You can't expect me to just stop and forget about her if this doesn't work. I couldn't do it even if I wanted to. You know what I mean, don't you?"

She put out her palm, a mollifying gesture. "All I ask is that you come back to Thousand Rivers and continue learning everything we can teach you. After you are done with your education, you can be free to do as you will, just like any other individual would. If you still wish to waste your efforts in a hopeless search by then, so be it. There are worse causes you could pursue, after all." She gave him a crooked smirk. "Although you can rest assured that I will continue to advise against it quite strongly."

"And if I refuse to your terms?" he asked her, careful to leave defiance out of his tone. "Will you stop me from taking off and looking on my own once we're done here?"

She seemed to find the idea mildly amusing. "You have never been a prisoner, Aaron. I would have been fairly forceful in my arguments against it, but I wouldn't have actually stopped you from leaving Thousand Rivers, should you have been set on doing so." Seeing Aaron's raised eyebrows, she continued before he could comment. "Free will is inviolable to us, Aaron. But that being said, you would be stupid to strike out on your own. You would not get far, as resourceless as you are. You can be certain of that."

Aaron weighted his options in silence. Or the lack of them, really. He was screwed without help, and if there was no sign of Alexandra in here, he wouldn't have a clue on where to go next. He would have to revert to his original plan to learn everything that there was to learn from these people so that he could navigate the afterlife in an effective way.

And in any case, he could always break his promise if some other option presented itself. The thought alone made him feel like a scumbag, but it was nothing when compared to the concept of just giving up on finding her. That thought made his guts twist in bitter knots. When the time came, he would just leave Thousand Rivers and begin his search in earnest. There were things worth lying for.

"Beggars can't be choosers, can they," he said with a touch of asperity. It couldn't look like he was taking the deal lightly.

"I'm afraid not," she responded without a hint of levity. "This is as much as I can give you. Not many would see wisdom in my offer, but ... First Portent, there must be someone out there who will reunite with their loved ones. If there is indeed an entry for your Alexandra in this place, then ... maybe you will be that someone."

She seemed so earnest, so sincere in her frustration. He already felt like a jerk, entertaining the notion of making a deal that he had no intention to keep, if things didn't go his way.

He set those thoughts aside and nodded instead. "Let's hope so, then," he said in a voice as dead serious as he could make it. "If we find nothing here, I will do my best to follow your advice." It wasn't an outright lie, he told himself. "But you will help me reach her as soon as possible if there is something, right?"

If she was aware of his less than honorable intentions, she did not show it. She nodded solemnly and continued watching the keeper's search, which must have been fairly close to completion by then. She had gone to the other end of the room and back twice, and was finishing her third pass, on the far right side of the chamber.

They observed her progress quietly, each one immerse in their own thoughts. Aaron couldn't decide whether he felt more impatient for her to finish than fearful for what the results might be. He settled on impatient as Marion slowly made her way back to the front, her halo of misty tendrils painstakingly tasting every one of the millions of signals that filled the gigantic room.

Everything stopped once she finally made it to the end of the rows she had been working on. Her radiance receded, her spread arms came to rest at her thighs, her glazed over and distant eyes came back to their usual focus. After a few seconds of perfect stillness, she looked down at the two people waiting for her, volatilized and traveled to reappear a few paces in front of them. She stood there and stared impassively for long enough to make Aaron a little uncomfortable. Between that and the long wait, he felt like he was ready to burst.

Ming Xiu spoke before his tongue got the better of him. "What do you have for us, keeper?"

Marion stuck out her lower lip a little in a displeased pout. "No full matches."

Three words to send hope tumbling downhill and into a pit. Three words to stab him thrice through the heart and bleed out any optimism he might have harbored. He'd known it was a long shot, but that knowledge did nothing to palliate his disappointment.

"There are six instances of 'Alexandra,'" she added, "and nine of 'Gretchen,' seven of which being first names." She said it as if she took not finding what she'd been looking for as a personal affront.

Five million people and only six Alexandras?

Granted, this was a census of a population that went as far back in human history as the literal beginning of mankind. A name like Alexandra or Gretchen would be a minuscule portion of such a vast sample size. But an unsettling thought occurred to him then: what stopped the keeper from simply lying about her findings? It wasn't as if he could check her work for mistakes or omissions. Maybe he was projecting his denial as paranoia, but was he supposed to just take her at her word?

"May I ... see them?" he asked in a tiny voice. He wouldn't dare accuse her of anything—it wouldn't do any good, anyway. But the least he could do was to check the entries that she had mentioned. There was a small chance that his wife hadn't used her full name.

To her credit, Marion nodded at once, strands of her golden mane cascading over her shoulders as she did. "Of course. Follow. And be careful."

She traveled to the nearest Alexandra slowly, checking on Aaron's progress periodically and stopping to wait more than once. She couldn't have made any it more humiliating if she had held his hand and spoken baby-talk to him, but at that moment Aaron was too downtrodden to care. Ming Xiu followed behind him, perhaps curious, perhaps disappointed as well, perhaps feeling smug. He tried not to eye them both warily, trying to figure out whether he was being misled or not.

It wasn't as if he could think of a reason for the keeper to lie about the whole thing, other than petty malice. Unless she was in cahoots with Ming Xiu, that is, and they were both trying to get him to give up on his search. But Marion seemed to be far from friendly toward his mentor, and would have no reason to want to help her. Unless it was all an act to fool him, and—

Aaron shook his head at the train of thought. Even in his mental state, he knew that such reasoning was nothing but irrational paranoia. A way to deny the ugly truth in front of him.

Soon he was forced to abandon every thought on the matter, as all his concentration was needed to navigate through the rows of entries without crashing into them. A part of him idly wondered what would happen if he did.

Marion stopped next to an array of slabs that was fourth from the floor, third from the left-hand wall, and fairly close to the entrance, depth-wise. The symbol above it was a fiery affair that conjured the idea of heat in Aaron's mind.

She waited until he hovered still in front of her, then pulled an entry out of the array, brought it closer to him and flipped it so the text contained in it would face him. She did all this without laying a finger on the plate.

Aaron peered at it halfheartedly. He tried to remain anxious and hopeful, but he just didn't have it in him anymore.

Am I giving up already? Sure didn't last long. One setback and all is lost, let's lie down and die.

He frowned and exhorted himself to pay attention to the plate in front of him. Plain English words, written in an elegant, flowing hand, met his eyes.

Well. Alright. On to the next one.

A trip to ground level brought them to another entry. Along with the headache-inducing script, there were neatly inscribed Slavic characters.

Next.

Nearly half a room away, almost to the back of the chamber, Aaron was shown what he could only guess was a Greek Alexandra. Where the date should have been, it was written what very much looked like,

K F , d '

Whatever that meant. Next.

He got through Gretchen Wyler, Gretchen Bratch, and Ferdinand Gretchen—American, German, British. Twentieth, seventeenth and nineteenth century.

Four more Gretchens that he couldn't even decipher.

Another Alexandra. From somewhere in Eastern Europe, it looked like.

It carried on in a soul-crushing sequence of frustration and disappointment. By the time he reached the last of them, all the way to the top between the central rows, there was not a shred of faith left in him.

He read it with weary eyes:

Aaron closed his eyes. Not even a colorful message in this one. As it turned out, there had been a bit of hope left, because he felt it slip away as he read. And as he dwelt on it, he got tickled again.

Maybe "nudged" would be more accurate. It wasn't as much as "poked." And "called" would imply a much stronger signal than what he felt, a much stronger attraction.

As he had moved around the room, there was one undercurrent that kept making itself more noticeable than all the others. It was like one creased thread in an otherwise flawless weave: faint and extremely subtle to the point that it had barely reached his awareness. He had noticed it when he first walked into the room, and hadn't given it much thought; it was all noise then. But he'd been able to feel its nigh imperceptible tickle coming at him from the same spot as he went up and down the chamber, prickling him periodically with its abnormal signal. It had seemed to surge in intensity with every disappointment—which was to say, it went from almost undetectable to a fleeting whisper. And it drew him, queried his attention lightly, insistently.

He tried to locate it, his eyes searching through the rows of census entries. It was somewhere near the bottom, close to the right hand wall.

He glanced at the women next to him. Then he headed for it, dropping to ground level first so he could navigate the shelves quickly without bumping into anything.

"Aaron?" Ming Xiu asked in a soft voice when he started moving. She started following when he didn't respond.

"Don't you dare touch a thing, child," Marion put in, staying where she was. Probably chasing after him was beneath her station.

He reached the front end of the row he was in, turned a hard left and started heading for the rightmost shelf.

"Aaron." Ming Xiu's voice was more authoritative now, although still gentle. "What are you doing?"

He kept on going without a word, quickening his pace toward that tingling sensation that seemed to get clearer with each step, now that his every sense was focused on it. He wasn't being intentionally rude; Ming Xiu's protests simply hadn't registered.

She caught up to him without effort and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Aaron, stop."

Aaron startled and whipped his head around to face her, half his mind still keeping intent on the signal for fear that he might lose it. Her contact wasn't rough or forceful, but that didn't make it any less insurmountable. Even if he didn't actually try, he got the impression that he would sooner move a thousand pounds of lead than Ming Xiu's delicate fingers from his shoulder. There was a measure of reproach to her expression, but it was mostly curiosity.

"There's ... something," he said as he waved a hand vaguely in the direction he was heading. It was as good an explanation as he could muster.

Her face went from curious to puzzled. After a few seconds of consideration she let go of him, and gestured instead for Aaron to lead the way. He turned to do so at once.

The signal didn't feel like it was straight ahead until he reached the wall. He hesitated a moment, fighting to discern the anomalous undercurrent, then went down the rightmost corridor, the one that ran next to the entries set against the side of the room. Ming Xiu followed close behind, cream colored dress rustling behind his steps.

They traveled almost all the way to the back before Aaron slowed his advance. The source was somewhere among the entries by the wall. It felt close, so close, and still it was difficult to tell from which plate it was coming from, exactly.

And there it was.

A lone dark plate at ground level, tucked unobtrusively among all the rest. Above it, a pattern that glowed the color of turning leaves; a complicated series of sinuous lines that defied any attempt at understanding.

It was the only entry under the pattern. Aaron got nearer, and as he did there was no doubt that it was the source of the signal he had been looking for.

He stood in front of it. Glanced at Ming Xiu, who still wore the most puzzled expression he had ever seen on her face. Stepped toward it. Reached out to grab it.

The keeper coalesced next to him and clamped her hand around Aaron's wrist, giving him a scare that made him yelp and would have sent him sprawling backwards into the row of entries behind him, should her fingers not have been holding him in place with an iron grip.

"Do. Not. Touch. Anything." Her voice was calm. It was also terrible. It reminded him of a mother keeping a stranger from touching her baby.

"I just—" Aaron begun.

"Let him, Marion," Ming Xiu told her quietly. She was staring intently at the ashen plate. At the incomprehensible pattern above it.

The keeper shook her head vehemently, silky hair fluttering prettily from side to side. She was eyeing the plate as well, with a hint of wariness. "This entry ... I have no knowledge of it." She did let go of Aaron's wrist, glancing at him and then back at the slab. "Which should not be possible. It is as though ... concealed. How?"

Aaron didn't give a damn. It could be a bomb for all he cared; he was going to find out what was written on it, one way or the other. He looked at both women for a moment, not as much asking permission as he was making his determination clear to them. Ming Xiu nodded. Marion furrowed her brow, but did not move to stop him. He reached out for it again.

His fingers gripped the side of the plate, and he brought it out of its slot carefully, almost reverently. It offered no resistance to his efforts, gliding weightlessly through space as he took hold of it and held it like he would an open newspaper.

Script that was as black as soot filled its surface, in a dim but legible contrast against the dark gray of the plate's material. There were the usual cryptic symbols from which he could almost glean meaning. Beneath them, there were the plain, comforting characters of the English alphabet.

By then, there was no doubt left in his mind that he no longer had a physical body in the sense that was understood on Earth. Organs and guts and lungs were all remnants of what his mind was used to live with, part of the same insurmountable psychological inertia that kept him using his eyes to see, his ears to hear, his skin to touch. He was certain that, over time, he would stop bothering to breathe altogether.

Yet the fact remained that his heart was racing, thumping in his chest and pounding in his ears, and there was nothing that he could have done to calm it down as he read the name that was written there.

"Saudanaishi," he whispered out loud.

Year 2021. Seattle.

It couldn't possibly be coincidence.

Alexandra's handwriting had ranged from "mostly legible" to "undecipherable chicken scratch," depending on how fast she went. It was a tilted affair with tiny characters and long vertical strokes that he'd always found both beautiful and baffling. The words written there were far more careful and deliberate than her usual, with emphasis on clarity—but the shapes and strokes were simply unmistakable.

He read on, not yet allowing himself to believe what he was seeing. There was a message as well.

His throat tightened up. His nose tingled, his eyes welled with tears.

It was her. There was no other explanation. It was her. It was her.

And her entry was dark.

Even as he fought to deny it, he didn't have to strain his thoughts all that much to figure out what a darkened entry meant.

"I thought her name was Alexandra?" Ming Xiu asked in the softest, most tactful murmur. She was peering over his shoulder, trying to get a good look at the entry without having to push him aside.

He responded in a sort of mental haze, his voice pushing to get past his constricted throat. "Her name was Sauda before she was adopted." He spoke while staring at the most wonderful, heartbreaking seven words he had ever read. "She used Saudanaishi as her screen name on the internet. She said it stood for 'Sauda Lives.' She picked it as a teenager and never had the heart to come up with a different one."

"And you think—" She interrupted her cautious sentence to suck in the air through her teeth, as if she had just stubbed her toe or burned her fingers. Aaron peeled his eyes off the plate to look at her. She was staring at the thing, her eyes wider than normal, her mouth quirked downward in an expression of dread.

"What? What is it?" he asked, anxious.

She glanced at him, then back at the entry. She hesitated, and at that brief moment of staring into her eyes, Aaron knew that she was deciding whether she should lie to him. Then she frowned, pressing her lips together. "I should hope that this isn't your Alexandra, Aaron."

He just looked at her for a while. He could feel a new kind of despair sinking its teeth deep inside of him, biting down on that rekindled sparkle of hope and tearing it to shreds. He averted his eyes from her face. He didn't need to hear what she had to say. He already knew.

"She is gone, isn't she," he said in a fractured whisper, and as he did something broke inside of him.

Ming Xiu laid a hand on his shoulder, sorrow slowly taking over her features. And yet she still seemed as though debating whether to speak her mind.

"Just tell me the truth, Ming Xiu." His voice was barely audible as tears ran unchecked down his cheeks, off his chin. If he would have cared to notice, he would have seen them vanish into mist before they hit the floor. "I need to know."

She drew out a long breath. After a few more moments of hesitation, she withdrew her hand from his shoulder to take the plate from Aaron's limp fingers.

"Entries are rendered ashen by the scribes when a recorded Human is scattered," she begun in gentle tones. All traces of reluctance were gone, and only compassion remained. "They become ... gravestones, of sorts, where their memory will remain for posterity. But this one ... " she pointed at a series of marks set deep into the left margin of the plate, running from the corner in a short, Japanese-style column—angry symbols that managed to appear even darker than the rest of the script. "See this?"

He made an effort to focus his eyes and care about what she was showing him. Ming Xiu carried on, "It means that this Saudanaishi ... well, she was a criminal, Aaron. More than that. She was a traitor."

Criminal? Traitor?

His thoughts felt muddled and sluggish. He stared blankly at the symbols she was pointing at, failing to glean meaning once more. And what difference did it make? Alex was gone. She had shown up in this place who knows how long before he did, and she had been killed in some way or another at some point after that. She never got to see him again.

He would never get to see her again.

Ming Xiu continued, quiet and somber. "It means that the Unbound itself executed this person, Aaron. Only threats to all Humanity will ever find that fate."

She was severed. She had shown up somewhere, some time in the past, and might have had a chance to find him. But she had been severed, and now he would never get to see her again.

"Most such executions are proclaimed portents, but I can't say I know of this 'Saudanaishi' being one of them."

It took a while for what she was saying to sink in. His head felt as if it was stuffed with wool.

A criminal. Alexandra, a criminal. What a preposterous notion. A traitor. A traitor! Alexandra was the kindest, most law-abiding person he had ever known. She was genuinely good, the kind of person that stops to help a broken down car when everyone else drives by; that tips more when service is worst, because it just might be what that waitress needs to cheer up her day; that will go to a complete stranger's house to return their lost wallet. He would sooner picture her with two heads than committing a crime against her own people.

He'd sat down at some point, shoulders hunched over, arms flopping onto his loosely crossed legs. He didn't remember doing it.

"What did she do?" he heard himself asking, his voice low and devoid of inflection.

Ming Xiu shook her head. "It doesn't say." She rolled up a shoulder in an apologetic shrug. "Treason."

He would never get to see her again.

"How long ago?"

She simply shook her head again as a response.

He would never get to see her again, and there was not even an explanation for what had happened to her. Shouldn't there be some information, at least?

Aaron narrowed his eyes. "No realm of residence? No point of integration? No ... 'portent'?" His tone became suspicious. Accusing.

Ming Xiu picked up on it immediately, and grew terse. "I do not stoop to speaking lies, Aaron. Even if I had a reason to lie to you. I will let your insolence pass, considering the circumstances, but I will not suffer it again in the future." She stared at him for a moment, then continued in a businesslike manner, interpreting information off the entry as she went. "Point of integration translates as 'Carved Barrow,' but I have no knowledge of such a place. There is indeed no realm of residence or portent of entry, which at the very least indicates that she was a vagrant," she lay a hard look on him, "and reinforces the notion of her being a criminal."

Liar. She was debating whether to lie to me just a moment ago.

Aaron bared his teeth and struggled to rein in his emotions, hard as it was. Ming Xiu had done everything in her power to help him get this far. She could have stopped him a thousand times over, if she had wanted to. Why the hell would she start hindering him now?

"Is it common," he asked in a downbeat tone, "for an entry to draw a certain person to it, like it just happened to me?"

Some of Ming Xiu's previous puzzlement returned to her features. She traded a look with Marion.

"I ... was not aware it was possible, it pains me to admit," the keeper answered.

It just didn't make sense. Even as he wallowed in abject despair, even as the incipient traces of a thirst for vengeance made themselves known to him, even if he was eager to deny the soul-wrecking evidence right in front of him on principle alone, there were a number of issues that simply didn't add up in his head.

If this was Alex's actual entry, why would she use the name Saudanaishi, instead of Alexandra Gretchen? She was awfully fond of her name. And she would have wanted her entry to be as visible and straightforward as possible, just in case he came looking. But she had chosen to use her freaking online alias instead: something that only he would know, but that he would have never thought to look for.

And not just that, but—if he could take Marion's word on it—the entry had been concealed from her search altogether. Masked, undetectable somehow ... except by him.

It had called to him, however subtly. Yet another question mark, perhaps the most important of all. Alex had figured out a way to draw his attention, and his attention only. As if she'd been afraid of anyone else becoming aware of the information on the plate, or of someone tampering with it. But why?

He thought about it. He turned it over and over in his head, and looked at it from this angle and that. He formulated hypotheses that got discarded, and came up with explanations that couldn't hold any water. He threw his best frown at it, all the while struggling to ignore that part of him that wanted to crawl up into a ball and weep until his eyes gave out. It would be easy to just lose himself in all his frustration and anger, vow revenge or give in to despair and surrender any desire to continue existing.

But none of that would give him an answer. He wanted, he needed to know what had truly happened to her. Against all odds, against everything that he'd been told to expect, he had found a trace of his wife's existence. There was no way that he would just leave it at that, and not find out the truth behind the tangle of incongruencies set before him.

It took him a long time to reach a conclusion, which admittedly was little more than a slightly educated opinion. In fact, it was mostly a hopeful hypothesis that, unlike all others, didn't get shot down in his head by cross-referencing with the information he knew. By the time he looked up from the ground, he found himself sitting alone in-between the rows of entries. Saudanaishi's was gone—maybe taken away for deeper study, since apparently it was one of a kind.

A tiny effort of will placed their undercurrents at the chamber's reception, along with the faint signal coming from the fateful plate. They must have left him alone while he was busy getting his hopes mercilessly crushed. How considerate of them.

He closed his eyes, and after a deep sigh he goaded himself to stop the pitiful display already and get back on his feet. He needed to start work on the next step.

As far as he could tell, he could believe one of two things coming out of this place. Neither was particularly plausible, but it was the best he could come up with. Besides, his expectations of what would qualify as "plausible" had been revised every five seconds since he got disintegrated. Compared to most of what he'd seen so far, his explanation of choice wasn't all that far-fetched.

In one hand, he could take everything pretty much at face value. Alexandra's unorthodox entry had been darkened upon execution, the gravestone marked for a traitor by the Unbound itself and banished into oblivion for some reason. Before that happened, she had somehow imbued it with the power to call out to him, and that power had persisted even after she got severed. Maybe he'd be able to find somebody that was present when she was first entered into the records, but if what he actually believed turned out to be true, searching for such a person would be a pointless endeavor.

Because he couldn't settle for an explanation like that. He hadn't gotten this far to be duped into believing she was lost to him forever, when there might be a different tale to pursue. He'd rather go with the theory he held in his other hand.

Which was that this mysterious, aberrant dark plate wasn't a census entry at all. It was in fact a message, left inconspicuously by Alexandra in the one place she had been certain that he would eventually visit, if he ever showed up in this twisted afterlife. She had left it specifically for him, however long ago, and had designed it to remain undiscovered and unmolested until he could retrieve it.

It was a simple message, really. It was conceived to deliver a single idea in no uncertain terms. It was so clear in his mind that he could almost hear Alexandra's voice within the undercurrent that even now called to him from the front of the room.

Like a whisper carried by the wind, urging him not to despair, not to give up.

It was saying, "The Unbound has the answers you seek."

12

You don't have a heart.

It turns out death doesn't come right away after you get stabbed in the heart, even if the blade is pulled out immediately. There's a few seconds of consciousness left as blood pressure abruptly drops, and then you get to bleed out for a minute or two.

You don't have a heart!

What a terrible thing to say. She had a heart. She had a really big heart, actually. She cared about a lot of things. Too many things, sometimes. And if you cut her, did she not bleed? Cut her with, like, a really sharp sword?

There is no sword either.

Now, that was just plain wrong. She'd seen the thing, it was definitely for real. The fact that she was bleeding out on the floor attested to the sheer realness of the blade.

Her sword is as real as your staff.

And had she not clubbed a bird-man to death with her staff?

Do you really think that blunt damage means anything in this place?

About as much as piercing damage with Sword of Mist +1, apparently.

Exactly.

Stupid Aaron and his stupid RPG's.

Who cared if there was no spoon? The damage had been done. She was taking an awful long time to get it over with, but she pegged that to that fabled "time stands still" thing that people always mention in fiction. She'd always found it a bunch of hogwash, personally, but apparently there was some truth to it.

You are a goddamned soul! A sword through the heart put you down? Are you kidding me?

Oh my, shush already. Her more raucous thoughts were totally harshing her mellow, and giving her a terrible headache on top of that. She just wanted to lie there and wait for the end. An end brought about by someone who might as well have been an Asian version of herself, pissed off about showing up in Hell, losing her husband or whatever this Yun had been to her, and lashing out at the demons that were obviously trying to get a hold of her.

Gosh, it was almost funny, put that way.

And a sword, no less. A sword. She'd braved claws, horns, monstrous tails, chitinous beasts, a frenzied manhunt, treachery, impossible odds, an equally impossible escape and a bird-man slave driver. She'd overcome despair, self-doubt, utter hopelessness and the loss of everything she held dear. And she hadn't just pulled through, but hatched her very own rickety plan to rescue other souls that hadn't made it as far as she had—and maybe find her husband in the process.

And some n00b with a plain, man-made sword had come around and all but teabagged her.

It was so, so sad.

So sad that it was funny. It was funny; so funny, in fact, that she started laughing.

Once she started, she couldn't stop. It was just so dumb, and it had all been her own doing, too. If she'd thought things through instead of rushing in like an idiot, this wouldn't have happened.

It hurt to laugh, but she couldn't help it. And, at the same time, it did make the pain much more bearable, so she didn't try to stop. Come to think of it, the pain she felt from this wound didn't come anywhere close to the frequent bouts of agony she had inflicted upon herself, trying to accomplish one impossible thing or another. A sword through the chest? Psh. Try making your skin like a chameleon's, or turning your whole body into a goddamn manbird. That had been painful.

Even getting her hand mangled beyond recognition had been much worse than this. Lucky she'd been able to heal that, even if she still didn't know how she'd done it.

Huh.

Still chuckling, she just wished for all the pain to go away, mostly for the heck of it. That's what she had done back then, right? She'd been spazzing out over something or other, she got an awful migraine, and then begged for the pain to stop. And it had!

She checked. Nope, still bleeding through an open gash on her chest, identical to the one on her back. She really, really should have been unconscious by then.

Alexandra felt the dizziness come over her as soon as she thought about it, and a part of her, the part that was sick to her stomach of struggling against everything all the time, invited it in with open arms. She heard someone talk, muffled and distant and angry. She didn't care.

The rest of her was yelling in her ear to stop being so damn dense.

You can change your body at will here, it was saying, and every word was like a hammer pounding her skull from the inside out. You have already figured out what to do, and now you're just being a coward.

The fuck I'm a coward! she thought back at herself in a bit of a daze. She wanted to be angry at such a baseless accusation, but she found it particularly humorous instead. She'd finally gone off the deep end and was getting pissed at the voice inside her head. Good to know she'd gone crazy just before signing out for good.

Her thoughts carried on, unperturbed by neither her contrariness nor her uncontrolled giggling, adamant in their intent to drive their point home.

"Body" doesn't mean the same as "flesh."

There was nothing new in the idea itself, even if it was the first time she put it in those terms. She'd repeated it to herself plenty of times, how she was now a spirit, a being of pure energy that could not be restrained by corporeal contact or injured by physical trauma. All the while, she'd continued to exert her muscles, crane her neck, expand and contract her chest. Whisper, moan and shout; jump, kick and punch. And all these things worked, as if nothing had changed, as if death had been a mere illusion. All the new stuff she could do didn't detract from the sense of physicality as much as they reinforced it, be it with novel appearances, disguises, tools, weapons or raw power. Being a spirit was a truth that so far lacked substance and sustenance.

So it was no wonder that she'd continued operating as if she was still an Earthly meatbag. After spending thirty-four years as one, she was rather settled in her fleshy ways, and apparently old habits didn't just die hard, but were hardy enough to carry over into the afterlife. Even when she'd pulled off impossible feats without even knowing how, the differences at the most fundamental level of existence hadn't really taken root in her mind.

She couldn't come up with a specific reason why it had actually, truly, positively sunk in this time.

Maybe it had just been a matter of time. Maybe it had been the constant nagging from that part of her that always seemed to know better and judged her for it. Maybe it had been one instance too many of harrowing trauma.

Maybe it had been the laughter.

Whatever the reasons, it was awfully unpleasant—much more so than the mortal wound she'd sustained. She could practically feel the concept settle inside her head, and it conjured the image of a ping-pong ball trying to squeeze its way in-between the folds of her brain. And at the same time, she knew, she knew that the metaphor was inherently flawed, because neither her brain nor head was made of flesh for a small ball to displace. And neither was the blade of a sword made of steel, and neither had it pierced through her skin, muscles and organs.

Oh, something definitely sword-like had gone through her, alright. And something had been damaged in the process. Just not something as dimensional and permanent as steel or flesh.

I don't have a heart.

She laughed as she let go of it, let go of the self-imposed physical restraints that dictated such arbitrary limitations and weaknesses. She was much more fluid now, far more malleable. It wasn't a matter of willing the wound to close; that would have implied that there was skin to mend, blood to clot, tissue to repair, cells to regrow. She merely needed to flow around the damage, let herself rush in to fill in the void, like freshwater pouring into a gash in the earth. How could she not see it before? It was so natural, so simple. It had only taken a sword through the ribcage to realize it.

She laughed still, her prone form turning diffuse and fluctuating, shimmery at times, yet no less substantial for all that. The lance of pain that had burned from back to breast was gone, as was all the blood—ha ha, "blood," how silly—and she felt like her new perspective on things was well on its way to settle down and stop bending her mind in odd shapes. Good enough to get things done.

She got to her feet slowly, using her arms and legs to help her into a squatting position, then standing up from there. She was well aware of her limbs not being made of what they were once made of, but she used them all the same. That she understood the absence of actual muscles and bones didn't mean she was about to become a shapeless fog or a ball of light or whatever. It would be rather strange and unsightly, for one—not to mention how it would make her attempts at diplomacy that much more difficult.

"Please trust me, I'm just like you!" said the talking mist-blob to the terrified human souls. The thought got another chuckle out of her.

She became aware then that five of those human souls that she wanted to enlist were staring at her with varying degrees of dread.

Right. That must've looked pretty creepy, coming back from the twice-dead laughing my ass off.

The thralls looked one step short of catatonic, what with their master turning into a human, then getting made into a kebab, then standing up amidst a swirl of shimmers and a fit of giggles. The soldier, who by the look of things had been grilling the poor slaves to little effect, was now staring at her with liberal amounts of shock and awe. In a flash of sudden inspiration, Alexandra decided that she might as well use it.

So she laughed louder. She'd have done it just for effect, but all their expressions were pretty damn hilarious anyway. She also tried to make it less "evil cackle" and more "that was fun": she wanted to make an impression, not perpetuate the belief that she was some malevolent demon.

They seemed capable of little more than gawking at the moment, though. At least she'd gotten their attention.

Her shoulders still shaking, she put some effort into taking a more definite, solid form, making all the misty blurriness go away to be replaced by the shades-of-blue outfit she'd settled on in Carved Barrow, an eternity ago. Cuff-slashed yoga pants and her long-sleeved, hooded shirt wrapped around her in an instant, while her skin darkened to its normal color. Her staff coalesced in her gloved left hand shortly after.

She lowered the staff so its butt would come to rest on the ground, then held onto it with both hands, leaning on it in a casual fashion. She felt playful for some reason, a tad impudent.

"If you're done being difficult," Alexandra said with a patient smile, "maybe now we could talk about helping each other."

The woman looked at her for a while longer, visibly agitated. Then she shot a nervous glance at the quartet of people standing in the only path that would take her away from the chuckling immortal. The soldier took a step toward the wall of the tunnel, trying to keep both parties in her field of vision, her eyes alternating wildly back and forth.

"I do not want your help, demon," the woman managed to rasp out. She kept her sword poised in a defensive stance and continued backing away, not quite putting her back against the wall.

Is it because I'm black? Alexandra thought with another chuckle. She doubted the soldier would be fazed by someone playing the race card on her, though, even when done in jest.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," she said, holding on to her cheerful disposition despite the woman's efforts to be a pain in the ass. "Ming Xiu, was it? My name is Alexandra. Maybe if you calm down, we can actually talk for a while." She made a vague gesture toward the uneasy foursome. "You're scaring them, you know."

Her four rescuees seemed unable to make up their minds, torn between staying and bolting. Alexandra fervently hoped that they wouldn't start running and screaming. She figured that they weren't accustomed to making decisions on their own—which was fortunate, for once, since she'd have had no way to stop them, short of using violence. She idly wondered for how long had they remained under Chirm control for their will to be so utterly broken.

"What do I care about your minions, shape-changer?" The woman responded with a healthy dose of derision overlaying her unrest. You had to give her credit: despite the situation she was in—well, that she thought she was in—she still had the presence of mind to remain defiant. "Go ahead, send them after me. They will get a taste of my blade as well."

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Resting her staff in the nook of her shoulder, Alexandra put her hands around her mouth in a mock-megaphone. "No one is trying to hurt you! Seriously, how dense are you?"

The soldier scowled and began to respond through bared teeth, but someone else spoke before she did.

"She is a newborn human, G-great one," Tami chimed in then, her voice so hesitant that it was barely audible. Both women turned to look at her in unison. The plump redhead cast her eyes down at once, greatly abashed. "She is to be subdued." she added in an even threadier whisper. Her words had the ring of doctrine.

The remainder of Alexandra's mirth went sour. "She's one of you! Aren't you going to try and help her?"

Tami's eyes went wide at that, and the three behind her echoed her expression as if they'd all been ordered to set their own hair on fire. "I would never betray the rule of the Chirm, Great one!"

Alexandra arched an eyebrow. "Alright, that's it."

She let her staff go, its form dissolving into mist before it had a chance to clatter all over the floor. She spread her hands in front of her where Ming Xiu could see them, walked over to the wall opposite the soldier, and looked at her as if to say "I'm unarmed, just want to get through," before confidently marching forth. The woman's scowl deepened, her knuckles getting even whiter on her sword's grip with Alexandra's every step.

"Stop," Ming Xiu demanded. She didn't go as far as blocking the way, but she was visibly ready to strike if the (alleged) demon got too close. The tunnel was barely wide enough for Alex to stay out of the weapon's immediate range, and a good lunge would close the distance in a hurry. She would have been concerned about something like that in the past, but Alexandra simply kept her eyes on her destination, making it a point to show that she no longer regarded the woman and her sword as a threat.

"I said stop! I will not let you join your allies!" The woman looked like a worn elastic band: stretched thin, unbearably tense and ready to snap.

What if she lops off your head when you pass by? Will you recover then?

The blade will touch me only if I think it should, she thought back at the irritating voice of doubt.

And just to make her point clear, she slowed down as she walked by and looked directly into Ming Xiu's dark eyes. Then she took two slow, measured steps toward her, until her abdomen came to rest at the tip of the soldier's sword. Its steel did not draw blood, because she knew that it should not.

"Do you not think," Alexandra asked quietly, still holding Ming Xiu's perplexed gaze, "that if I intended to do you harm, I would have done so already?" She leaned in just a tiny bit closer, and the blade simply ... sunk—one, two inches, as if there was nothing in its way.

She let her words settle for a few seconds, doing her best to bear down on the woman and get through her skull that she did not intend to do her any wrong—and that she was capable of it, if she actually wanted to. She wasn't above throwing in some intimidation, if it would get the soldier to stop fighting her already. She needed an ally; she could worry about having a friend later.

She leaned back upright, broke eye contact, and strode away to plant herself in front of Tami and the others. Ming Xiu courteously refrained from stabbing her in the back for a second time. Hopefully she'd keep her mouth shut for a while.

"You'd turn in one of your own, just like that?" Alexandra challenged the self-appointed spokesperson of the prisoners, stepping so close to her that she could see the pores of Tami's skin. "What is wrong with you people? Is there really no fight left in you? Nothing at all?" She peered into the woman's eyes, waiting for her or any of the others to answer. They cowered from her advance as one, but she pressed on, staying in their collective face.

Then she felt something change behind her, and the hint of a smile curved the corner of her mouth. "I can sense you wherever you go, Ming Xiu," she said without looking back. "I will rescue you from this hellhole whether you want me to or not, so do us both a favor and stay put, alright?"

The clear, strong human undercurrent that had been steadily moving away from her froze in place. Alexandra could almost see the woman's frustration and indecision painted on her face, and the thought made that hint of a smile widen into a mischievous grin.

She turned her attention back to the sorry group in front of her, and her smile faded into a thin line. She'd expected—wished for, really—some kind of reaction from them, like sullen contrariness or resigned fatalism. She'd expected them to question her authority, her identity: she was obviously not a bird-person-thing, couldn't they see that? Maybe they didn't lay anything past their masters, including impersonating a human for their own mysterious purposes—she'd done it the other way around, after all. Maybe they had been beaten and abused to the point where any type of challenge to whoever was in charge was unthinkable.

Or maybe they were just dumb as a rock.

In any case, they simply looked at her, emotionless, eyes vacant, minds lost.

Her scowl deepened. It wasn't the first sign she'd seen, actually. The hunch that had become suspicion was now a certainty in her mind. There was something wrong with them, and it went far beyond the simple matter of a broken will.

Her hand clenched around Tami's arm, just above the elbow. The human thrall flinched and met her gaze, and Alexandra delved deeper into those eyes that were the cloudy green color of an evening sky leading up to a tornado.

But Alexandra knew that she was doing no such thing—not in the sense she normally would have thought about it, anyway. There were no eyeballs aligned with one another, no pupils dilating with wariness, no eyelids narrowing in concentration. Beneath the veil of misleading physicality there was just one mind, one soul, peering inside another; touching, digging in, mingling together. Everything else were constructs of the mind to find order in the abstract chaos of the incorporeal.

Armed with her new-found knowledge, such constructs would no longer be a hindrance as she set out to understand what she was experiencing as she delved deeper into Tami's mind. Complex concepts and ideas, harrowing wounds and scars, they found a simpler representation that she could grasp, interpreted and catalogued at a level that didn't quite reach her conscious processes. If the eyes were the windows of the soul, Alex could be said to have climbed into that window, set foot in the living room and taken a stroll through the place.

What she saw in that home filled her with dark, unfriendly thoughts.

Tami was a cheerful person, one of those people who always have a smile to spare and a laugh to offer. She loved animals, baking, and growing flowers. She was a bit of a chatterbox and none too shy with anyone, particularly with men. Tami's home had color everywhere, and black-and-white pictures of family and friends, and old comfortable couches, a lovely fireplace, and flower pots in every corner, lush drapes in every window, and a multitude of rugs all through the floor. It was a comfortable, cozy place that oozed personality and attention to detail.

It had been, at least.

The home Alex saw had been defaced, corrupted into a twisted prison that told a chronicle of unending despair. Some of it was overt, like the contorted, spiny bars in the windows; the view of a stark, broken down courtyard outside, littered with the bodies of once beloved pets, emaciated from exposure and malnourishment; the heavy prison doors that separated every room, with rusted old locks which keys had been long lost and forgotten. Decay chocked the life out of everything: the plants were withered and barely hanging on, the rugs were ragged and stained, the drapes were torn and thready, the cushions were moldy and infested with pests. The smell of baking goods gone bad pervaded the ambiance, a mixture of spoiled milk, rotten eggs, fouled flour bloomed with the stench of decomposed flesh.

Other signs were more subtle. Some of the faces in the pictures were silently screaming; others clawed at their cheeks with their fingers, dark blood staining the skin; some gnashed their teeth in anger and pain. All of them had their eyes burned out, staring out of empty sockets. There was script scratched in the wallpaper, spidery and cryptic. Much of it was gouged deep, as if written in a fit of hatred or desperation—and much more faded into bloodstains. Every seat in the house had either manacles or straps attached to it. The hearth burned in silence, providing no heat, and the shadows it created drew sinister figures that disappeared as soon as one tried to focus on them.

And despite the stank, musty atmosphere, a wind could be heard but not felt—a quiet draft that carried the weeping of impotence, of one who wanted to fix things, but couldn't.

Beyond the living room, down a long, dark hallway, a single door stood. It had the solid feel of granite, heavy as a mountain, its hinges and frame reinforced with extra bolts and sheets of metal. Both a lock and a set of heavy crossbars kept it firmly in place, but a tiny gap was left between the door and the ground. Quiet whimpers used to seep under that gap, a very long time ago, but they no longer did.

Behind the door, Tamira Keister sat in a tiny cot, staring at the floor, motionless, expressionless. The tiny room was awash with light, which served to illuminate the only feature in it: winding script that covered all six tiny sides of the room, from one side to the other, top to bottom. The symbols were easy to read, but Alex didn't need to examine them to know what they were: a litany that repeated over and over with every rule and code of conduct that a human thrall must follow at all times.

Tami's mind was her own hideous prison.

This might be Hell after all.

Alexandra didn't know what she had expected to see inside the girl's soul, but it hadn't been anything like this. That doing such a thing to somebody was even possible made her clench her fists with hardly contained rage. Nobody, nobody deserved this fate.

There had to be a way to undo it.

Each of the elements in the vision of Tamira's soul carried a signature with it, like a subdued simulacrum of an undercurrent that distinguished their origin. To Alexandra, the differences between the two kinds that were present in the scene were clear as a freshwater pond. She knew that the bars, the courtyard, the doors, the manacles, it was all of avian design. They had somehow altered her mind to trap and enslave her will. All the good parts were Tamira's doing, but Tami's hand was behind some of the horrifying things too, like the nightmarish pictures, the bloodied writing on the walls. It made Alex wonder, was there any sanity left in this poor girl? Would she herself have any sanity left, if she were forced to endure what Tami had for who knew how long?

She doubted it. But that didn't change a damn thing; she was going to free this woman even if it was the last action she took in this shitty afterlife.

A less savvy Alexandra would have tried her hand at sawing off the bars in the windows, forcing the heavy doors, hammer down the walls. But she knew that all these things were but metaphors for what really had been done. Somewhere inside Tamira's being there was a foul Chirm influence holding her mind in check, like a vicious skullclamp boring into her temples.

How to go about identifying it? How to remove it?

She recalled her experience at pulling herself together right after her mad escape from Carved Barrow. She had known what to do then, once she was able to calm down and open her mind to introspection. She hadn't even had to search; she'd been like ... like a savant, listening to only part of a tune and completing it to perfection by sheer instinct. A caveman that had mastered the secrets of making fire.

But how could she feel around Tami's mind just like she had felt around her own? All that she had done so far was just to look in, interpreting the nature of the problem in colorful pictures for her simple brain to understand. To sense deeper and tamper with the raw "source code" just like she had done with her own was a different matter altogether, like going from a nice GUI down to assembly language. Man, she had hated assembly language.

Short of walking into her, she didn't know what she could do to take a look from the inside.

So walking into her was exactly what she did.

Alexandra took a step forward, the knowledge of her lack of actual flesh held firm in her thoughts. She did it quickly, before she could change her mind or realize how very stupid the idea was. She wasn't walking into the woman like an idiot, she told herself; she was joining their souls together, entering Tamira's allegorical prison to stage a jailbreak from the inside.

Mist had spread all around her before she even started moving. The step that would have normally resulted in an entirely inappropriate chest-to-chin bump took her past personal space, through immediate contact and into simultaneous spatial cohabitation. All the while, she concentrated on reaching out to Tamira, on mingling and making contact beyond the mere surface. She willed it and believed that it should happen, shaping her form to better suit her purpose, not unlike the way she'd bend and twist to fit through a narrow, oddly shaped passageway.

It wasn't even the slightest surprise to her that the process turned out to be unpleasant. The sudden flood of information and memories and raw emotion was a relentless assault on all her senses, the strain of being exposed to every word spoken, every surface touched, every taste, every smell, every joy and every loss in a lifetime and more—all in the space of an instant. She hadn't anticipated that it would be something as invasive as that. Forget about a ping-pong ball; a whole watermelon was trying to fit snugly into Alexandra's skull, and there simply wasn't room.

Lucky for her, she was perfectly aware that her skull had been vaporized into a billion separate particles back on Earth. So no big deal; without the constraints and rigidity of an actual brain to support her thoughts, she could simply make room. She let go of gritting teeth and tensing muscles, and simply concentrated on adjusting to all the new information that had flooded in. It made it easier to cope with, somehow, to think of the pain as her mind growing, adapting to novel ways of seeing and doing things.

She forced herself to have patience and just wait it out before she attempted to do anything else. After a while, the entire experience simply felt ... weird. Disjointed and chaotic, as if everything inside her head had been moved to a slightly different spot. She figured it was to be expected, and even found some enjoyment snooping into Tami's life, as her thoughts gradually settled around the new knowledge.

Who knew life in colonial India could be so rife with excitement? She'd read about it, but seeing it first-hand—well, second-hand, she guessed—was worlds apart. My, but the woman had been sexually active. And not just with men, either. It was enough to make Alexandra blush, and she didn't consider herself much of a prude.

Everything after Tami's death at the hands of a jealous suitor was more than enough to sober Alex up rather quickly, though. On the surface, there wasn't anything particularly traumatic—nothing like what she had gone through, at least. And the Chirm had treated her kindly after subduing her, most of the time, recognizing her talent early and coaching her rigorously, but without any gratuitous brutality. She was a favorite of one Swaying Treetop Nest Guardian (good grief, what a stupid-ass name!) and was greatly valued for her skill at manipulating vast amount of matter—or whatever the stuff of the afterlife was made of. Apparently harmless little Tami could lift mountains with a stray thought, and she had been put to work countless times while erecting this or that structure.

And all the while, she had been fighting a one-sided war that she was doomed to lose.

Tamira's long tale of suffering had unfolded entirely within her mind. Once the passive means for compulsory compliance had been in place, there had been no longer a need to actively soothe her mind. And once the numb docility had worn off, and she had become aware of what had happened to her, she had begun a desperate fight for freedom. She'd thrown herself at those bonds, thrashed and battered them with everything she had. She'd explored them endlessly, trying to find a crack, a flaw to exploit. She'd seethed and wept and waited and yelled, while the rest of her continued to obey without fail. Resisting had been as fruitful as digging holes in the ground just to fill them back up.

Alexandra could still feel those barriers, constricting her, smothering her will—no, they smothered Tamira's will, she reminded herself, and the momentary confusion served to sharpen her concentration. If she wasn't careful, she might get lost in the bizarre experience and become an inmate herself, she realized. She didn't know if it could actually happen, but she wasn't about to take chances on it.

Other than casually blending her mind with a complete stranger, that is.

It was strange: Tamira had spent an awful long time as a captive, but it certainly didn't seem to stretch for a period as mind-numbingly long as the seven hundred years that had elapsed since the time of her death. But it must have surely been that long, judging by the life she had carried. Maybe the woman's perception of time had been severely skewered by her experiences.

Dismissing the matter for the moment, she went back to her last thought. Barriers, smothering freedom of choice. That's exactly what she was looking for.

She searched those memories of impotence and hopelessness, trying to get a feel of what the prison walls actually looked like in their raw form. At the same time, she could feel herself wrapping around Tami's mind in an almost physical way, searching for irregularities, non-human anomalies. Searching from within and without simultaneously.

It was such a strange and foreign experience, yet somehow it came to her naturally. It didn't go as far as her knowing exactly what to do, but there was this ... gut feeling, for lack of a better word. It kept telling her what might be a good idea, nudging her in what she hoped was the right direction, discouraging what would probably lead her nowhere. Like ... like a virgin couple aflame with arousal, instinctively knowing what to do even though they'd never done anything of the sort before. They might fumble around and stumble, but they have a fairly good grasp of how to make things work.

Good grief. The woman's memories had given her such strange ideas.

That gut feeling was the reason why she knew that the jarring, alien entity she came across was just what she needed to get rid of.

She had expected some form of localized malady, like a spiritual version of the skullclamp she'd visualized earlier. But as she explored it, she saw that this thing spread through Tamira's mind like poison, sinking deep in a web of tendrils that tainted the entirety of her being. She begun to imagine it as a prickly network of angry reds and gangrenous blacks clutching at Tamira's soul like malevolent thorny vines, but she quickly admonished herself, purposely avoiding to give it a specific visualization in her mind. She needed to sense it fully, as it really was, without letting her own preconceptions and illusions get in the way.

It had unmistakable Chirm signatures, faint signals that were all hard edges and smooth surfaces. The parts of Tami that were nearest to it felt ... damaged. They resonated with the distant echoes of a struggle that was no longer sustained, and hadn't been for a long time. And all the while the lattice that imprisoned her had remained unyielding, unmarred. If Alexandra hadn't been aware of its abhorrent purpose, she would have admired its elegant effectiveness.

She didn't have the first clue on how to deal with it.

The damn thing was entangled with everything that Tami was. It was ingrained in her like a nervous system—and Alex had a feeling that to remove it outright, even if she figured out how, would prove as damaging as tearing off a net with hooks still biting into her flesh.

She gave it a mental poke, trying to come up with a way to free the poor woman without reducing her to a gibbering wreck, or worse. Alexandra's will slid off and around the Chirm construct like water hosed onto a greased pig. How did such a thing work?

Whatever can be done, can be undone.

Yes, well. Not by her, it couldn't. She couldn't even come in contact with it, much less begin to undo it. No wonder Tamira hadn't been able to break free: it was like the thing had been coated with Grade-A Human Repellant, preventing any form of interaction with it while holding the host firmly in place.

Preventing interaction with humans. Would a bird-man be able to touch it, though?

It stood to reason that they could. Something as pervasive and elaborate as this wouldn't be put in place in one go. It would need to be expanded, tweaked, maintained. Presumably, that is. And it looked too thorough for it to always turn out flawless, so some way of fixing mistakes and erasing loose ends should exist. Maybe she could capture one of these assholes, and use her special kind of diplomacy until they agreed to do as she told them to.

Or maybe she would get caught and cowed into submission just like all the others. She had beaten one of them, but the more she saw of their methods, the more she knew that she'd simply gotten lucky. She couldn't afford to fool herself into thinking that she was some sort of Super Man knockoff, flying around freeing slaves and bringing comeuppance to all wrongdoers.

No, she had to be stealthy and resourceful if she wanted to make it through this nightmare in one piece. Like Batman, always undetected until it was time to strike, always with a genius plan in mind to bring down the bad guys. And Batman was way cooler, by far.

This inane inner monologue let her realize that there might be an option way better than kidnapping an avian demigod and hoping that it would cooperate. After all, she'd been a bird-man for all means and purposes just a moment ago, stealthing it up something fierce. The question was, did her ramshackle transformation go far enough for it to fool this ... virus inside of Tami?

Only one way to find out.

There it was, her favorite thought. Alexandra sighed.

After yet another fantastically painful eternity—although admittedly not as bad as the first time—she was back in her avian skin. Or hide, or coat, or whatever it was that birds were supposed to have. Not like it mattered, anyway, since she was still sharing places with Tamira, and she doubted that much of anything was visible at the moment. Alex didn't want to know how everything she was doing looked like from the outside, but she was willing to bet money that it looked way creepy. She could only hope that Ming Xiu wouldn't decide to start slicing and dicing everybody while she was busy with all this.

Turning her attention back to the problem at hand, she immediately noticed the stark differences in the way she perceived ... everything, really. Tamira's mind was no longer a familiar entity that she felt at ease with, but an alien terrain that felt hostile to her at its most fundamental level. Lost in instrospection as she was, Alexandra could easily perceive the traces of the dampening weave that had been started on her back in the Nexus, and that she had managed to overcome at the last possible moment, right before whacking the bird-man's face. Tamira's subjugating agent, in turn, was no longer an indelible question mark. It was crystal clear in its design and purpose, and as she reluctantly marveled at its ruthless efficiency, Alexandra saw the simple steps to disabling it and unmaking it, nodes and threads and knots as clearly traced as road lines on a map. It was as if whoever had put it in place had left clear instructions for fellow slave drivers to modify the mind-leash as they pleased.

She had been right about removing the construct abruptly: it would do irreparable damage to dissolve it, both by tearing at everything that it was attached to and by the weakness of Tamira's own mind, which would be unable to remain coherent after being forced to lean on it for so long. Looking at it, Alexandra saw how she could unravel the weave slowly, methodically, peeling it back from Tami's mind in a way that would let her heal the worst of it as the process took place.

Or ... she could just modify it. It wouldn't be terribly complicated, she noted, to get rid of most of the mind-leash while leaving in the inability to disobey a direct command that came specifically from her. Because these guys would be afraid of the Chirm—maybe too afraid. What if Tamira decided that she didn't want to help? What if, after all the effort to free these four, they decided to strike out on their own, refusing to risk themselves to aid her search, or help rescue more? And she needed help so bad ... could she risk leaving the choice to help her up to the goodness of their hearts? Could she afford to argue about courses of action, to waste time convincing them to do things every step of the way? It wasn't like she couldn't free them at a later time. They wouldn't even know a damn thing, and it might be even a small mercy—

The train of thought was abruptly stopped in its tracks. She did the mental equivalent of blinking a few times.

What.

The hell.

Are you thinking?

Keeping personal slaves. That's what she'd been considering. She'd been thinking about forcing others to serve her and rationalizing it as the smart and practical thing to do. A tough but justifiable choice. A necessary evil.

It was chilling, how the idea had occurred to her so easily, so naturally. Even more so, the fact that she could still see the usefulness and convenience of it.

She cast the notion aside with a very real shudder that rippled through her whole being.

It was the transformation, she told herself. Somehow, it influenced her thought processes, her convictions—it made her more willing to regard humans as pets and tools instead of fellow people. It put a damper on her morals and her empathy, and that's the reason why her conscience had taken so long to object. The only reason.

Alexandra hurried to stop with the thinking and start with the doing—although admittedly one wasn't all that different from the other anymore. The sooner she got started, the sooner she could forget she'd even considered doing such a disgusting thing.

With the same kind of effort that would conjure up a memory or push aside an unpleasant thought, she undid the knot at the very end of one of the hundreds of little tendrils in the construct, and proceeded to push it and fold it unto itself—gently, slowly. Its influence receded under her careful efforts, letting go of the tiny part of Tamira that it had held in check up until that moment. Much like Alexandra's spirit had rushed in to fill the void left in her chest by a spectral sword, the stuff that made up Tami's soul avidly reclaimed the damaged areas that were gradually freed up. Alex worked her way up the branch, pushing the tendril insistently until it collapsed against its parent node. Then she repeated the process at a different end, as far from the first as possible.

She continued doing this for what felt like a long, long time, as mechanical as counting, as intuitive as breathing. The peripheral capillaries led to slightly thicker veins, which led to the next level, which led to the next, and the next. It was a painstaking labor where attention to detail was vital, and every single step that took her farther up the ladder of complexity required a tiny bit more effort than the last. But every time she advanced she could sense Tamira's mind responding in kind, pulsing with rediscovered freedom, rejecting the intruder that had constrained it for so long.

Awakening.

Alexandra couldn't tell for how long it went on. Eventually, she reduced the poisonous weave to a single, smooth entity, like a filthy little sphere of nastiness at the center of it all. Well, it really wasn't filthy, or nasty. In truth, it was clean and efficient, and painless to the host, psychological distress at being enslaved notwithstanding. An elegant, if ruthless, solution to a difficult problem. But she didn't want to acknowledge the part of her that could see the beauty of such things, and so she encouraged her every thought to see the thing as an abomination to be eradicated. There were some things that should never be conceived.

Getting rid of that last remnant would be delicate. It was a seed that could grow back to full size and influence without any additional input, if allowed to. There was an almost sentient component to it, pushing against her will as if it wanted to spread and once more perform the task it had been designed to do. As she held it in place, she wondered how could such a thing be created and latched onto any given soul in the first place. Maybe if she knew, she could find a way to protect herself and everybody else against it. Was it a product of the same processes that allowed her to materialize things out of thin air? Was it something that only the Chirm could do? Questions, always questions that she couldn't answer.

She continued working on it while she pondered on all the things she didn't know, pushing at the nasty bird-man agent to keep reducing its influence, containing it into the smallest form she could manage. Removing it straight out at this point would have been simple, but the effect on Tamira would be as bad as removing the bullet from the gut of a gunshot victim by using an industrial electromagnet—quick and straightforward, but not quite healthy for the patient. She needed to dismantle it completely, but her efforts had condensed all of the construct's energy back into that primordial seed. If she simply fractured it, the energy pent up in there would then scatter everywhere, and not in an orderly fashion.

Some ditzy part of her noted how cool it was to be able to "read" this weird alien entity that she hadn't known the first thing about just a moment ago. She sighed at herself with exasperation; sometimes she felt like a hodge-podge of a half-dozen different personalities, all competing to claim the foreground of her consciousness. It was dreadfully distracting.

Anyway, if she wanted to rupture the remnants of the mind-leash in order to dismantle it, it might mess Tami up terribly, or even blow up spectacularly. Sure, the energy might also spread out and dissipate innocuously, but given her luck, the odds of that actually happening were probably about one in a million.

So she had to isolate it first, just in case. Or give that energy somewhere to go, at least. And, short on resources as she was, what better shield and conduit than herself?

Normally, Alexandra wouldn't have even contemplated the thought. And if she had, she'd have considered it pretty crazy. As in stupid, slap-the-back-of-your-head-while-cross-eyed crazy. That little seed of pure evil could mess her up just as badly as it could Tamira—or worse, it could latch on to her and turn her into a gutless thrall. Who would save her then? Ming Xiu? Fat chance of that.

But this thing was designed to work on humans. She still considered herself one, of course, but her current "disguise" had been decidedly good enough to let her manipulate and even control the mind-leash in a way that had been impossible to her unaltered self. It wasn't that much of a logical leap to think that she was impervious to any noxious effects it might unleash when dismantled. And besides, it might be harmless altogether; she was just taking extra precautions.

Right. Leap with your logic far enough and you land straight onto wishful thinking.

Well, she wasn't about to leave the job half done, and it was the only thing she could come up with, and she'd taken way too long doing this already, and who knew what was going on out there. And it was far from the biggest risk she'd taken so far, in any case. If it blew up in her face, so be it—all the crap she'd taken lately had left her weary enough not to worry overmuch about it.

She wrapped her mind around the area surrounding what was left of the enslaving agent, gathering every part of her into its proximity and displacing as much of Tami's soul around it as she could. She shielded Tami's body with her own, so to speak, while making direct contact with the construct. She couldn't completely prevent it from reaching the woman, attached to her as it was, but she could get pretty damn close. An imperfect cocoon that should protect Tamira from most of the potentially harmful energy about to be unleashed.

Then Alexandra gave the metaphysical sphere the nuanced push that would unravel it down to its core.

She felt it dent and vibrate, then fray, then unwind. Then collapse.

The sudden burst of force that crashed into her was like a whip-crack against the walls she had created all around it. It went on to ripple through her in the most intensely pleasurable experience she could remember since ... well. Since entirely too long ago, let's say. Even all those instances of delightful pleasure in Aaron's arms paled in comparison with the bewitching complexity of it, the myriad subtleties and complete thoroughness of the wave of sheer ecstasy that engulfed her. For an irrational moment she felt like she was being disloyal to him, it felt so good.

It was over a short while later. An entirely too short while, she thought with chagrin.

She hadn't expected such a wholly rapturous sensation to be even possible in this crapsack afterlife. It had rattled every part of her, in a way that far surpassed any merely physical sensation. She didn't know why or how it had that effect on her, but she could see how it could become ... addictive. People said that the first hit of heroine felt incredible, too; so much so that those people spent the rest of their drug-addled lives chasing the high of that first hit. Already the task of freeing every other thrall they found no longer looked so daunting—assuming that what she'd done had the desired effect on Tamira, that is.

Tamira. Right. Hope I didn't turn her into a vegetable.

She did her best to shake off the lingering tingles still sparkling within her, compose herself and focus back on what was important. With the mind-leash gone, it was time to find out what kind of disaster she had unwittingly concocted this time.

In her eagerness to find out, she almost made the effort to "step out" without any further delay. Luckily, she caught herself just in time, and then went on to undergo the awesomely unpleasant process of morphing back into her regular human self. Wouldn't that have been wonderful, to make the exact same mistake twice. At least the transformation was getting quite a bit easier to handle.

Tamira's mind greeted her with warm familiarity, after treating her Chirm incarnation as if she was a hated mother-in-law. Alex could feel the difference in it already: an intangible cheer to it, an indefinite wakefulness. It was also politely eager for her to get the hell out of her intra-personal space. That much gave her more hope than anything else had.

She obliged, still feeling a bit uncertain. Alexandra stepped back out to come into her being once more, and her shape took form immediately, going from hazy frame to skin in barely more than a second. She had wanted to come out facing Tami, the way she had gone in, but as soon as she took shape she was hit with a wave of disorientation that sent her head spinning. She grunted out a pained moan and closed her eyes shut.

Apparently un-joining two souls isn't without side-effects. Big surprise there.

It receded quickly, and Alexandra reluctantly opened one eye, half expecting the entire situation to have degenerated into another conflict during her absence.

Ming Xiu stood in front of her, exactly in the same position as before. Her stance was wary but from instinct alone, her sword limply pointing down and barely secure in her grip. The oriental soldier was staring at her as if she'd just seen her chew on steel and spit out knives.

Weird.

A quick glance over her shoulder placed all four rescuees standing right where she left them. Just as soon as she looked, Tamira fell to her knees with a heart-wrenching moan. She broke into open-mouthed sobs shortly after.

Alexandra looked on for maybe half a minute, feeling the panic build as she worried that she might have broken whom she was trying to save. Then, after a fretted look at Ming Xiu, she finally followed her impulse to kneel down by the red-headed woman and try to comfort her somehow. Her sobs hadn't grown any quieter; if anything, they'd become more arduous, reaching deeper into her chest. Each one of them piled up another brick of guilt in Alexandra's throat.

You shouldn't have tried to free her. She was too far gone. Too far gone ....

She gingerly placed a hand on Tamira's hunched-over shoulder. Not getting a reaction, she awkwardly repositioned herself and drew an arm around her, softly encouraging Tami to lean on her. The woman threw her arms around her then, grabbing desperately at the back of Alexandra's shirt while bawling onto her chest.

Alex couldn't hold back her own tears as she gently stroke her curly mane.

________

It gave no sign of getting any better. Tami kept on crying like a teenager with a broken heart, and every sob was like a stab into Alexandra's own.

"It's alright, Miss Keister," she said to her in a heavy whisper. "I'm sorry. It's gonna be alright."

Tamira's body went stiff for the briefest moment at the mention of her name, as if she'd just gotten a jolt of electricity. Then she fell back to crying, her frantic shirt-clutching becoming a slightly more calm embrace.

It went on like that for a long time, one woman sobbing openly, the other in whispers. A soldier staring on with equal parts wariness and awe, three thralls staring on with blank faces. The only sounds to be heard were Tamira's moans and the soft rustle of Alexandra's voice, apologizing and reassuring in a lulling litany.

Until Tamira spoke.

"Alexandra," she managed to wrench out between sobs.

Alex's hand froze mid-stroke.

"We'll find Aaron." Her voice was barely intelligible, raw and quavering. "I swear I'll help you, I swear it."

Alexandra blinked a few times before gently pushing Tamira to arm's length, one hand on each shoulder. The young woman—well, young-looking, at the very least—looked up to meet Alexandra's eyes, still breathing irregularly, tears still overflowing her eyelids and streaming down her cheeks. Behind the redness and the blotchiness, fighting and failing to control the pent-up sorrow that had welled up over an endless expanse of time, a completely different woman was returning her gaze.

"Tami," Alexandra said. She couldn't suppress the beginnings of a smile. "Did I ... are you ...."

Tamira shuddered and broke eye contact, leaning back against Alexandra's support.

"Don't call me that." She was still crying, softly. "Please."

"Right. Right, sorry."

Tamira's arm tightened briefly around Alexandra's waist. "Just ... just give me some time, please."

"Sure."

"Thank you." She said the words lightly, like thanking somebody for passing the salt. She must not have been satisfied with that, because she made the effort to look up again and give Alex an earnest, adoring look that could rival Aaron's best. "Thank you," she said with every ounce of meaning in her voice. "I can't tell you how much ... I can't ...." She didn't make it any further. Her face scrounged up again and she shook her head, going back to crying against Alexandra's chest.

Alex patted her shoulder a bit awkwardly, not really knowing what else to do. She simply knelt there, trying to enjoy the relief of not having messed up, for once.

Sadly, that relief was tempered by all the other problems to take care of, all of the questions that didn't have an answer. Along with the fact that, apparently, Tamira had seen of her as much as she had seen of the woman. She wasn't terribly keen on sharing private stuff like that with just about anyone, dire stakes or not. She'd had precious few close friends, and they hadn't known even half of what Tamira Keister now probably knew about her. She had nothing against the woman, and she might turn out to be a great friend and all that, but all the same the situation was a bit ... uncomfortable.

Maybe next time she could find a way to make the whole process work only one-way, or be selective with which parts of someone's intellect she touched. There was still so much that she didn't know, so much to learn. While it was frustrating to be constantly fumbling in the dark, she admitted to herself that there was also a bit of gratification to be found in it. She'd always enjoyed the process of learning new things, if they were cool enough. Awesome powers of the incorporeal mind definitely qualified.

Alexandra started drying her own face with the back of her free hand, then realized what she was doing and stopped, mildly irritated. Then she got rid of the wetness with one clean sweep of willpower. Old habits: as hard to kill as armored super-zombies.

The motion made her catch Ming Xiu's sight through the corner of her eye, and their gazes met for extra uncomfortableness. Ming Xiu, Immediate Problem Number One. Alexandra gave her an apologetic look and a tiny shrug of one shoulder, as if to say "Things that happen, what can you do."

If before the soldier had looked wary and awed, now she looked dreadfully puzzled. Alex could almost see the gears turning inside her mind, trying to figure out what was really going on all around her and not coming up with anything that made much sense.

Been there, done that.

Maybe she'd be a little more willing to listen now. At least she hadn't fled or gone stab-happy during the whole Freeing Tamira business. Although that might have something to do with the fact that, despite Alexandra's deliberate, almost leisurely pace through the crazy experiment, it was as if no time had elapsed at all from beginning to end—maybe a few seconds, at the most. It had felt much longer as it happened, but then again, she'd been moving at the speed of thought. Maybe she thought really fast, or something. Maybe she was a genius and didn't even know it.

At least you still got a sense of humor.

Pah. Getting sass from her own thoughts. The things she had to put up with.

In any case, it wasn't the weirdest she'd encountered so far, so best not to think about it too much for now. Hopefully it had looked all flashy and impressive from the outside; it would make dealing with the armor-clad woman a bit easier.

It was at some point in-between these musings that the whole "soldier's soul clad in ancient Chinese armor and covered in blood" angle actually registered. She'd noticed it before, but hadn't been able to actually think about it until now.

It was off-putting enough to make her frown and blurt out without thinking, "Did you die while larping or something?"

Ming Xiu startled and just looked at her for a few seconds.

"What?" she asked, clearly nonplussed.

Alexandra felt herself blush a bit. Which made no damn sense, she told herself, given the lack of blood vessels and all. "The getup. Were you killed during an accident role-playing? I gotta say, it looks just like the real thing. It must've taken a ton of work to put that together. I happen to know, I work at a museum."

She was fairly certain at that point that she was starting to blabber. She also noticed that she'd begun to gently rock Tamira back and forth, like a mother putting her child to sleep. The red-headed woman didn't seem to mind.

The Chinese soldier looked down at herself with a frown of her own, then directed it at Alexandra, ice building in her tone. "Are you implying that I did not earn my uniform?"

Her response caught Alex off-guard. "Um, no, I just—"

"You better not," Ming Xiu continued as if Alexandra hadn't spoken. "Because I've endured and bled twice as much as any man to earn it. And if you think otherwise, I do not care what you are or what you can do: we will match blades and we'll see if you still think the same by the time I am through with you."

Whoa. She'd hit a sore spot, apparently. "Look, I didn't mean that at all, please calm down. It's just that ...."

She's an actual, real soldier.

With an old Chinese armor. And a jian.

The realization made her words trail off into silence. Alexandra took in the telling details of the woman's fearsome appearance for the first time: the frayed and worn edges of her outdated attire. The dirt marks where the helmet presumably hadn't covered her face. Her confident, practiced grip on her weapon. The blood that covered a significant portion of her anatomy, especially her glove-less right hand.

This woman had died in the battlefield, and no contemporary soldier would be equipped in the way that she was.

Which meant ....

It meant something impossible.

"Ming Xiu," Alexandra begun, her words laced with dread. "I know this question is strange, but ... when did you die? As in, what period in history?"

The woman's stare lost some of its iciness to let puzzlement make a comeback. "Period in history? I ... died ... in the present."

D'uh, of course you did.

She should have known to phrase the question better. And the way Ming Xiu said it, it sounded like she hadn't given the whole dying business a whole lot of real thought.

Alexandra could sympathize with that. It had taken her a while, too. Hopefully Ming Xiu wouldn't break down and have a Blue Screen of Death the way she had.

Before the woman had a chance to think any more deeply about it, Alex tried to come up with a better way of finding things out.

"You're from ... China, right?"

Ming Xiu nodded slowly, now adding a hint of suspicion into the mix.

Alex pointed briefly at the sword the soldier was carrying. "Who did you fight for?"

There was a pause pregnant with Ming Xiu's indecision. She was visibly struggling to decide whether she should trust enough to answer.

"I fought under Commander-in-Chief Qin Liangyu," the response finally came, and even in her confused state she imbued her words with great pride. "Against the Manchu dogs that would invade our land."

Manchu.

The word rang plenty of bells. None of them were even remotely close to what she wanted to hear.

Her voice dropped to a soft murmur. "And ... your Emperor?"

Ming Xiu looked down with sudden abashment, then darted a look at Alexandra before answering.

"We fought for the glory of His Imperial Majesty the Chongzhen Emperor of the Great Ming Dynasty, Son of Heaven, Lord of Ten Thousand Years."

And there it was, just what she had feared, buried in that mouthful.

The Ming Dynasty. A friggin' soldier from the friggin' Ming Dynasty, which had collapsed, oh, over four hundred years ago. She was no expert on the Asian side of world history, but she was certain of that much.

Yet Ming Xiu had shown up right in front of her not thirty minutes ago, evidently fresh from the last battle the soldier would fight in her life.

The awful, awful implications cascaded onto her, along with a by-now-familiar stab of pain that spread evenly through her whole body, apparently not content this time with limiting itself to her head. For a little while, it was all she could do not to collapse to the floor where she stood. Alexandra endured it as she had done before, letting comprehension sink in without trying to fight it. She mostly succeeded, although there was that stubborn, dissatisfied part of her that fought to deny the existence of yet another setback in her path.

No wonder Tamira's experiences hadn't felt like they amounted to seven hundred years. It simply hadn't been that long. The timeline on Earth was irrelevant, as evidenced by a seventeenth century soldier entering the afterlife after someone who had died on the twenty-first century. It was a complicated concept to wrap her mind around; she couldn't begin to imagine how it worked.

That part of her that didn't want to believe suggested that it might be a freak accident, or that Ming Xiu had been held in stasis or purgatory or what have you all this time, or that the Chinese woman was simply lying to her, or some other explanation even more feeble and far-fetched. But the better part of her was certain that, when she went through the process of freeing Meli, Tish and Yuri, she would find three more stories that didn't match up to the time that should have actually passed.

Which meant that, if Aaron hadn't just showed up some place else, but some time else as well ....

This isn't fair.

What little satisfaction she'd drawn from her recent success crumbled and sunk along with her spirits as the idea set in. It wasn't enough, having to search through an entirely unknown afterlife that for all she knew stretched to infinity. Now it was possible for her to search for years while Aaron might not even be around yet. Or the other way around: he might have already spent a thousand lifetimes waiting for her, searching, traveling, facing all sorts of adversities. Suffering and despairing just like she was.

The image it conjured brought a groan to her throat and an itch to her nose. Because he would have surely given up, at some point.

At some point, he might have forgotten her.

That notion was worse than any other so far.

"Am I ... really dead?" Ming Xiu asked quietly just then. Her anger and belligerence were gone, leaving her voice small and vulnerable. She'd been doing some thinking of her own, evidently, and was now looking at Alexandra as if she held every answer to her every question.

She has come to you for a purpose.

Alex might have been ready and willing to believe it, not that long ago. She would have seen intent behind apparent chance, the hand of providence guiding events to happen in a certain way, at a certain time. But she couldn't stop the bitterness and the bile from tainting the very thought with scorn and resentment.

There was no purpose to this place, her anger said. There was no overarching reason that would redeem all the darkness, all the undeserved suffering.

She felt less and less inclined to argue against it.

"You're as dead as I am, Ming Xiu," Alexandra said in a somber voice.

"But ... Yun." The soldier's expression was rife with distress. "You ... truly did not take Xiaoping Yun? We promised ... we promised we would wait for each other ...."

Lost your man? Join the damn club, she almost said. But she couldn't bring herself to be impertinent to the woman, even in her current state of mind. Looking at her face was like looking into a mirror. What wouldn't she have given to have someone there for her when she first showed up? To get a modicum of guidance, or at least a few meager answers?

"I ... don't think your Yun had a choice, ma'am," Alexandra finally responded. "I sure as hell didn't."

"Choice," Tamira mumbled from Alexandra's lap. She seemed to be settling down, finally. "I ... choose ... now."

She didn't seem to want to say anything else for a while. A small stretch of silence followed, during which Ming Xiu looked to be just taking it in. She'd let her weapon drop at some point, and was staring at her red-stained hands.

"Yun's blood," she said, and Alexandra could see the woman growing numb by the moment. "Why is it still here? Am I to carry my grief in my hands? Is this my punishment for the life we carried?"

By God, it's worse than looking into a mirror.

She couldn't keep a hint of sarcasm from her next question. "Do you deserve to be punished, Ming Xiu?"

The numbness gradually became another frown over the course of a minute. Ming Xiu's thought process was clear in the dozens of little twitches in her expression, the shifting of her eyes, the movements of her mouth. It was a process that Alexandra was familiar with: she was taking stock of her whole life and having a bit of a disagreement with the fate she'd been assigned.

"No," she finally answered. She didn't care to elaborate, but the set of her jaw said enough.

"You know, you stabbed me," Alexandra said in a tone as reasonable as she could make it. "Through the heart. And I'd done nothing to you. It doesn't speak particularly well of your piety or righteousness, from where I'm standing."

Was that a blush? It was hard to tell, with all the grime on her face.

"I ... apologize, dark one. I was ... I am ... distraught. Not myself."

Dark one? Still she thinks I'm some sort of demon? Or ....

Seventeenth century China. Plenty of dark-skinned slaves to go around. As far as she could remember, blacks were no better than dogs back then. Better nip that in the bud.

"I'm still willing to help you," she told the woman. "But if I get even one hint of prejudice from you about the color of my skin, you and I are through. I know we come from different places, but I want that to be perfectly clear. Do you understand?"

Ming Xiu blinked twice, then nodded slowly. "I am no stranger to prejudice. I would be a hypocrite, to do unto you what I have suffered all my life."

"You won't hear a peep from me either, Alexandra," Tamira's voice floated up.

Alex looked at her, then back at the soldier. "Good." She gave the woman in her lap a few gentle pats on the shoulder. "How are you doing, Miss Keister? You think I could maybe get my shirt back?"

Tamira nodded, but it took a few more seconds for her hands to unclench and let go of the fabric. It looked like that was everything she was ready to do at the moment.

Alexandra turned her attention back to the bloodied soldier. "How about we start over? Believe me, this place is awful enough without fighting among ourselves."

Ming Xiu simply stood there for a while, mulling over her words. She took a look at herself, then ran her gaze through the drab cave tunnel they were standing in. "What is this place?"

Alex snorted and brought up her hands and shoulders in a clueless shrug. "The afterlife, I guess? That's all I've got so far. It's no paradise, I'll tell you that much."

"And ... who are you?"

"My name is Alexandra Gretchen. You can call me Alex, Alexandra, or Mrs. Gretchen if you like. And I'm sorry, I'm no guiding spirit or guardian angel or whatever." A smaller shrug. "I died, just like you. I've just been here a bit longer is all."

Another thoughtful pause. "This ... isn't what I expected."

"You and me both, ma'am."

"How is it that you speak my language?"

Huh. Good question. "I could ask you the very same thing."

Ming Xiu considered that over a puzzled frown. Then she shook her head, and her next words carried a lifetime of exhaustion with them. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

Alexandra responded with an amused smile on her lips. "Defeats the purpose to ask me that, doesn't it?"

She had to admire the woman's moxie. Ming Xiu was taking it all with impressive aplomb. Other than the frayed quality of her voice, there was no sign of despair or denial to her demeanor. Most everyone that Alexandra knew would be little more than gibbering wrecks after finding themselves in a situation as screwed up as this. Herself included, probably.

She carried on in a more serious tone. "I can't really prove anything to you. But think of it this way: your only other option is to strike out on your own, and chances are that you'll end up just like them." She hooked a thumb at the three as-yet to be freed thralls standing behind her. "I almost got trapped myself, but I got lucky. Actually, if you'll listen to what I've been through since I showed up here, you might see that you were damn lucky that I caught you before they did."

Yet another pause for Ming Xiu to consider what she was being told. Her eyes were distant, her lips pressed together into a fine line. Eventually, all the fight seemed to seep out of her in one long, stormy sigh as she slumped against the wall of the cave, sat with crossed legs and bent knees, and cradled her head in her hands.

Her voice came muffled from behind her arms. "I'm listening."

Alexandra heaved her own sigh of relief. About time things started going her way. Maybe she could salvage this awful disaster after all.

"It's a really weird story," she begun, "but I swear it's what happened to me, word for word."

She went on to tell Ming Xiu about her arrival at Carved Barrow. Her initial fight for survival, her despair, anger and eventual resolution to find the person she loved. Her hunt for information, the long trek and desperate escape, idiotic mistakes and all. Her exploration of the Nexus and her dealings with the bird-people. Her infiltration into their home realm and the way she had come to be right there when the soldier made her act of appearance. And all the things she had found out, gleaned or deduced through it all, as well as the things that she had no idea how to explain.

She left nothing out, barring the deeply personal stuff. It was weird, how she could remember every single detail, no matter how small. She figured that she might as well lie everything down before the woman: the way she saw it, the only approach to gaining her trust was to tell nothing but the truth.

"You know the rest," she said to finish it up. "I know it sounds crazy and it's a lot to take in. I'd have trouble believing it if I were in your place. All I can say is, if I wanted to entrap you in some way, I'd have made up a much more credible story, you know?"

Ming Xiu had listened to it all in silence, not showing much of a reaction to anything Alexandra said—to the point that it was hard to tell whether the woman had paid any attention to it at all. She just sat there, in mostly the same position as she had been for the last thirty minutes or so.

Silence dragged on for a while. Then Ming Xiu slowly lifted her head from her hands and leaned it against the wall behind her. She was crying openly, looking up as tears streamed down her cheeks and carried away with them the dirt and blood on her face.

"I am left to assume," she said in a voice that was surprisingly steady, "that my Yun is as lost to me as your Aaron is lost to you."

It was hard to swallow past the sudden lump in Alexandra's throat. "Not forever. Wherever he is, I'll find him." She'd been afraid that she would falter, after learning of the latest setback added to the long laundry list of impediments to her search. But after hearing herself say it out loud, she knew that her resolve was as strong as ever, if not more.

She would find him. Whatever it took.

"We'll find them," she said with emphasis that was almost fierce, her eyes intent on Ming Xiu.

The soldier returned her gaze, well aware of what Alexandra was proposing. It felt like forever before her stare was followed by a solemn nod. "We will find them," she repeated.

"You believe me, then?" Alexandra asked, genuinely surprised. Ever the optimist, she'd been expecting to be forced to run around in argumentative circles for hours on end in order to enlist the woman's help.

Ming Xiu shook her head. "I have little choice, as you have pointed out. I will remain suspicious, of course. But you are offering help, and I can see no guile in you. If half what you say about this ... place ... is true, I must believe that an honest helping hand is a rare occurrence."

Alexandra snorted. "You got that right."

"These ... abilities you have," Ming Xiu continued. "The things you've discovered you can do here. You must teach me."

"It doesn't work that way," Tamira spoke up before Alexandra could agree to anything. With a bit of effort, the red-haired woman finally abandoned Alexandra's lap and knelt upright, hands laid primly on top of her thighs after adjusting her hair and drying her face. She still looked shaken, but much more composed than before. Alex gave her an encouraging smile.

"What you do depends on who you are," Tamira continued. "Everyone is different. It's like height, or eye color, or ... or musical talent. Not everyone can compose music worth listening to."

Alexandra looked at her thoughtfully. "But surely, with enough practice, everyone can learn eventually, right? Even if it doesn't come naturally?"

Tamira was negating briskly with her head, but then seemed to reconsider. "Well, sometimes, yes. But sometimes, it's just impossible. I ... I don't know everything. Just what I've seen. The Great Ones—" she blanched slightly, then corrected herself, "the Chirm take those with strong useful abilities, and get rid of the dangerous or useless ones. I can't do what you can, Alexandra. None of us can. You ... you're dangerous. A threat. To them."

"You bet your ass I am," she responded with a heat so intense that it surprised even her. What she had seen of what these bird-people did to her fellow human beings had affected her more deeply than she realized, apparently. Or maybe it was the thought of them doing the same to Aaron.

It had startled Tamira as well, but she seemed to find it greatly satisfying. Alexandra forced herself to take a mental step back and keep learning things with a cool head. "What do you mean, you can't do what I can? You can't change clothes? You can't make stuff?"

Tamira was shaking her head again. "We can't ... change ourselves. Break their prisons." She shuddered. "Wall our thoughts against them."

"I kind of ... winged it. I wish I could say otherwise, but I really don't even know what I'm doing half the time." She smiled apologetically. "I know it isn't something you'd want your savior to say."

Tamira shrugged. "Sometimes it's like that, if ... if you're talented enough. I did things like this without trying to," as she spoke, three small rock fragments, roughly the size of baseballs, dislodged all by themselves from three different spots nearby. Alexandra's eyes widened slightly. Ming Xiu tensed visibly.

The rocks proceeded to lazily float around and above Tamira's head in whimsical patterns. "You understand it, with time," Tamira said while remaining perfectly still. "You see what is truly happening. It allows you to exert much finer control." The fragments' paths twisted and intertwined elaborately, speeding up and stopping unpredictably. "And you can make the impossible happen." The three rocks suddenly came together in what should have been a violent collision. Instead, they all joined into one, vibrated and stretched into an up-right disk, then became translucent. It then shattered in dozens of shards, every one spinning outward slowly, with its own deliberate momentum. Not one second had passed before each one shattered again, and again, until there was nothing left but a cloud of fine glass dust that made all sorts of pretty eddies and spirals until it spread onto the ground in front of the woman.

"That," said Alexandra as the dust literally settled, "was pretty bad-ass, Tamira."

The woman beamed at the compliment. She was about to say something else, but then noticed the direction Alex was looking in and decided to remain quiet.

Tamira's display had made Alexandra's eyes land on the three hapless souls dully standing there, motionlessly watching the three women. She could imagine their inner selves screaming to participate in the conversation, to give input or maybe jump up and down with glee, just because they felt like it. She immediately felt a pang of guilt. She should have been working on freeing them as well, instead of having a chat over tea with her new girlfriends while the poor bastards stared on in impotent silence.

She exhaled a weary sigh. "It's about time I did something about your friends here," she said as she got to her feet.

"I've spent a lifetime with them," Tamira said while following Alexandra with her gaze. "But I don't know them. Not in any meaningful way."

Alex glanced back at her, eyes full of pity. Tamira shrugged. "You will find that they are even more restricted than I."

The would-be savior nodded and stepped closer to Meli, Tish and Yuri. They lifted their eyes in unison to blankly return her stare.

"You've heard everything we've said, right? Seen what's happened?" She asked them.

"Yes, Great One," they responded in a staggered chorus.

They haven't figured out I'm not really their boss yet, with everything I said?

She went to tell them and set the record straight, but reconsidered at the last moment. Maybe that delusion was all that was keeping them docile and manageable. In any case, she knew by now that it was pointless to even talk to them in their current state.

With one last glance back at the onlooking women, she set out to do for them as she had done for Tamira.

________

Meliwaze had been a warrior. Not a proud warrior, or an accomplished one, or a cunning one. His enormous bulk, the product of a wonderful confluence of genes, had forced him into a role that he was far from desiring. His fellow tribesmen couldn't understand why he couldn't swing a club or thrust a spear to save his life, but that hadn't stopped them from displaying him as the pinnacle of the tribe's superiority. He had been hardly more than an imposing scarecrow, making a show of growling and flexing his impressive girth to intimidate rivals of the tribe into backing down. Yet he had been an uncommon boy among the Muru, always quiet, always lost in thought. Clumsy past the point of being comical well into the realm of being pitiful, he'd lost his footing when traversing a tricky mountain trail, fell down the cliff and careened face-first into the rock that broke his neck.

He had spent the longest time among the Chirm by far, and had eventually embraced his fate with a willingness born of resignation. While all others had continued resisting to some degree, Meli had simply let go at some point and stopped caring, letting the Bird Spirits do with his will as they wished. Alexandra wasn't surprised about this: he was never particularly assertive or strong-willed to begin with. Hopefully he would be mad enough now to genuinely fight for the common cause, instead of just limply going with the flow like he had done for his entire existence.

Yuri Zharkiev had been one man among millions. Lenin's Soviet Russia hadn't been terribly kind to its populace in general, but Yuri's life was rife with the simple misery of deprivation. He lived like so many other peasant farmers, able to scrape together barely enough sustenance from the land to survive, hardly ever being able to provide for the local area as well. The man had doled out just as much misery as he had received, both to family and to strangers. It hadn't been a good life, and it was the one person so far that made Alexandra wonder whether she was making a mistake by freeing him.

Stoic, hardy and unbelieving of the existence of any life after death whatsoever, he had fought against domination the most and longest out of the four, evidently to no avail. He had been encountered in the Nexus, much like Alexandra had been, and thus his fate had been sealed.

Patrice Lefevre ... well, Patrice was from the freaking future. There could be no other explanation, seeing how she regarded the humongous explosions that went down as the beginning of the end. Just like Alexandra had suspected, not just Seattle had blown up. Somehow those lunatics had gotten hold of or built enough plasmas to take care of Canada as well, and presumably everywhere else so that they could bring their self-fulfilling prophecy to fruition with the most ruinous weapon ever developed.

Patrice had led a relatively uneventful life as a young Canadian bachelorette, in the quiet town of Steinbach, until the moment the bombs went off. With big cities leveled and the 'net pretty much disabled for good, only local news remained, and they were as lost as everybody else. Soon everything descended into the kind of chaos that she'd seen depicted dozens of times in post-apocalyptic fiction.

If pockets of order remained somewhere, Patrice didn't get to experience any of it. When the apocalypse comes, everybody imagines that they will be part of the group of resolute survivors that will soldier through the catastrophe with grim resourcefulness. Patrice joined the ranks of the silent majority and starved in the dead of winter.

Everything that she went through before then had been enough to pervade her outlook with a bleak dose of chronic fatalism. She might have made it if she had tried hard enough, but every horror she'd experienced at the hands of a harsh environment and even harsher compatriots had gradually sapped the will to live out of her. Upon finding herself surrounded by bird-like monsters shortly after losing consciousness for the last time, she hadn't been terribly surprised to wind up where she did. It just figured, you know?

Tamira hadn't been kidding when she mentioned that they would be more tightly restricted than she had been. Their mind-leash constructs, especially the ones embedded in Yuri and Patrice, weren't as much prisons as they were barbed wire, biting into their figurative flesh and suffocating their every thought. It had taken much longer to unravel such twisted, tangled webs.

Their rupture had been even more intense than the others, and Alexandra was still reeling from the aftermath. The mixture of completely disparate experiences was confusing enough to be infuriating all by itself. The never ending drudgery of painstaking deconstruction, the nagging admiration for the cleverness and elegance, the anger and outrage at the unwarranted torments, the staggering burst of mind-bending pleasure; it all mingled together in a bittersweet cocktail specifically designed to drive her insane.

Speaking of insanity. Not all was well with their minds. Meliwaze might have been naturally quiet and taciturn, and he appeared to be busy nursing a monster of a headache, heaving deep breaths while sitting in the middle of the tunnel. But Patrice and Yuri were a different matter. Their eyes darted wildly from one spot to the next, watching everything and nothing at once. They clutched at their clothes as if they couldn't decide whether to treasure them or rip them to shreds. They cowered against the wall, each one in their own spot, persecuted Gollums suspicious of every movement and shadow.

They were, simply put, haunted.

Alexandra couldn't blame them. She feared this would happen even before she was done with her work. What she'd seen of their suffering, of the nightmarish landscape in their entrapped minds ... she'd rather forget it, even though she knew that she wouldn't. No one person could endure what they had and remain sane.

She could only hope that they'd improve, eventually. Tamira had nothing to contribute on the matter; she was as ignorant about this type of recovery as Alexandra was. But they better improve, and fast—the way her luck had worked so far, an unwelcome guest was bound to stumble upon their private get-together sooner or later. She couldn't afford to wait for them indefinitely.

Alexandra turned away from those poor souls and looked at Tamira and Ming Xiu; the former still knelt on the floor, the latter leaned against the wall. Both women looked guarded, uncomfortable to have been left alone with one another. Despite that, they'd started talking quietly, and Tamira was responding to something the soldier had asked.

"—good person. I know I can't make you believe me ...." She trailed off when she noticed Alexandra looking at her. Taking stock of her frustrated expression, Tamira offered an encouraging, if frayed, smile. "Maybe they just need more time," she suggested. "Meli is doing a little better already."

"Meliwaze," rumbled a voice suffused with strain. The three women turned to look at him.

"I ... am ... Meliwaze," he repeated slowly, in starts and spurts. "Warrior ... of ... the Muru."

Alexandra looked at him with surprise. Even through the obvious pain he was enduring, the words had come with no small amount of pride. Now he was proud of that? Not ten minutes ago she'd seen in the man's memories how he tripped and fell flat on his face when trying to throw his own spear.

Or maybe it wasn't as much that, as it was the simple fact that he could say such a thing at last. The fact that he remembered his own name and where he came from, after all the time spent cowed and leashed.

She took a few steps closer and leaned hands on knees.

"Meliwaze?" She asked gently. "Do you know where we are? Do you know who I am?"

For a while, she got only heavy breathing and choked grunts as a response.

"Yes," he finally said through gritted teeth. "And ... yes."

"Are you ... are you going to be okay?"

It felt so strange, to be talking to this mountain of a man as if he was a child with a scraped knee.

More grunting.

"I ... know ... not," he managed. Speaking seemed to come at a great cost for the man, and could only spare one word at a time. "Even ... if ... I ... am ... not," he paused to catch his breath. "I ... am ... thankful."

Well, that's cool, I guess.

"I'll ... leave you to it. I won't be far, alright?"

Meliwaze nodded laboriously. Resisting the urge to pat him in the head, she stepped away from him and back to where Tamira and Ming Xiu were at, farther into the cave.

"I don't know how much time we can spare with this," she said with a sigh. She looked at Tamira. "Are you sure we won't get jumped by the birds while we're here?"

The woman nodded eagerly, her curly locks bobbing back and forth. "They regard the bottom layer as uncouth, and would not come near it by choice. Traversing it is like walking through communal latrines. 'Soil dweller' is a rather strong insult in their culture."

Alex pursed the corner of her lips. "But what if they sense all of us together? This can't be something that happens every day."

"They'll figure we are performing some task or another," Tamira responded. "At the most, they would send a minion to investigate, and even that would be quite unlikely. I ... would worry more about my mas—" she caught herself. "My former master learning of my absence. The same goes for them, I'm sure."

Alexandra blinked a couple times.

Oops.

But of course they would all be missed. It was just common sense: Master Chirm gets home, Master Chirm doesn't get his slippers, Master Chirm goes to find out what the hell happened to his trained slaves. While their abilities were shared among the avian community, every thrall belonged to one individual or another. It was a sign of status, apparently, going as far as pitting them against each other in pageants and competitions—always ensuring that no harm came to their prized possessions, of course.

It wouldn't take long before any one of those former owners realized that there was some funny business going on. And then they'd actively search for the missing ones, which would eventually lead to the gig being officially up. She could deal with one, maybe, but there was no way she could go up against four or five, much less a search party of fifty or a hundred.

They had to get moving, and quickly. The enemy was searching for them at that very moment, for all she knew. Maybe she could take everyone farther down the mountains, to some uninhabited corner, or much deeper underground. Or maybe out of the realm altogether: escape and hope they would get lucky by finding sanctuary. She needed to speed up everyone's recovery, get them all on the same page, erase their trail as best as she could ....

Or you could just hunt down their owners and kill them one by one. No search for missing slaves then.

The thought came so out of nowhere that she jerked her head back a little, startled. Such a ... ruthlessly practical course of action. It would definitely solve her immediate problems, if she could pull it off undetected. After considering it for a while, the most disturbing part was that she could find no objection to it, except maybe the risk it posed to her own well-being. When exactly had she started to see killing as an acceptable way to solve problems?

I already murdered one of them. What is three or four more?

None of her present companions would object to it either; quite the opposite, she was sure. The creatures deserved it, every one of them. In fact, killing them was to show them mercy, compared to what they actually deserved. Just thinking of what she'd seen of the slaves' anguish was enough to bring her anger to a slow boil again. Maybe she should capture one of them and bring it back to the former prisoners. Let them go to town on it.

"Alex?"

Tamira's voice brought her out of her grim train of thought. The pleasantly plump redhead was looking up at her from her kneeling position, lips that were red as blood pursed with uncertainty.

"What ... what do we do now?"

Alexandra regarded her with the same thoughtful expression. It wasn't just Tamira looking expectantly at her: Ming Xiu had the same question in her eyes, although lacking all of Tamira's trust and admiration; Meliwaze had lifted his head, listening to what she had to say; even Yuri and Patrice's ears had seemed to perk up, although she could have imagined that part.

Running her gaze through the pitiful group of people, she wanted to tell them that she was just as lost as they were. More so, really. With the exception of Ming Xiu, they all had a ton more experience in dealing with this existence than she did. A tiny part of her had hoped that one of them would take charge, actually, like a reincarnated Spartacus rising from the ranks of slavery.

But of course they would turn to her for direction now, she thought. How could she expect otherwise? She had saved them from a life completely devoid of choices. They would be desperate for guidance and asking her to lead even if they didn't already know that she wanted help on her search mission.

She'd saved them, for better or worse. Even if one of them might not have deserved it. She'd saved Ming Xiu as well, even if she didn't truly know it yet.

And ... it felt pretty good.

It felt pretty damn good.

"Now we get rid of your former masters, Miss Keister," she told her in a voice that sounded much more confident than she felt. "Then we'll free everyone else. We'll be quiet, and stealthy, and resourceful," Just like Batman, "until the time comes to reveal ourselves. And then ...."

She clenched her jaw and looked up as if the tunnels and mountains weren't there, toward the endlessly diverse floating citadels home to those that would enslave her kin. She hadn't planned on a heroic speech, but it wasn't turning out so bad. Particularly now that she had made up her mind.

She wished she could claim pure altruism for what she intended to accomplish. But the truth was that, if she wanted to find Aaron, one person searching alone in a sprawling corn field simply wasn't enough. She'd need a search party, sniffing dogs, machinery, helicopters. A broadcasting system, a network, eyes everywhere. An army of loyal friends.

"Then," she said, "we start the uprising."

Or maybe just an army.

________

The Chirm's torso messily separated from the rest of its body as Alexandra's materialized blade made a broad sweep at an angle, from one side of its abdomen to the other. She'd much rather have gone for a cleaner move, but this was the one shot that she had before it became suspicious, and she didn't hesitate to take it.

It hadn't been hard to adapt her staff into a polearm capable of the kind of slashing damage that was necessary for what she needed to do. Because blunt damage wasn't enough to destroy beings like these—such a thing had the same long-term effects as beating up a puddle of water. It was the separation of its essence into several pieces that did the trick. The Clan had known it. She knew it too, now.

She knew as well that it was all a representation of what was really going on: there really wasn't a two-feet-long steel blade protruding from one end of her stick, and the counterweight at the other end was hardly necessary. She also wasn't really slicing through any vital organs when she swung it at her enemies. It simply ... helped, to experience it in terms she was familiar with. She still had a very long way to go before she could stop thinking in such terms.

She quickly expanded her influence to shield the area around the dissolving Chirm, effectively dampening the terrible disturbance caused by its expiring life-force. It wouldn't erase the rift completely, but it should be enough not to alert every one of its comrades in a two mile radius. Sometimes, it would feel like they lashed against her specifically, clawing desperately at her shield. She found it rather poetic, when that happened. A taste of their own medicine.

She watched it impassively as it writhed and wailed, trying and failing to hold on to its cohesiveness. For all their mind-altering tricks, these creatures were hardly skilled when it came to dealing with disabling injuries.

It was a simple method, and one for which she was glad she took that acting class for extra credit on the first year of college. It pretty much amounted to traveling to an area where her next target would be, then behaving like a clueless, frenetic newborn scared of everything and everybody. Then she would strike much the same way as she had that very first time, out in the Nexus. One quick, decisive, fatal blow that came as soon as they got close enough.

It had worked well so far, although it was getting harder to get them to believe that she was entirely powerless against their influence. They could sense that she was no longer a newborn, somehow. They were reluctant to subdue her by themselves, and nowadays it was only by acting her most unstable and erratic that they would risk apprehending her without assistance. But it had worked every time, and she had yet to see if she could beat them in a stand-up fight. She hoped she wouldn't ever have to find out.

"Sixteen," she whispered to the vanishing creature, and already she was working at taking note of every detail pertaining her victim. She'd done it often enough that she didn't really need to concentrate all that hard.

They were all so different from each other. Their plumage could be any of the colors of the rainbow, arranged in an endless variety of patterns; they could be short and stocky or tall and gangly or petite and cute; they could have a tough facial bone structure or a delicate and refined one, wide and plain or long and angular; some would wear beautiful jewelry, or vaporous gowns, or utilitarian vests; some would have their beaks adorned with notches and ridges, or their talons carefully trimmed and decorated. Her last one had worn an array of golden rings and tiny bells on its temple feathers, and they had clinked and chimed with her every expression.

Her first three, the late owners of Tami, Meli, and Tish and Yuri respectively, had been commanding and arrogant to a fault. She'd had a few more just like that since then.

Four of them had been quite reluctant to apprehend her, in the cautious sense of the word. Two had been reluctant in the sense that they didn't seem to want to do it, but they did it anyway because that's what had to be done. One or two had looked nervous, almost ... afraid.

She tried not to think about that too much. She didn't want to know their feelings. She didn't want to know their names. She didn't want to know where they came from, where they were going, their wants, their needs, the reasons for doing what they did, their personal opinions on what their species did to her own.

It was much simpler that way. Much easier.

They were creatures. Things. And they all got close, eventually. They all attempted to subdue her. That's all she needed to know about them.

She quickly adopted the mental state necessary for a transformation and put to work all those details she'd been gathering, creating in her mind a perfect image of what she wanted to become. Just like she would do every time, she put special care in reproducing the avian undercurrent, infusing it with the myriad nuances specific to this particular individual. The swiftness that comes with practice enabled her to do it all within seconds, and the remnants of her latest target had yet to dissipate completely by the time the mists of change receded.

She'd probably have to switch tactics pretty soon. The gang said that they couldn't tell the difference between her and the real birds, when she gave it her all—to the point that Meliwaze had panicked a few times when she drew near the hideout while still in disguise. Maybe it would be good enough to fool the Chirm themselves, allowing her to get close and strike without ever exposing herself. She would need to test it out, sooner or later: it was only a matter of time before they started noticing everything that she was doing. Best to be prepared when that happened.

Besides, shifting wasn't so bad anymore. It was still extremely uncomfortable, but hardly the symphony of pain that it had been when she'd first done it. She was either getting better at it, or she was growing largely numb to its unpleasantness.

Alexandra let go of the space around her, undoing her dampening sphere, and set out to locate the one human thrall in the floating island. She had to work quickly; he or she wasn't the only intelligent being in the area, and she'd rather avoid any and all unplanned encounters.

Because her biggest problem so far with remaining undetected didn't come from the Chirm themselves, but from the dozens of other species that they kept under their command. Humans were but one tiny fraction in a veritable throng of servants that was as diverse as the extended cast of Sesame Street. And while the Chirm were a mostly predictable encounter, every one of those bizarre species was an entirely unknown entity, an unpredictable question mark that she did not want to mess with.

Forced to observe from large distances in order to avoid interaction, she hadn't seen much of them. But she knew that there were two distinct kinds.

There were those that reminded her of the Clan, entirely alien monsters or almost-monsters with arbitrary numbers of limbs, weird body shapes and often frightening features. They toiled away at menial tasks like scrubbing walls with their viscous tongues, or using their jagged teeth to trim rocky formations to a polished sheen, or dragging objects from one place to another for no apparent reason. Some simply lounged, piled haphazardly on top of one another, or floated about, or ran or fought. They were more pets and cattle than servants, really.

And then there were the others, much fewer and far between. The ones that posessed an undercurrent of their own. They came in countless shapes and sizes, all of them more or less humanoid or at least biped, and those that had an expressive face all carried the same uninvolved expression that she'd grown to know so well by now. Many would just sit idly, waiting impassively to be used like her first rescuees had been. But others she'd seen working together to erect structures within the floating cities, repairing damage to walls, moving large quantities of materials from one location to another. She could sense more than see the ones that perched atop the tallest minarets in some islands; she had stayed well away of any citadel that counted with such obvious sentries.

The difference between the two kinds of underlings reminded her of all the animals in a farmstead. There were the sheep, the livestock, the rabbits and hens, the pigs and the goats. And then there was the invaluable, deftly trained shepherd dog. The untiring mule that could carry staggering weights. The specifically bred rooster that would produce offspring of the highest quality and call at exactly the same time every morning. It was the difference between expendable and valuable.

None of the ones that she'd observed so far had displayed the kind of raw power that Tamira or Yuri could command, but she'd hardly covered enough ground to draw any conclusions from that. She didn't want to draw any conclusions altogether; the mere existence of such non-human humanoids in service of the bird people begged too many questions for her to try to answer at the moment. She had a feeling that she wouldn't like one bit the answers she'd come up with.

So she kept on ignoring them and concentrated instead on navigating the arched hallways in search of the one room she was looking for.

And there he was, standing on a corner behind a multicolored line, wearing pretty clothes and a vacant stare. He was a tall man of medium build and his features were human enough, although you couldn't really go by that all the time, she had learned. His undercurrent was unmistakable, and that's what really mattered. If she'd been in the mood for it, she'd have noted the gorgeous hazel eyes, the long dark hair down his back or the near flawless proportions of his toned body, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. There was no time to waste.

The assortment of tiny jewels in her plumage chimed musically as she issued the same command that she had uttered twenty-seven times so far.

"Follow."

And the man did.

∞

She pulls back a bit to give me a look. One of those looks. "That doesn't sound funny at all, Aaron. That sounds really arrogant."

13

"I should not be doing this," Ming Xiu said for the hundredth time.

She stood on the Pathways side of the Thousand Rivers entrance, right at the spot where platform became cave. She was garbed in her usual "field instructor" outfit: oriental-cut white silks fit perfectly to her slender build. Coupled with the long, thin, black-and-silver braid that replaced her more common chopstick-bound bun, she looked like a martial arts master straight out of the movies. She alternated now and then between pacing back and forth and tensely regarding Aaron with disapproval. A concerned frown firmly knitted her brow, either way.

"So you keep telling me," Aaron muttered audibly enough. He stood not far from her, facing into the cave so he wouldn't have to see those horrid sentries every time he opened his eyes. All the standing he was currently doing was precisely the problem: It was all that he could do, still. No matter how much he scrumped up his face in concentration.

He felt himself going crazy with frustration, but could also feel more than enough determination to match it. He would figure it out, or he would pass out from the pain. Whatever came first.

His resolve had Ming Xiu all but wringing her hands in distress, her silken pants whisk-whisking as she paced. "It's not supposed to happen this way. You will go too long before I can stop you and you'll cripple yourself. And then what? How will you join the purge then?"

Aaron let go of the awful tangle that was space in the Pathways and opened his eyes to look at her. His slightly diffuse form went back to normal as he did, and some of the pounding migraine receded a bit.

"You promised that you would do everything in your power to help me, if I found a lead," he told her, grumpier than the woman deserved. "And as it happens, I did. So either actively help me out, or please let me concentrate so I can figure it out on my own."

He felt like a douchebag for throwing that promise in her face when he had harbored no real intention to keep his side of the bargain. In fact, he felt like a real jackass of late, with all the demands and the forceful attitude. But these feelings of guilt weren't enough to stop him from doing what he was doing. Apparently Ming Xiu put great stock in the worth of her word—more so than your average Aaron Gretchen, at any rate—and he needed to take advantage of that. He was going to find out what had happened to Alexandra, even if he had to play a little dirty to get there.

Ming Xiu stared daggers at him for a few seconds, then let out an irked sigh and walked over to where he was at.

"You are trying too hard, delving too deep," she said briskly. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then pursed her lips. "Let go completely for a while. You've reached a point where it's counterproductive to keep trying." He was about to protest, but she gently took hold of his arm so he would listen. "You must trust me in this. Please. I've taught for far longer than you lived."

He hesitated stubbornly for a second, then relaxed and did as he was told. He immediately felt light headed and stumbled forward, and had Ming Xiu not have been there he would have fallen flat on his face.

Despite her slight frame, she only needed one hand to support him, and effortlessly at that. Aaron thought in his daze that such a thing shouldn't surprise him as much as it still did.

"I shouldn't be letting you do this," she repeated as she shook her head.

"Are you changing your mind?" he rasped.

Ming Xiu stared up at him for a few beats, her expression solemn leaning to somber. She gave him a slight push, so that he would stand on his own again.

"No," she said. "No, I am not."

"Then you should let us try what I told you about."

"I will not throw baseballs at you!" she said with exasperated emphasis.

"I'll do it, sifu," Falon chimed in from her cross-legged position, back against the wall of the cave. "Please let me do it."

Apparently she had nothing better to occupy herself with at the moment, and so she tagged along with nothing of value to contribute.

Ming Xiu threw an admonishing look in the girl's direction, then got back to Aaron. "How do I need to put it for you to understand? It would be senseless to do something like that. Pointless."

"It worked for Harry Dresden," Aaron responded doggedly.

"Yes, you explained all about your fictional wizard. It doesn't work that way; you don't suddenly grow the ability to shield yourself through instinct, out of sheer necessity or under duress, no matter how much theory I explain to you. If you have a knack, first you need to find it within yourself. Only then can you exploit it.

"Otherwise, abilities aren't as much taught as they simply emerge over time. A long time, often. You are then taught to call forth and control what manifests in this way. Sometimes, only sometimes, basic skills like limited flight or simple attire shifts can be taught to a predisposed student." She gave a pointed look at Aaron's t-shirt and baggy jeans. "And we've all seen how very talented you are in that department."

"Fine, fine," he brought up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "More of a reason to focus on the one thing I can do, then. Flying fast and far will be my only chance to stay safe through it all until I reach the Unbound."

"You speak as if there will only be writhen, and you'll only have to worry about claws and thorns." The more Ming Xiu spoke, the more her frustration showed in her voice. Her unusually sharp canines made her look more fierce than she probably intended. "I already said there will be other Sentients there, our real enemies. Can you shield your mind from their influence? Can you let blades of thought pass through you and leave you unscathed? Can you craft a counter to a paralyzing resonance? The Unbound will be in the thickest of it all throughout the purge campaign. You might be able to avoid the real danger as a simple foot soldier, taking care of the rabble. But if you want to reach the true frontlines and the Unbound itself, you need these skills and more. Anything else is as good as suicide, even if I escort you."

"You've given me no other choice! You said—"

"Not that would suit your infuriating impatience!" Ming Xiu almost yelled as she jabbed a finger at his chest. "The wise path to follow is much simpler. You have already chanced upon them, after all. It will happen again, if it's meant to happen."

"There's no way I'm going to just sit on my ass hoping for the Great Cahuna to show up where I'm at. If at least they had a throne room or something, I could seek an audience like a sad little supplicant. But there's not even a way to leave a message! What kind of leadership is that, anyway?"

Ming Xiu was shaking her head again, her composure so frayed it was almost torn. "I truly should not be doing this. You don't seek out the Unbound, Aaron. It's just not done!"

"For goodness' sake, Ming Xiu! They know what happened to her! They destroyed her! I can't just twiddle my thumbs until I happen to have a chance encounter with that thing!"

Ming Xiu's sword was out and prickling Aaron's throat in the span of an instant. Her exasperation was gone, and in its place there was a terrible coldness that shrouded her eyes with chilling detachment.

"The Unbound," she said with slow, clear enunciation. "Are not a thing."

Aaron froze, more paralyzed with shock than frightfully motionless.

"Whoa, whoa!" Falon was off the floor and beside Ming Xiu in a literal flash. One of her hands rested on the woman's shoulder; the fingertips of the other barely grazed her grip on the blade. "sifu. Sifu, please."

The diminutive swordmaster didn't move even the breadth of a hair, her stern gaze fixed on an Aaron that would have been pissing his pants, should he still have been able to.

"Ming Xiu," Falon pleaded. "He's just a child. An idiot from a life where everything happens right away. He doesn't know any better."

A frown creased Ming Xiu's brow. Then she looked at her extended sword arm as if it belonged to somebody else. She let go of her weapon, and it would have clattered against the floor if it hadn't vanished into mist almost immediately.

She met Aaron's eyes, and for a brief moment he could clearly see the shock and confusion that gripped her. She was horrified at her own actions.

"I'm sorry," she stammered as she took a few steps away. Falon remained as close to her as she could without actually touching her, arms extended, pained concern plain on her face.

"I'm so sorry, Aaron," Ming Xiu repeated. She brought a hand to her forehead and closed her eyelids, her usually unflappable demeanor shattered by quivering fingers and tremulous lips. The woman looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.

Aaron had no clue what to say or how to react. "I ... " was all he managed as he blinked.

She took in a sharp breath and put out her hands in an "I can't deal with this" gesture. "Please forgive me," she said as she turned around and walked off at a brisk pace.

"But Ming Xiu—" Falon protested.

"Help him in every way you can," the woman said without looking back, her voice raw with emotion.

Both pupils, former and current, stared after her vanishing form in disbelief. Shortly after Ming Xiu had faded from view, Falon turned to face Aaron with a murderous glare.

"What. The fuck. Did you people find in the census."

"I—I told you. My wife's entry. But it was all weird, like I said."

"Are you lying to me, Gretchen? Are you all lying to me?"

"No! I ... why? Why would I do that?"

"Ming Xiu is letting you call the shots." She jabbed a finger at his chest on every other word, much the same way his teacher had, just a moment ago. "She's breaking every rule with you. Cursed Void, she's losing her mind over this!" Her anger faltered, showing the enormous mountain of concern that loomed behind it. "Do you have any idea of how much she's experienced? How much she's endured? I couldn't begin to tell you how tough that woman is. And she's crying over whatever the fuck you've done to her!"

"I swear man, everything's just like I've told you! She's been strange and absent-minded since we picked up my wife's actual trail. I don't think she expected that to ever happen." Falon winced for some reason. He continued, "Maybe ... maybe she regrets giving up? You know, on her own—"

"She never gave up, you moron. Hope's a bitch that won't die even when you want it to. And now you come along, and find in two steps what she spent countless portents searching for in vain." Anger made a comeback, and she shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him take a step back to keep his balance. "I knew you'd get her in trouble. I knew it! What did I tell you? Don't get her in trouble! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give you a fist sandwich!"

Aaron made a grand effort to keep his cool and not cower before the wiry redhead. He was well aware that she could punch him to the Moon and back if she wanted to. She was probably just venting, he told himself.

"I, uh ... Ming Xiu said to help me?"

"Ming Xiu is currently not here." She closed the remaining distance to stare Aaron right in the face. "She left after you drove her insane."

Crap, is she serious about this?

"Falon." He did take another step back, putting his hands up, palms out. It was hard to keep his voice from trembling. "Falon, I get that you're frustrated, and seeing her like that is scary for you and all. But you just stopped her from stabbing me. Maybe beating me up isn't such a great idea either?"

The girl took one look at him from head to toe and raised an eyebrow. She seemed genuinely taken aback by his reaction. "Do you really think I would beat you up?"

"Well, you look pretty damn close to it!" Aaron replied without lowering his hands.

"Empty skies, Gretchen," she said as she let out a dismayed breath and let go of much of the tension that gripped her. "It might not seem like it after what just happened, but Ming Xiu taught me better than that. What kind of a thug do you think I am?"

"I don't know! I don't freaking know you!" he protested, even though he actually did.

"Right." She gave him another shove for good measure. "Maybe I should beat you up. If I make you disappear, she doesn't have to worry anymore about helping your self-absorbed ass with anything."

"Devoted," he corrected, relaxing slightly. "I am devoted, to a rightful cause."

Falon snorted at that, making her opinion on the topic clear. "Ming Xiu should have known better than to make you that promise. I don't know what she was thinking."

"She said she hoped that I'd be the one guy to get his girl back. You said it yourself; she wants at least somebody to have a happy ending. Maybe that's why she's so broken up now: Alex got severed by the Unbound. There isn't a happy ending to be had."

"That's not it." She said matter-of-fact. Then looked at him inquisitively. "But ... obviously you don't think your precious Alexandra is really gone, or you would be a blubbering wreck."

Aaron nodded solemnly. "I have my own theory."

"Of course you do." She didn't add the "you moron" this time, but the tone made it implicit enough.

"Well," Aaron said, "you can bet your ass that I'd still seek the Unbound for answers anyway."

"Which brings us back to the matter at hand." She gestured with both hands to encompass their surroundings; the flesh and the stone, the twisted space and the foreboding sentries. "You heard the sifu. I'm supposed to help you now." A crooked smirk curled one side of her mouth. "Still want to try those baseballs?"

"Um." Aaron went to adjust his glasses. They weren't there, as usual. "If you tell me what I'm supposed to do first, yeah."

"I'll tell you all you want, lover boy. Apparently the rules don't apply to you anymore. I'll give you enough theory on shielding, deflection, dissolution and counter-shaping for me to be throwing objects at ya 'til the next portent rolls around."

Aaron nodded. Then swallowed. Maybe this wasn't that great an idea, but there was only one way to find out. And he wasn't about to back out of it now, after being such a pest about it.

"You've got a deal."

After all the angst she'd shown just a moment ago, Falon's grin had no business being that bright and wide.

________

"Ming Xiu?"

Her signal had led him to the same clearing where he had first met her. The scene was so similar that he had to do a double-take as he got nearer: a stately Asian woman, surrounded by almost-trees, tossing food absent-mindedly at the critters that crowded around her. Only her clothes were different; she was still clad in her martial silks.

The chubby pig-rabbits she was feeding looked up all at once at the sound of his voice, then scampered off in all directions. The woman didn't stir, remaining with her back turned and her arm bent at the elbow to hold a handful of those little sticks that the creatures ate.

He stepped a bit closer, cautiously. "Are you alright, Ming Xiu?"

She kept silent a little longer, then sighed visibly before she turned around.

"Aaron, I—" Her words died in her throat when she caught sight of him.

"Boundless grace," she blurted out, wide-eyed, and with two unnaturally long and quick steps she planted herself in front of him, misty fingers darting out to examine the multitude of bruises in motherly fashion.

"Were you attacked? Did Falon leave you by yourself?" She took a closer look, grabbed his chin and turned his head this way and that. A sudden thought hit her. "Did she do this to you?"

Aaron grimaced and stepped back from her prodding hands. "I guess you were right and baseballs won't be doing the trick for me. Or rocks, or any other number of projectiles."

It took her a few blinks to understand the meaning of his comment. "You ... did this to yourself?"

"Oh, it wasn't just me, you can be sure of that. She was throwing them, while knowing full well that it wouldn't teach me a damn thing, too!"

He left out the part where Falon would only throw after his explicit shout of "Ready!". A small detail, not worth mentioning.

Ming Xiu continued examining welts with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. She tch'd at the reds and blues on his left arm, and reserved a special frown for his split lip.

"I'm not so sure about that," she finally declared in a sour tone. "I think she taught you a very important lesson. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah. That she's a freaking psychopath."

Ming Xiu gave him an oblique look. Their eyes met for far too long, making the elephant in the room stand up from its corner and squeeze into the tiny space between them.

"Aaron," she started, averting her gaze and letting her hands fall limply to her sides. "What I did ... it was not one of my best moments."

It was incredibly weird for him to see her so vulnerable. It felt like stumbling upon a childhood hero drunk in the ditch, yelling obscenities at passerby. As per his usual, he had no idea how to handle the situation.

"Well," he said, dragging out the word. "Was it the worst?"

She chuckled despite herself. "No. Not by far."

Some of the tension eased between them. After another pause, she stepped back and gestured toward the trail leading out of the clearing, echoing the same movement she'd made during their first meeting. Aaron wordlessly obliged.

They walked in silence for a minute or two, their steps rustling through the feathery leaves and undergrowth.

"What I did is inexcusable, Aaron," she finally said in a quiet voice. "I am deeply ashamed."

He darted a glance at her. "I, um. I was being kind of a jerk to you."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. The trust between pupil and mentor is something precious. Sacred. By threatening you in a situation where you should always feel safe, I destroyed whatever trust I've built between us. I let my own personal issues set back your training."

Can't say I trusted a whole lot to begin with, he thought. It probably wouldn't help to tell her that, though.

"You'd already threatened me, remember?" He said instead. "Before we went into the Beacon? It was ... well, it scared the crap out of me, to be honest."

"That was different." She stopped walking and turned to address him directly. "Your well-being depended on doing exactly as I said, with no delays. I consciously sacrificed part of your trust for the sake of your safety. You don't know how much of a close call it was back there." She resumed her walk, and Aaron with her. "What I did just a moment ago, however ...." Ming Xiu made a mien of disgust, appalled at the recollection. "I lost control, and I cannot remember the last time that happened."

"So ...." He hesitated briefly before asking the million dollar question. "So what's got you all riled up like this? I mean, I was hardly at my most annoying."

"I contest that." She accompanied the jab with a small smile, but her heart was not in it. Her lips soon became a fine line, the way they usually did whenever she was trying to make a decision, figuring out which words to say and how to say them.

Despite her forceful reassurance back in the census chamber, Aaron wondered if he was about to be lied to.

Ming Xiu exhaled a deep, resigned sigh and stopped in the middle of the trail. She was looking up and ahead, through the thick feathery canopy and at the monochrome blue sky that filtered through it. Aaron took a few more steps before noticing and turning around to face her.

"When you exist for as long as I have," she said a moment later, in a voice that sounded worn and tired, "you start thinking that you know everything there is. There comes a point when nothing is new anymore—nothing big, nothing of importance. You stop expecting things to be a certain way, and start knowing the way that they will be. Get too settled in this knowledge, and one runs the risk of ... stagnation."

She turned to lean against the cylindrical trunk of an almost-tree, hands at the small or her back, dark slanted eyes facing him head on. "This isn't much of an issue where we all come from. But here, knowledge is everything, and stagnation is a real danger. If you are not prepared to be flexible ... well, you have experienced by now the effects of unexpected new knowledge that goes against everything you know to be true."

Aaron certainly had.

"You see," she continued. "I knew, I knew you would not find anything. I've seen it before and known of countless accounts, and not just with a spouse, but with siblings, friends, cousins, parents, offspring, distant relatives. Nobody that comes here is immediately related to anyone; it sounds odd at first, but it makes sense, once you take into account the tiny percentage of Humans in Eternal for every man and woman that dies on Earth every minute, every day.

"But you didn't just find her, oh no." She brought up her hands to emphasize her dismay. "Your Alexandra managed to do something that even the keeper of the blighted census hadn't seen before, and actually led you, devils know how, to an entry that had been somehow concealed from Marion blighted Baterich up until then. The woman can perceive hints of your thoughts, but she couldn't sense something that had been two steps away from her for who knows how long. She wasn't pleased about that, let me tell you."

Ming Xiu didn't have to say. The keeper had ensconced with Saudanaishi's entry the moment Lesedi showed up—Queg in tow—to take care of things. Marion's refined features had looked like she'd just swallowed a bug.

"What did you argue with her about?" he asked, remembering the episode all over again. He'd heard them tersely talking to each other right up to the moment that he had finally gathered the mental fortitude to walk back toward the entrance of the chamber. They'd been careful not to be overheard, but Ming Xiu had gotten the last word in, and by Marion's expression, it hadn't been a pretty one.

She made an oblique cutting movement with one hand, the way she'd normally dismiss one of his questions. "That's not—" She interrupted herself and seemed to reconsider, lightly shaking her head and puffing out a short breath as if to say what's the point. "She questioned the wisdom of bringing you there. I disagreed. Emphatically."

"Ah."

In the brief silence that followed, Aaron couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't appreciated nearly enough how much Ming Xiu had stuck out for him, while asking for little to nothing in return. The guilt of behaving like a jerkwad to her roughly doubled.

Before he could make any awkward attempts at saying as much, the woman picked up where she left off.

"I must admit ...." She was looking down and over to the side, a shoulder leaning against the almost-tree. While she searched for what she wanted to say, her hands took hold of her braid and started undoing it, nimble fingers handling each strand with practiced accuracy. Her gaze was so lost in thought that she probably wasn't even aware of what her hands were doing. She could change hairstyles with the flip of a mental switch; a hands-on approach was hardly necessary.

She started again, her voice lacking its usual confidence. "I admit I've been blaming you, for bringing back emotions that I thought buried forever. For making me question my priorities and conviction, my ... loyalties. For giving me the illusion of hope where there is none, and then for proving that wrong."

I did all those things?

Aaron simply stood there, in the middle of the trail, not quite knowing whether he was expected to apologize to her or accept her gratitude.

He opted for silence. Ming Xiu carried on, eyes still unfocused, braid completely undone and now being remade in a different, more elaborate pattern that required four strands instead of three.

"I resent and envy you, just for having the fortune of knowing what happened to your loved one. For having a path to follow in order to learn more about her fate, however winding and tortuous. I cannot explain to you how precious that is, even if in the end it turns out that you can't have her back. Just ... knowing. Just that alone. What wouldn't I give ... there's nothing I wouldn't give—" Her voice had become choked and hoarse, and Ming Xiu forced herself to stop talking. She closed her eyes and took a few seconds to rein in the longing that would otherwise spill right out of her.

When she spoke again, much of her self-control had returned. "But I am wrong." There was a tiny bit of surprise in there. "I have been wrong. Wrong to blame you, wrong to feel fear and anger in the face of change. And wrong to try to steer you away from the path you must follow." Just saying it all out loud seemed to give her a sort of catharsis, lending strength and conviction to her words.

Aaron still didn't know what to say. Ming Xiu had a gift for stumping him in their every conversation, one way or another.

"It's, um, it's alright," he said lamely. He immediately wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. He could make himself cringe sometimes.

Some of Ming Xiu's normal self came back, looking at him in that amused way in which she so often would. She might have been going to comment on his rapier wit, but her subtle smile faded to become a stormy sigh.

"This is hardly the image a teacher should present before her pupil," she said, looking down at herself as if she was dressed in rags and embarrassed for it.

"That's alright," Aaron repeated. "I mean, it's a bit weird, but it's nice to know that you're ... y'know, human. Without the capital H."

She chuckled softly, and pushed off the pearly trunk with her shoulder, regaining her own footing. "Don't let anyone fool you. Every person you meet here is still just as flawed as they ever were. Some have learned better, some learn to just fake it, and some have become even bigger idiots. Endless time means a wealth of wisdom to many, but not to all—not even to a majority. You've only seen a tiny fraction of the Human community."

"So much to look forward to. You sure know how to be reassuring."

Ming Xiu graciously bowed her head. Then frowned at her half-done braid as it swayed into her field of vision. Her hands set out to resume their intricate work. "I've wasted enough of what little time we have to prepare you. I promised I would help you find out more about your wife; it is a choice that I made, and I will no longer try to circumvent it in cowardice. I will do everything that I can to teach you as much as you can grasp in a short time, and to the Void with the protocol."

It was far from Aaron's intentions to discourage her resolution, but he couldn't help his curiosity. "I thought the protocol was the only way to do things? You just got done saying out there ...."

Ming Xiu shook her head, "It is the safest, most efficient way to educate and shape a mind properly, in the long run. It is truly the best method, and I do very much regret neglecting it." As she spoke, she glanced down to inspect her handiwork. Apparently satisfied with it, a pretty red ribbon shimmered into being to tie off the end. She then casually tossed her braid over her shoulder and adjusted clothes that didn't need adjusting.

"But it isn't the only way, no," she finished.

"Well then, I'm ready when you—"

She took a step closer and spoke over his words. "I can't simply teach you every skill, like I said. But if we find something you can do, Aaron, it will hurt to bring it about. It will hurt a lot, more than you've ever experienced." Her gaze was intense, earnest. The sudden transition from her previous demure manner was abrupt enough to startle him. "Are you willing to accept that?"

Aaron swallowed. He didn't have to think about it long, or at all. "Yes. Of course."

She placed one hand on his chest, over his heart. Or over where his heart was supposed to be. It made Aaron's wince; there was a big fat baseball-shaped bruise right around there. "It might also destroy you, partially or completely. It depends on how well you can cope. Can you accept that as well?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Won't you get in trouble if that happens?"

She smiled mirthlessly. "I already am. I will face the consequences, when they come." Ming Xiu regarded him down from the very top of her nose, even if he was almost a full foot taller than her. She was once again the unflappable stateswoman that Aaron was much more used to. "And so will you."

Maybe waiting for the Unbound to show up wasn't that bad of an idea, a part of him suggested. A sad, cowardly part that deserved no parcel within his mind.

He clenched his fists and punched the thought in the nose.

"I'm ready."

That got another chuckle out of her.

"Oh, Aaron," she said with a small sigh, her tone dreadfully depressing. "I wish you were."

________

"That is idiotic," Aaron huffed out. He couldn't believe some of the ideas these people had. "A soul? Is that what you call it? You do realize that you are not answering a damn thing by doing that, right? You're just calling the unknown factor 'dark matter' and leaving it at that."

Jeb Habrim's face furrowed down into a mighty scowl at Aaron's contrariety. Say what you will, the man could frown.

"Moderns," he said, as if saying "children" or "idiots". "And atheist at that, so quick to scoff and sneer. Few others are as adamant about denying the nature of our existence."

"I'm not denying it, it's just that your answer doesn't explain anything!" As he said it, Aaron brought his fist down against the ledge of the wall he was leaning over, to emphasize his frustration. They stood at a parapet in the Crescent Complex, overlooking the coast-bound side of the inner ring of habitats. The view would have shown quite a few more rings, if the dome for the fin worms weren't obscuring everything behind it. Aaron didn't mind; it was peaceful to look at those enormous tubular bodies as they wriggled this way and that inside their medium. It was relaxing, like staring at an aquarium full of exotic fish.

Or it would have been relaxing, if he weren't presently fuming at his own incompetence. And now, somehow, their conversation on his repeated failure had devolved into a discussion on the nature of their very existence.

"You say that we are all souls now," Aaron carried on. "That we left our bodies behind and have reached the afterlife. I would be perfectly fine with that, if it wasn't just dogma without any actual answers behind—"

"You can call it energy, if it makes you feel safer," the man put into Aaron's sentence with unflinching calm.

It only served to exasperate him some more. "'Energy' is just another empty word without meaning in this context! 'Energy' is a measure of work capability, not a ... a catch-all cloud of wonders that magically holds a sentient being. I could say, 'Oh, I'm energy now, cheers for me,' but what does it mean? Do you see what I'm getting at here? How did we leave our bodies? How do we sustain thoughts and affect reality without them? Why does it even happen, and why does it happen the way it does, all willy-nilly? Can you answer even one of those?"

He knew that he was being unnecessarily belligerent, but he couldn't help it. After countless hours of tireless testing, he was at exactly the same spot that he had been at the start. Ming Xiu had methodically exposed him to dozens of "base frequency influences," that were supposed to resonate with any incipient ability on the verge of manifesting in him, or that he might be even slightly predisposed to pick up quickly. Distilling each one of those base influences took her a great deal of time and concentration, and then she would apply each one several times, going through a whole battery of different pitches and modulations, whatever the hell that meant. Apparently there was a huge body of Sentient Skills theory that had been researched and developed, with all sorts of scientific-sounding gobbledygook that constantly reminded him of Electromagnetism II. He doubted that he'd be applying Maxwell's equations to any of it, though.

He would have been utterly fascinated with the topic, in fact, if it hadn't turned out to be a source of endless frustration. Because not a damn thing, not a one, had stuck. He had sat there like an idiot, shrugging stupidly, negating with his head, saying "no. No. Don't feel anything. No." He strained and strove to feel whatever it was that he was supposed to feel, but he might as well have been trying to bite a gust of air.

Jeb had agreed to do the same as Ming Xiu had, with some specialized base frequency influences pertaining his own set of denizen-oriented skills—all with the same result. It had soured Aaron's disposition even more; all the pent-up desire to get something done felt like a bad case of mental constipation.

He was usually a fast learner, which made his ineptitude all the more galling. Never before in his life had he been so disappointed at having avoided indescribable, potentially fatal agony.

Jeb didn't think it was a big deal, but his gruff reassurances had done little to palliate Aaron's impotence. Knowing of how bent out of shape Aaron was about it was probably the only reason that he was indulging the impatient young man by discussing such a prickly topic. It didn't take much to get under Jeb's skin, even then.

"No, I cannot," was his solemn answer. "Not with reliable evidence, at least. But were you able to answer any of those types of questions before you came here? And I mean truly answering them, particularly the 'why' of the matter."

Aaron bit the of course off his tongue and paused to consider his answer before responding.

If he traced the "how" of How does life happen back to its most primal origins, he could only reach to the very beginning of the Universe. The Big Bang was proven to an extent beyond reasonable doubt, but whatever had led up to it was still a mystery, subject to a hundred different theories that were more philosophy than science.

The "why" was even murkier. Causality could be traced just as far, more or less, but why did things even exist in the first place? The whole matter-antimatter unbalance and quantum weirdness were hardly satisfactory as a credible explanation.

"That's different, though," he finally said. "I'm not asking in the deep sense of 'Who am I and why am I here?' but for a simple correlation of cause and effect. It used to be that I think because there's a network of neurons inside my head firing electrochemical impulses in complicated ways. There would be a massive infrastructure supporting all of it, with all sorts of very physical, very real input and output going on that could be detected and traced and measured. How does that become ... whatever it is that's happening now? Just talking about it boggles the mind. I shouldn't be able to talk about it, or think about it; none of it should be possible at all. The truth is that I shouldn't exist."

It felt weird to say it. As if the words were ready to prove themselves true. Maybe it was true. Maybe he didn't exist at—

Jeb didn't hesitate. His full-arm slap sent Aaron tumbling to the white floor of the wall. His belated attempt at intercepting it, while commendable, hadn't stood a chance.

After the burning sensation covering half his face subsided somewhat and his ears stopped ringing, he realized that Jeb was talking to him.

"—for you to thank me."

"What?" Aaron half moaned, still facing the ground. There was blood there, and his lip stung fiercely. The wound must have split open again.

"I said, I will be here, wondering how long will it take for you to thank me."

Aaron labored himself into a sitting position, poking and prodding at his jaw, tasting the blood with disgust. "Holy shit man, that hurt like hell."

Jeb continued looking at him in silence, a mighty Zeus judging him a foolish man from the Olympian heights of his hirsute invincibility.

Aaron gave him a sidelong look, feeling like a fool for bleeding all over the afterlife. "I did it again, didn't I," he said in a lip-less slur.

Jeb nodded, then offered a hand that contained in its girth lifetimes of hard work. Aaron took it.

"Thank you," he said after being hauled back to his feet.

Jeb leaned his crossed arms onto the wall, looking out at the habitats again. "You have to be more careful," he said after a brief pause. "Smart people like you are too smart to realize that they're stupid sometimes."

Sounds like something Falon would say.

Aaron kept rubbing his cheek as he took his place next to the man. He didn't feel smart at all. He felt even dumber now, rubbing a cheek that was not, feeling pain receptors that weren't. His bruises were almost gone, and they had faded unnaturally quickly, but that didn't mean much when he was aware that they shouldn't have existed in the first place.

"Yes, well," he said in a grumble. He would hold on to stubbornness, if nothing else. "My point still stands."

The man snorted. "Says the soul standing in front of me. Look, you can throw your old knowledge at it all you want. You can call it whatever you want, too. The fact is, you exist, here, now. Which means that at least some of the things you knew are obviously wrong, or at the very least incomplete."

Jeb kept quiet for a while, letting Aaron ruminate on it. He couldn't really argue with the logic, as much as he tried.

The gruff man started talking again a bit suddenly.

"I will tell you that Thousand Rivers is a poor place to seek that kind of knowledge. Ming Xiu detests even the mention of such topics, and I don't think Diego cares one bit one way or the other. You can't have a serious discussion with Falon, and although Rama might be willing to indulge you, she finds it ... " Jeb paused briefly, trying to find the appropriate word. "Distasteful. Arguments are likely to break out, sooner or later. Opinionated people abound, you see." If the man's expression hadn't been perfectly serious, Aaron would have thought that Jeb Habrim had just thrown a jab at him.

"When you are done here," Jeb continued, "you might want to travel to Tinkers' Grotto. You will feel right at home." After a hesitant pause, he added, "I am not trying to drive you away. We could use someone like you here."

Aaron couldn't stop himself from laughing bitterly. "Someone like me? You mean a useless lump of lead that can't even change his own underwear?"

Jeb shrugged, entirely unfazed. "Everything takes time."

"Time's what I don't have. They'll put out the call soon, and I'm still worthless, and I have no idea how I'm gonna make it to the Unbound in one piece, if half what Ming Xiu says is true. I feel ridiculous just talking about it."

Jeb's chuckle was like an avalanche in slow motion. "Time is all you've got," was all that he saw fit to respond.

They grew quiet after that, staring ahead in an uncommitted silence that was neither tense nor comfortable, born of the simple absence of anything else to say. Aaron remained immerse in thoughts that were grim laced with desperate.

In front of him, the fin worms lazily floated this way and that, unconcerned of the world around them.

________

"Holy crap."

He was doing it. He finally got it, and he was doing it.

Aaron burst out laughing, which made him lose his concentration and fall down on his ass.

"Ahahaha, yesssssss!" He laughed for a while longer, full of relief and triumph enough to numb the pain in his buttocks.

"Whoopee, Gretchen. You have now become slightly less useless, congratulations."

He wasn't going to let Stick-Girl ruin this moment. It had been such an incredible headache to figure it out—literally and figuratively. He knew he had it in him, if he tried hard enough.

The secret was to pull back and go as far and wide with his otherworldly senses as he could, taking stock of the big, big picture around him. Once he did that, visualizing the complex lattice he was immersed in went from "impossible" to "very difficult," and then all the way down to merely "complicated." Patterns became gradually easier to pick out; properties could be identified more readily as they skittered and intertwined with everything else. To touch what passed for gravity in this environment, he had to push aside viscosity, shimmy under opacity and skirt around density—and these were only the ones that he could (somehow) identify. He felt as if he was tangling with string theory, operating in a bajillion dimensions at once.

And once he got a hold of that spatial downward slant, it wasn't as much a question of pushing as it was of coaxing it into doing what he wanted it to do. What in Thousand Rivers was a clear vector that he could orient anywhere he pleased, here was an unwieldy, plastic entity with a mind of its own that seemed to fight his influence in unpredictable ways, like an animated glob of silly putty that would only stretch if asked with good manners.

Ming Xiu had been able to give him only general pointers, as her form of flight was done in a completely different way. As she experienced it, flight was a form of telekinesis where she pushed her own self in different directions—she hadn't put in terms nearly as crude, but that was how he had understood it. It had been all in his head, apparently, all those times that he thought he could almost see her gravitational influence on the space surrounding her. His way of doing it was a more complicated, more medium-dependent way—and there were other methods still, that went from strangely indirect such as tampering with densities, to downright silly like paddling with your legs very fast. He was pretty sure he was being duped with that last one.

There was something about his method that he greatly enjoyed. It was a very precise, tangible process. Something that he could reliably replicate and practice, and that was deeply connected to the bizarre physicality of this universe. He could sometimes glimpse the mountain of weird math behind it, and it was a comforting idea to wrap his mind around. Even in Upside-down-landia, there would be plenty of math to spare.

"Well, let's see ya do it again," Falon urged from her usual spot by the wall. She sounded supremely bored, but Aaron was pretty sure by now that it was mostly an act. The girl was more curious than a Siamese cat, and anything new or different would instantly pike her interest.

Aaron eventually composed himself and sat up. "Ain't no rest for the wicked, I guess," he puffed out as he got to his feet.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

Aaron blinked a few times, mildly surprised. "That's a saying in the afterlife, too?"

She shrugged. "Yer not the only one from your era to ever make it here, you know. Popular sayings spread, especially the ones that are appropriate for common situations in this existence. And I happen to have a thing for language, don't know if you've noticed—"

"Oh, not at all."

Falon ignored him. "—So I'm more likely than most people to know the more obscure ones." She gave him a lopsided smirk. "Now quit stallin' and get to work, peon."

"Work work," Aaron muttered in an Orcish voice, making her raise an eyebrow. Ming Xiu was right; the references were starting to get stale, always falling flat with these people.

Putting the matter out of his head, he reached out with his mind-tendrils, as he liked to think about them, to the bubble of space that enclosed him. This was the part where he knew he became somewhat misty and translucent, and he imagined that he was indeed spreading thin in a literal way in order to sense farther and deeper than he normally would. His terrible headache hadn't dissipated just yet, but it was no longer made any worse by the effort. He set to work on identifying and zeroing in on what he needed to tamper with, and even with the elation of having finally figured it out, still it bugged him tremendously, not really knowing how something like this was accomplished.

It must have been like that for the cave-men, he realized. They hadn't really known how they flexed their muscles or formed rudimentary thoughts. They'd just done it, unconcerned of the different tissues in action or the electrical impulses required. Why couldn't he be like that? Did it have to matter? Wasn't it enough to accept that it was possible, regardless of the mechanics behind it? Hell, the inner workings of the brain hadn't been fully understood even in modern days, and it had never rankled him any. Was this that much different?

Soon every question and concern flew out of his mind, as more and more concentration was required to wrestle the Pathways into letting him get off the ground. He lurched upward suddenly, almost unexpectedly, and then he made every effort to become stationary in mid-air. He managed after a few drifts and wobbles, with no small amount of satisfaction. It had been much easier than the first time.

"Woooooooo!" he conversed eloquently.

"We're all proud of you, Aaron." Falon's said, monumentally unimpressed. "I'm sure you can't wait for a treat and a pat on the head."

"My goodness, if I didn't know better," he started saying, but he'd begun drifting sideways and had to interrupt himself to regain his balance. He continued once he was more or less stable again. "I'd say you're jealous."

It got an honest laugh out of her. "Tshuure, sure I'm jealous." She clasped her hands together, then brought them to her cheek and looked at him adoringly. "How will I ever be as skilled as you are, oh Great Master of the Currents!"

"In your dr—whoa!" He lost his grip for a brief, panicky moment, then regained it and lurched back up. "Your dreams!"

"Stop goofing around already and start getting some serious practice, will ya? It can't be much longer 'til—"

It happened right then, exactly on cue, just like in the movies.

Falon's ears suddenly perked up in a conspicuously cat-like manner, and she turned her head toward some point beyond the Thousand Rivers platform. She listened for something that only she could feel.

With her characteristic speed she got up form her cross-legged position and glided more than ran to stand closer to the sentries, between Aaron and whatever was coming. Her stance was attentive, but relaxed. Aaron carefully returned to ground level, watching expectantly.

The creature appeared not long after, gliding around a bend at blinding speed, then flying under a slanted structure that spread out to become another plateau higher up.

It was ... well, it was beautiful. It was vaguely bird-like, with two long extremities at its sides that flowed and rippled like ethereal wings, and a head that mostly consisted of an elongated, curved beak. Its lower body was serpentine, with four or five different tails that swayed hypnotically, moving as if submerged underwater. Instead of ending in points, the tails widened and gradually faded into the medium, becoming a translucent mist halo that encircled the creature like a silvery peacock's train.

It drifted gracefully toward them, reducing its speed from insane to placid in hardly a second. It stopped a few meters before Falon's unconcerned stare, hovering in mid-air like a slow-motion hummingbird.

Everything about the creature was liquid and seamless, almost artful. Its pearly surface—it didn't look organic enough to qualify as skin—was smooth and glossy, like polished glass. Yet its constant movement conferred it a sense of elasticity, as if the glass was close to its melting point and supple enough to take any shape. Only one feature stood out in an otherwise unmarred surface: a glowing symbol, seared onto the left side of its wasp-like breast. A tumbled number eight that was an exact copy of the lemniscate Queg carried around like a badge of honor.

"Thousand Rivers kin," it spoke to Falon, respectful but visibly non-submissive. "Greetings from Skyward Rim."

Aaron knew that it was speaking, and understood it without effort. Its actual voice, though, was a complex melody, amazingly close to a string quartet whimsically improvising brief compositions on the spot. Its sound wasn't as crisp as a violin or as full as a cello, but it carried the same multi-tonal synergy, the same textured musicality.

"Well met, Risen," Falon responded, very official, very square-shouldered. "Your message shall be passed along."

It tilted forward in a bow of conformity.

"Preparations are complete," it sung, a town crier reciting the day's announcements. Its words strung together to form nuanced harmonies and jarring discordance alike. "It has been determined that an independent body of Daedal was responsible for the breeding and instigation of the recent writhen incursion launched against the Beacon. It has been declared that this group of individuals must be hunted down and severed. It has been declared that all writhen in existence must be destroyed. The call for able warriors has been pronounced.

"All volunteers must meet the following requirements: Level two martial training or equivalent destructive skill. Level three mediumborne travel or equivalent. Basic knowledge of cooperative combat."

There's levels now? Aaron thought, feeling way out of his depth as he listened to the weird melody-speech. Did I grow an experience bar when I wasn't looking?

The messenger kept on going. "All willing individuals are to gather at Amber Crest, where they shall be further briefed. Should not enough volunteers answer the call, a summary draft will be enacted.

"The Unbound urge all able individuals to join the fight, preserve our numbers and avenge the fallen. Those who prove their worth in this campaign will be held in consideration to become one of the Boundless."

The pretty glass-bird-thing shifted its stance, signaling that his message was concluded.

Falon nodded once. "Understood, Risen. You have accomplished your task at this location."

The creature made another elegant bow for her. "Unbound honor and guard you, mistress." It acknowledged Aaron's presence with the same courteous gesture, to which he waved back self-consciously. Then the Risen fluttered backward, turned, and flew off in a different direction, presumably on its way to the next minor realm in its itinerary.

The spindly girl watched it disappear around the nearest bend, then turned to face Aaron, who was fairly nonplussed by the brief encounter.

"Looks like your time just about ran out," she said, so close-mouthed that it was unbecoming.

Aaron was still trying to process what the sudden announcement meant, feeling both nervous and relieved. Go time had finally come around, so soon, after so long, and according to everybody he was woefully unprepared.

"How long do we have?" he asked between blinks.

"The call will endure until an appropriate force has been marshaled. How long that is depends on the size of the force. For something like this, it'll be ... twenty, thirty boundless, maybe, plus about three to four hundred able individuals and a large contingent of Risen to provide intelligence. This kind of thing doesn't happen often, y'know." Her seriousness lifted without warning, a broad smile taking up half her face. "And thanks to you, Ming Xiu gets to risk her neck to babysit you, while I get to stay behind and miss all the fun!" On closer inspection, there were more teeth than smile, and her eyes were far from amused.

Aaron fidgeted. "You ... aren't you coming?"

Definitely all teeth and no smile. "Yes, Aaron, I'll go and leave Thousand Rivers defenseless, so when we get back we can have even more fun looking at the ruins and mourning our friends."

Jeez, what's her problem all of a sudden.

He made an effort not to let her caustic tone get to him. "Isn't Diego and Jeb and Rama enough?"

She sniffed with disdain. "Under normal circumstances, it probably would be. We've been left alone for ages." She left out most of the sarcasm, coming across as only slightly condescending. "But with this whole purge going on, I'm worried that it might be a distraction to leave smaller targets vulnerable. You never know what might happen, especially with Daedal. They're known for plots within plots, the bastards."

"Of course. Those evil Daedal, I know all about that."

Her eyes narrowed. "You should know all about that, or be well on your way to learn it. It's you forgoing your education in favor of this idiotic plan to get even. I'd love to be there when the Unbound put you in your place."

Aaron took a moment to consider that idea. The possibility of a pissed off all-powerful being hadn't even occurred to him.

"What could they do to me?" he asked, careful not to betray the sudden knot in his gut.

"To you? Nothing worse than a lecture. They'll know you for the ignorant idiot you are." Her expression darkened. "But Ming Xiu. She could lose her privileges. She could lose her status as one of the best, if not the best instructor in all of existence. She could be declared unfit to teach and unfit to lead.

"You have no idea what you have asked of her. She's risking a lot for you, and it wouldn't surprise me one bit if you haven't given it even a passing thought. You're like a child bent on having his candy right now, and you don't care what happens to anybody as long as you get your way."

Falon hadn't moved, hadn't gotten in his face or jabbed fingers at his chest the way she usually would. Her voice had remained level and well under control, very matter-of-fact. The lack of theatrics delivered her words with a quiet intensity that enabled them to infiltrate his thoughts in a way that no yelling could have managed. They clung to him like tiny leaden weights, compounding to drag his resolve down into a dark pit of guilt.

"And she is honor-bound to indulge you," she continued in the same dreary inflection. "I honestly wouldn't give it a second thought to shutting you up and refusing to do a single thing before you are through with your education; it's not like she specified when she would help you. But Ming Xiu isn't like that, you see. She's special. She is honorable like no other and will follow through with her promises no matter the cost. And you are taking that amazing quality of hers and turning it against her. You are taking something good and you're ruining it."

She shook her head, her demeanor entirely devoid of anger. She appeared just ... sad. Disappointed.

"I hope it's worth it." Falon met his contrite stare. "I hope you get what you want."

Aaron felt like the biggest douchebag in the Universe by then, which was probably what Falon was aiming for. He might have been able to shrug off her comments before, with some effort and a lot of rationalization. But—and he was a little surprised to realize this just then—he had started to care about these people at some indefinite point in the past, for better or worse. The truth was that he had been nothing but a burden to everybody ever since he showed up, and, far from doing anything to lessen such burden, he had actively worked at becoming so heavy a load that he had single-handedly altered the course of everyone's life. Existence. He still had trouble with that.

But what else could he do? He had no other leads, no other options. What else could he possibly do?

He felt the urge to explain himself once more, to make her understand. "Falon—"

"Don't say a blighted thing." Her temper surged forth suddenly, clipping her words as if the emotion itself was feeding on them. "She told me not to be like this, but you don't deserve it. You don't deserve my restraint and you don't deserve her sympathy."

Her eyes burned with the flames of resentment, but they didn't bore into his skull the way he would expect them to. It was as if all that ire and frustration weren't directed at him—not entirely, at least. There was no hatred in her anger, not even enmity.

She made a visible effort to put it all back under control, reducing the bonfire to the embers of an impatient look. "I need to go find Ming Xiu and tell her about the call. I said I'd protect you, so just follow me and be quiet."

He was going to. He should have done exactly as he was told and just let it be. He even took the first hesitant step. She had every right to chastise him, and resent him for showing up and upending the status quo of their small community, getting their beloved leader tangled up in his impossible quest. The least he could do was to take her venting in obedient silence.

But it bugged him. Oh, how it bugged him, and not on account of all the berating or the acidic statements. He could handle those. But her tirade had managed to reach him in a way that he couldn't let stand. He had felt it, her acerbic truths starting to corrode the one bright nugget of light among all the bleakness ahead of him.

It wasn't right.

"No."

Her frown went from dissatisfied to dangerous. "No? What do you mean, 'no'? I gotta go in, and you're coming with me, and that's it."

"That's fine." His fists were clenched, and would normally have been drenched with sweat. He felt nervous in the way only a social confrontation could make him feel. "What I mean is that you don't get to judge me like this. You don't get to turn my good thing into something to be ashamed of."

"I get to do whatever—"

Aaron spoke over her rebuke, and for once his voice prevailed over hers. "Do you think I'm happy to twist her arm? Do you think I enjoy behaving like an asshole? Ming Xiu is all I've got. I know I'm taking advantage of her, and of you, and of everybody I can, and I am really sorry for that—I truly, sincerely am sorry. You guys have been nothing but helpful. But that doesn't change the fact that I'll do anything to find out what happened to Alexandra, and if there's the faintest, tiniest chance that I might find her again, I'm going to go all in after it."

He knew there must have been a better way to put it, but those were the words that came out of his mouth. They would have to do.

"I'm not trying to screw anyone over. But I care about my wife as much as you could care about anything, and you don't get a say on what's more important to me. I just want to find her, it's all I want. You can hate me for it if you want, but I'm not letting you take it away from me."

Aaron was breathing heavily by the time he got to the end. He felt a hodgepodge of conflicting emotions as he plowed ahead: bashfulness, anger, remorse, self-consciousness, pride. He mostly wanted to get along with everybody, and a big part of him was already regretting having spoken up. What was the point of having a confrontation? It made no difference. He should have let her say her peace and leave it at that.

A different part of him felt mighty proud of standing up for what he believed in. And maybe she would understand, just a little. Maybe she'd stop being so mad. It was very upsetting to him, to have one of the few people he knew in all of existence be so mad because of something he'd done.

And the rest of him, the part that was exhausted and couldn't give a shit anymore, wanted to give Falon Trestail the bird and tell her to go fuck herself.

Contrary to what he had feared, Falon didn't explode in his face for being so insolent. She didn't go livid with dismay, or shake with hardly contained fury as she subjected him to a scathing verbal smackdown. She didn't even punch him.

She simply continued to stare at him impassively for a little while after he was done. She breathed out through her nose, once, her nostrils only slightly flared. Then she tilted her head toward the Thousand Rivers interface.

"Let's go, Gretchen," she said. She was stern, but not particularly irate.

Neither of them said anything else, and so they traveled in silence into the realm.

________

Aaron felt like Luke Skywalker, pulling the sinking ship out of the marsh one centimeter at a time.

Granted, it was just a pebble, and not an X-Wing. And he wasn't hand standing with Yoda on one foot or anything like that; he just sat on the floor. Wait, wasn't there a scene earlier where Luke lifted actual rocks? Didn't Luke fail to get the ship out of the water? It'd been too long since he watched Star Wars.

The important part was that the tiny rock at about arm's length in front of him was floating, floating steadily up, and he wasn't touching it with any part of his immediate anatomy.

Alright, it wasn't floating steadily up, either. It accelerated upward through the small pocket where he was exerting his influence, then went back down as soon as it left the altered zone, and back up again, and down, and up, oscillating between the two opposite pulls of gravity.

So he was touching it, in a way. Not with the awesome, grab-with-your-mind telekinesis that he wished he was capable of, but with a much more complicated alteration of the local spatial properties around the pebble. He'd already given it a name, because it made him feel that much cooler: he was using a customized gravity bubble for the purpose of levitating an extra-corporeal object.

"Let us test your concentration," Diego Hidalgo Santana said, right before a slightly bigger pebble took off from the ground and darted toward Aaron's forehead.

"Wah!"

He didn't even consider an alternate approach. He dodged to one side, tumbled awkwardly in his cross-legged position, and let his own pebble fall onto the surface of the walled-in dojo within the Crescent Complex where he'd gotten his ass kicked so many times by Falon Trestail. His pebble hit the tiled, pristine white stone floor at about the same time the projectile clacked against the wall behind him.

Diego frowned with his lips. He lounged a short ways in front of Aaron, on a stone bench of his own improvised making. Clad in his white-and-gold magician's robe, he looked every bit the hedonist Roman.

"You were supposed to catch it and hold it," he said while tapping his own forehead with his index finger, a slightly haughty quirk to his tone.

"Sorry, sorry. I panicked." Aaron readjusted himself into what he supposed was a Lotus pose, although he probably didn't get the leg position right. It helped get his Zen on, somewhat. "Try again?"

Diego sighed audibly. He had wanted nothing to do with Aaron's mess, at first. He'd made his opinion on it clear, too; while not as carelessly insulting as Falon, the man could be fairly intimidating with a scowl. Ming Xiu hadn't been worried to begin with, but as time wore on and Aaron proved ludicrously incompetent in every area that she could think of, she had grown more and more restless about his abysmal lack of preparedness—especially after she learned of the call having been put out. Somehow she had finally convinced the man to lend a hand, after (reportedly) her mention of several past favors and slights. Also reportedly, Diego's reticent help had made the score between him and Ming Xiu even, whatever that meant.

"Reach out to the weave, and pay attention for any changes," the tall, dark, handsome and annoyed man said. "Try to sense it before you see anything move."

Aaron did as he was told. He immediately felt a ripple close ahead and to his right, altering a tiny sphere around yet another pebble. The small rock shot up as a result. Another ripple in the space straight ahead of its path, and the pebble stopped in mid-air as soon as it reached the spot. A third wave of change, and the pebble became a slingshot careening toward Aaron's face.

He'd been waiting for it this time. Instead of a panicked dodge, Aaron attempted a panicked catch. He frantically fondled that downward slant all around him that determined the default gravitational pull, and modified it to point directly away from him, doing it in the exact same way in which he had been doing it all this time. Except, instead of applying it to the space that enclosed him—which was what every impulse in him wanted to do—he wrestled his focus to confine the change inside a roughly cylindrical area in front of his head that intercepted the trajectory of the evil pebble of death.

But Diego wanted a catch, not a slowdown, reflection or deflection. The man had grilled him endlessly about control, control, control. The pebble entered Aaron's dampening cylinder, sinking into it as if it had transitioned from air to water, to honey, to tar. Before it could turn around and pick up speed in the opposite direction, Aaron neutered the gravitational pull in the small area. He had wanted to time it just right, so that the change happened exactly when all momentum left the rock, but he was slightly off, and the pebble slowly drifted backward within his zone of influence. He made the teensiest, briefest adjustment, and the former projectile was made to innocuously rotate in place, like a miniature space-bound asteroid.

This is the most awesome thing ever!

He was so absorbed by it that he didn't notice the next pebble until it clipped him on the side of the head with a loud puk.

"Gah!" His concentration flew out the window again, and with it his mental grip on esoteric spatial properties, which let the area around the first pebble revert to its de facto downward pull.

(He thought about it as a pull mostly out of habit; it was really a push, in this weird reality. Or more specifically like a malleable vector, indicating the direction of some quasi-magnetic field that permeated any given medium and pushed every object within it along its lines. Sort of like ... gravity? A kind of elastic gravity that didn't depend on mass, but was embedded in the weave of space itself.)

(He'd had a hard time defining exactly what he was dealing with.)

"You cannot put all of your concentration on one event. You must learn to split your mental resources between many objects at once, remaining aware of your surroundings at all times."

Diego's smile was more amused than irked. The Spaniard was starting to enjoy their training session a little too much.

"I'm just starting," Aaron complained. "I wasn't able to control even one thing some thirty minutes ago, and you're already asking me to stop bullets from multiple directions?"

"We are in a hurry, are we not?" Diego looked around innocently as if consulting an invisible audience, then focused his searching gaze on Ming Xiu, who was quietly overseeing their progress while standing at the edge of the circular dojo. She was always somewhere nearby, nowadays.

"Indeed we are," was all she said. There was no amusement in her voice.

"I just don't get it," Aaron carried on, hoping to extend the break from all the mental strain, at least for a little while. "Do you know how many times I've tried to do something like this? Why can I make it happen now? I don't feel any different."

Diego let a long-suffering groan escape his throat, and looked pleadingly at Ming Xiu. "Must he go on with the fastidious questions?" he asked while gesturing in Aaron's general direction, using an impatient voice that was only half-joking.

You're being kind of a prick about this, Aaron imagined himself saying. He wasn't the type of guy that would say stuff like that out loud, though. So he limited himself to a raised, are-you-for-real eyebrow.

Ming Xiu begun stepping closer, a tired smile managing to crack her stern exterior. "Aaron feels the pathological need to know every detail of every detail that he learns, my dear friend."

"Oh, come on, that's hardly fair!" Aaron objected, standing up so he wouldn't have to keep craning his neck. "I've swallowed, like, a million questions since I got here!"

"Mist preserve us, he's been holding back?" Diego's surprise looked one hundred percent genuine. The jackass.

"Oh, come on!" Aaron repeated. He wasn't nearly that bad. Was he? And why did everyone feel so compelled to make fun of him all the time?

Ming Xiu's slow walk had reached Diego's side. She rested a hand on his shoulder as she spoke.

"I think this one question is important. It touches the root of all your ... " she paused, searching for the right word. "I would rather not say shortcomings, or problems, as in fact you are doing no worse than so many other beginners."

Santana coughed out a one-syllable chuckle. Aaron got the impression that Ming Xiu would have smacked him across the head, if it hadn't been such an undignified thing to do. She simply ignored him and continued.

"The root of your narrow progress, shall we say. The reason why time is so important in this process, for you, and for everyone. It is a question I can easily answer, but I anticipate it's an answer that you will not accept just as easily."

There's always so much beating around the bush with this woman!

"So ... " Aaron said, dragging out the S. "Why is it, then?"

Ming Xiu smiled in the lopsided, high-eyebrow way in which she normally would when anticipating a skeptical response. "In short? You couldn't do it before because you didn't know that you could."

After a little while of moronic staring, Aaron realized that she was done answering.

Well, she did indeed have the right smile on. Aaron would be loathe to disappoint. "Um. How does that matter? Something either can be done, or cannot be done. And I tried doing this exact same thing, since I didn't see any reason why I couldn't touch gravity around other things, other than myself. But it never worked! And now it does? Because of the amazing power of belief?"

"I'm oversimplifying," she said with a wave of her hand, stepping around the bench to engage him more directly. "You said that you don't feel any different, but you will find that this is not entirely true. I could sense the subtle change in you myself, as you listened to Diego." The man nodded behind her, in silent agreement. "I would normally let you discover the spark on your own, without pointing it out for you—it is a beautiful thing, a feeling that will remain with you forever." There was fondness in her expression, perhaps as she reminisced on her own experiences, or on those of her previous pupils. "It is not always that one becomes consciously aware of it right away; you must have been right on the brink of embracing it, for you not to even notice. Some stubborn part of your subconscious finally caved in, and admitted that it should be possible for you to do what you are doing."

Egh. To Aaron, what she was saying sounded like some vacuous idiocy straight out of a self-help book. "Believe in YOURSELF, and everything is POSSIBLE! Unlock the UNTOLD power of your MIND!! You are a PRECIOUS and UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE!!!" The truly embarrassing part was that he was starting to feel inclined to agree with all of it.

Maybe that's why Aaron was still frowning. "I'm sorry, I can't see how it makes any sense," he said, even thought there was a silly part of him that sort of did see it. "I assumed Diego had done something, like what you tried to do with that base frequency stuff. I was being sarcastic with the whole belief thing, you know."

She was shaking her head goodnaturedly. "Belief is what moves all of us, Aaron. Belief shapes who we are, what we stand for, everything we do." Ming Xiu stepped closer to lay a hand on his arm. "If you learn no other lesson, learn this: there is a vital difference between knowing something," she tapped her own temple lightly, with index and middle finger. "And knowing something." She thumped Aaron's chest twice, verb and noun, hitting him harmlessly with the ball of her palm in a way that resonated against his whole ribcage.

He blinked a few times, looking from her outstretched hand to her face and back. "Are you sure you're not a Dresden fan?" he asked with almost genuine suspicion. He was never going to drop the references, if he kept getting fed lines like that.

Ming Xiu rolled her eyes and almost said something, but she never got to respond. Because just then, Aaron felt the almost imperceptible tingle that with all probability meant the immediate end of preparations. It must have been a clear signal for Ming Xiu, because she immediately lifted her eyes to look toward the realm entrance.

"Queg has come back," she informed him, perhaps assuming that he was not yet capable of sensing his arrival. The change in her demeanor was immediate, going back to her tense, urgent self. Her brow was knit with worry. "You haven't had enough time. So much of you still dwells on all the trappings of life. It will be so for much longer still—"

"I could try to stop breathing if you want," Aaron helpfully put in.

"It's not like that." She either missed or ignored the sarcasm. "Many of us still sigh, sniff, snort and take deep breaths, myself included. We still whisper, still cry and tremble. It's built into the way we express ourselves, and you will never find the need to do away with it. What I speak of is entirely different."

Her fingertips dug into his triceps. "I must ask you one more time to reconsider, Aaron, for your safety. There will be other chances to seek the Unbound, eventually. What difference does it make, to learn of Alexandra's fate now, instead of later? Why press on so brazenly? Don't you see you are marching naked into a war zone?"

"Aw, come on, Ming Xiu." He was one part impatient and three parts understanding of her insistence. He had asked himself as much, in moments of doubt and frustration.

Every time he had concluded that, contrary to what everybody else thought, he wasn't standing at a crossroads at all. There was only one possible path ahead of him, one choice, and it was a choice that had been made for him by the unwavering stranglehold of fear and longing that clutched his heart and clenched his guts into knots. They all constantly lectured him about time, but it was time that was making everything steadily, inexorably worse. Every second that passed was fed to a furnace inside of him, fueling his anxiety, stoking his anger. So many hours had been spent as fuel that by now that furnace churned with the heat of a dying star.

It burned and roiled beneath the surface, kept at bay with varying amounts of effort. It flared up sometimes, resulting in a less-than-kind word, a less-than-friendly look that he immediately regretted. A sudden violent impulse, suppressed with equal parts worry and dismay.

And it made the thought of waiting simply unbearable. A wretched negligence, a despicable betrayal. He knew that some of that was irrational, but the knowledge did not diminish the feeling in any way.

"You know exactly why," he said quietly, conscious of Diego's presence. Some of that unquenchable fire seeped through, making his words hiss and crackle. "What if you were in my place? What if you'd learned that there's finally answers to whatever happened to—"

"Say no more." Ming Xiu let go of his arm and put a hand out to emphasize her plea. She had averted her gaze and closed her eyes, looking as pained as if he'd just slapped her in the face. "I understand. I'll do my best to protect you." She shook her head and sighed through her nose. "I shouldn't have told you. You shouldn't be able to make me feel this way."

Way to be an asshole, Aaron.

"I-I didn't mean to—"

She gestured with the same hand again for him to remain quiet. "It's not your fault. You may be the reason, but it is not your fault. I am grateful, in a way."

Ming Xiu might have expanded upon that, but Queg was already there, just then landing behind a still lounging Santana that wore a deep, pensive frown as he observed their exchange.

"Landing" was a loose approximation, since the former Remoran never touched the floor. It was amazing how fast he could go: he had sped from the realm interface to their current location in hardly a minute, a steadily growing dot in the sky that had in no time become the personable tentacle monster before them. He was hovering in the outskirts of the conversation, having smoothly come to a stop after a particularly bright burst of his weird-ass gravity gland.

He got there faster, even, than the floating guardians charged with warning the Steward of new arrivals. Some alarm system. The dull, rock-solid jellyfish drifted close behind Queg, went over to float in front of Diego, and produced a slightly distorted image of the Risen blowing past the entrance. Diego nodded and dismissed the creature with a wave of his hand. The thing took off in the direction it had come without any further interaction; Aaron might have imagined the haughty eyeless glare it directed at the impudent intruder.

The process by which they created such images or even perceived the world around them remained a complete mystery to him. He had begun to suspect that none of the others knew much about it, either.

Not even one second later, Falon zoomed into view. It was pretty cool, how Aaron had sensed the shift in her location before he actually saw her in the conventional way. She traveled on foot only in the strictest sense of the word, moving at a speed that could have painted the Flash green with envy. She slowed down at the last minute and took her place close to Ming Xiu, leaving a whirlwind of mist in her wake. She was clad in a bright red blouse and shorts, and barefoot, for some reason—but then again, why the hell not. She nodded a greeting at the woman beside her and proceeded to stare at Queg expectantly.

Jeb was moving as well, quickly closing the distance from whichever habitat he happened to be at. He landed shortly after with a ponderous jog before stopping completely. It was no surprise to see him wearing the same unassuming farmstead clothes that he always wore. He nodded a greeting to everyone present and stood near the edge of the circular training ground, hands grabbing the front of his open vest in the most stereotypical way possible.

Only Rama did not seem all that interested; Aaron couldn't get the faintest whiff of her undercurrent. She must have been busy tending to some creature or another, as usual, and she simply couldn't be bothered with the goings on of the outside world.

"I am pleased to find you well, Queg," Ming Xiu finally addressed the newcomer, once everybody had arrived. Aaron noticed that he looked uncharacteristically agitated. "What news do you bring us?"

Queg chromatized, bleeped and hummed quickly and concisely, a pent up report that he'd been no doubt playing over and over in his head. "The purge force has mobilized. Individuals and loyals will strike simultaneously at known writhen dens: Spire Seven, Seventeen, Twenty-three and Twenty-eight; Twins Three and Five; Canyon Four and Broken Peak Two. Forces bound for Spire Seventeen and Broken Peak are escorted by two Boundless each, as limited Daedal presence is anticipated. The Unbound leads a group of fifteen Boundless into Spire Six, where the Daedal rebel faction has been traced to by my brethren. Three complete synergies of individuals and a large contingent of loyals follow close behind."

Ming Xiu glanced in Aaron's direction and answered right away the questions that he would have asked at the earliest convenience, her every word spoken quickly and business-like. "Only realms claimed by Sentient races are named, along with a few others. Most exclusively denizen-populated realms are denoted by their region and assigned number. A complete synergy is a group of Humans that have been trained to compliment one another in cooperative combat, each one of them proficient with a definite set of skills." She returned her attention to Queg. "What are the names of the Boundless headed into Spire Six?"

Queg rattled them off without the briefest pause. "Frederick Hanz, Mwita Kunabe, Chang Gaonami, River Tam, Juan—"

"Hah! There's no way that's her real name!" Aaron blurted out, a delighted, open-jawed grin on his face. Everyone's attention landed on him, making him feel like a loud-mouthed dumb-ass. All the anger in the world couldn't stop him from making the most inane comments now and then, it seemed.

"We are free to take whichever name we wish, Aaron," Ming Xiu told him with growing impatience. "Now be quiet." She gestured for Queg to proceed.

The Risen carried on as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. "Carlos Maldonado, Yuri Zharkiev, Nayani Iroko, Patrice Lefevre, Meliwaze Muru, Lin Zhu Huang, Xinyin Lee, Audrey Despana, Alexander Heimlich, Daniel Muñoz Ramos, Victoria The Lancer."

What?

He took care to hold in his comments this time. Because Ming Xiu's expression had grown darker and darker with every name. She obviously knew every last one of those people, and every last one of them was news she did not want to hear.

"Did it come down to a draft?" She asked in a voice grinding with the gears that turned beneath it.

"No. All volunteers."

"Of course." They were too few words to contain all the acid that she put in them, so it was no surprise that some of it spilled. Ming Xiu muttered something to herself after that, but Aaron didn't quite catch it. Or didn't think that he caught it, because he could have sworn that she had called Marion Baterich a blighted stupid dog vomit gravel gobbler, which was terribly unbecoming of her and hardly made much sense at all.

"Empty skies," Falon said. She was frowning, puzzled. "I didn't think writhen or the Daedal were that much of a problem. And Chae Sun wasn't that popular."

"It's a show of force," Jeb said. "We haven't been attacked like this for many portents. The Unbound want to make an example out of those bastards."

"But fifteen ancients, though?" Falon wasn't letting it go. "It's already overkill with the Unbound alone. I can't even think of any other time when—"

"It is of no consequence," Ming Xiu had already managed to go from pissed off to a resigned can-do. "It is possible that the Unbound requested their attendance, or perhaps Yuri contacted them: he was extremely distraught over Chae Sun's demise. It is well that we avoided the gathering at Amber Crest; their presence would have been an insurmountable obstacle for you, Aaron."

Not sure whether he was still supposed to keep quiet, Aaron limited himself to raising his eyebrows at her.

"They would have discredited me right then and there for bringing you in," she explained. "They're some of the few with the power and authority to see it done, and they could do it without ever involving the Unbound. They would have assigned you to a different realm shortly after."

"I do not know if they would be wrong to do so, Ming Xiu."

Diego's words quietly drifted into the conversation, cutting through it with their sharp, sheer edges. They lingered in silent suspension, tangible ghosts thickening the space that contained them.

Diego had sat up and was looking at them through his eyebrows, as if over the rim of invisible glasses. He looked defeated, dejected.

"I have no quarrel with you, Aaron, personally. You do what you feel you must. But I feel like you have gone mad, Ming Xiu. What do you plan? To go up to the Unbound for a conversation while in the midst of a war?"

"I wish I could say." Only some of her previous ire remained. If she had taken any offense from his interruption, she did not show it. "I have every hope that an opportunity will present itself."

Wow, wait, that's the whole plan?

Echoing Aaron's thoughts, Diego lifted his hands and let them flop down on his thighs, as if to say, well, there you have it. "And why go to so much trouble to carry him with you? Does he trust you so little, that he must speak to the Unbound himself?"

Ming Xiu shook her head at that, with the air of someone who knows exactly what she's talking about. "I believe it has nothing to do with trust." She turned to address him directly. "Aaron. Would you be satisfied if I were to relay to you whatever information I learn from an audience with the Unbound?"

He'd thought about that one before. Maybe Ming Xiu would find out where they could look for Alexandra next, and they would carry on without a hitch, but he thought that unlikely. There was too much weird stuff going on. He had pictured it in his head: he would be told by a third party of his wife's death, while her murderer went unchallenged. Perhaps he would be lied to by proxy, and never confront the source of all answers directly. He would always wonder, and never let it go.

If he were a detective, letting Ming Xiu be his go-between would be one shoddy way to conduct his investigation.

"No," was all he responded.

Ming Xiu expected as much. She seemed to get it, wholeheartedly. Diego, not so much.

"And of course, satisfying Aaron is all that matters. Because you are clearly indebted to him so." The man could rock sarcasm with the best of them. After a few seconds of staring, he briefly shook his head and gave a monumentally annoyed sigh, visibly at the end of his rope. "If you truly must do this, why not seek out the Unbound by yourself, then talk them into meeting with him? They have no reason to refuse you."

Ming Xiu negated with her head, holding Diego's gaze. "That is not an option."

She didn't care to elaborate. Aaron figured that there was something else implied in her silence that Diego was supposed to pick up, but apparently he was wrong.

"And that's it?" The man said, his shoulders hunched down under a metric ton of frustration. "Why are you risking so much at this man's whim? Is what we have built here worth so little to you? Your reputation, everything you have accomplished? For what gain? All you are going to achieve is to get him scattered! Blighted void, Ming Xiu, help me understand!"

Aaron listened in distant silence as Diego spoke, watching the scene unfold as if he had no part in it.

He was well aware that this was his cue. A rift was splitting apart this tight-knit community, and he was smack in the middle of it, like a wedge boring down into an ever increasing chasm. He recognized the situation as the time when a noble man would sacrifice his selfish goals for the good of his peers.

Because what was his goal, if not selfish? He no longer pursued an urgent search for the woman he loved, a woman that might be lost and in need of help. He still refused to accept that she was completely gone, but he'd had plenty of time to realize that, at best, Alex would be in exile, or in hiding, and had been for a long time. She would have learned to cope with his absence by now—like Ming Xiu, finding other things to care about, other worthy goals to accomplish. The hidden message she'd left for him was nothing like "I am here, please come find me." It had a terrible finality to it; a heartfelt farewell, the epitaph that would lead a distraught husband to the sour comfort of closure.

Was it that much of a sacrifice, then, to let go of that relentless, all-consuming drive to resolve this issue as quickly as possible? Wasn't he just fooling himself, and all he really wanted was to be done, one way or the other? To, at the very, very least, have someone he could blame?

The impulse to do the right thing by these people was there, ready to escape his lips. You are right, he would say. You are all right, this is foolish, and I've been a jerk. I will wait, and I will hope. There is no need for you to fight over it.

And then the impulse was gone, fleeting, feeble. A shallow cut to his resolve, a wound easily healed; a droplet of water tossed into that raging, time-fed furnace that could only be quenched with answers. He had said that he would do anything. That he cared about nothing else. Funny, how it was easier to say these things than to see them through to their last consequences.

She's worth it. Even if she's just a memory now, she deserves this and more.

Aaron kept silent.

"I made a promise," Ming Xiu told Santana. It was probably not the first time she'd told him. "What we are attempting is difficult, and we might need luck on our side. But it is not impossible. And since it's possible, we must give it a chance."

She got a few steps closer to him. "We must depart immediately, old friend." She extended a hand toward him, a small offer of peace. "I would rather not leave you in these terms."

He watched her, still shaking his head in disbelief. He made no effort to meet her hand.

Come on, man, don't leave her hangin' like that.

"This is ridiculous." Diego stood up, and as soon as he did the bench he had been sitting on morphed like some sort of viscous transformer into a stone disk—legs bending at an invisible hinge and folding into the seat, white rock spreading out and becoming thinner to adopt a circular shape. He took a step back to get on it, stern eyes fixed on Ming Xiu. "You are making a mistake."

He broke eye contact, looked toward some far off destination, and headed for it, taking off seamlessly. Soon he had left the courtyard behind.

Ming Xiu's hand dropped to her side.

"I know," she quietly told the shrinking figure. "I am human, after all."

The silence that followed threatened to choke Aaron where he stood. He scrambled for something comforting or grateful to say that wouldn't sound corny or fake or stupid, but he couldn't think of anything.

He looked at the others, surveying their disposition. Both Jeb and Falon were still watching Diego's diminishing frame—he was headed for one of the islands. Probably they were trying to figure out whether they should react similarly. Queg's attention seemed to be on Aaron, though. Maybe. It was hard to tell. Aaron tried to share a complicit look with him. This is awkward.

At first it looked like Queg wasn't paying attention after all, but soon a bunch of his nodes lit up noiselessly. I know.

"Just so you know," Falon mercifully chimed in shortly after, "I agree with everything he says."

Ming Xiu turned to look at her.

The long-legged girl closed in one step the distance between the two women. "But I'm not gonna throw a fit about it," she concluded. It wrested a smile out Ming Xiu's pursed lips, and they came together in the embrace of two life-long friends saying good-bye.

It happened naturally, without the common spread-of-the-arms, wait-for-a-reaction false starts, no judging of proper distances, no self-conscious pats or premature pull-aways. In a different situation it would have been comical, to see the tall redhead hunch herself short enough so she could give Ming Xiu a non-cradling, peer-to-peer hug. But Aaron could only feel relief at not having tarnished yet another relationship. Once more it seemed like something else passed between them beyond simple physical contact, just like when Ming Xiu's former pupils had tackled her at the Beacon.

"Make sure to come back soon, sifu," Falon said after they pulled apart, her heart in her voice. "Thousand Rivers will be waiting for you. I'll make sure of it." She looked over her shoulder at Aaron, a crooked smirk making her cheek stand out. "But if you lose Gretchen along the way, well ... there'll be time to mourn that terrible, terrible tragedy, once you're back."

"I'm sure you'll be all broken up about it," Aaron said.

She nodded earnestly. "It would be terrible. I might cry and everything."

"And nobody wants that."

"Nobody."

"Enough, you two," Ming Xiu said at the end of a sigh. "One thing I won't miss is your constant bickering."

"She starts all of them!" Aaron protested, in a very manly manner and not in a high-octave, whiny voice at all.

Falon snorted, and mimicked his tone. "Because you do all the stupid things that deserve it!"

Ming Xiu shot her signature pissed-off-mom glare at both of them in turn until they were ruefully looking at the ground, properly chastised.

Then she looked in Jeb's direction, and they exchanged a long, silent stare that was borderline melodramatic.

Ming Xiu blinked first. "What will it be, then?" she said.

Jeb kept quiet for a while longer, expression inscrutable behind his lush facial mane. Then he gave a solemn nod in their general direction.

"Remain vigilant, and may your steps cast a shadow."

Gandalf had spoken. Or maybe Gimli. The man didn't look nearly old enough for Gandalf. And the beard sure was more dwarven than wizard-y.

A sizable amount of tension went out of Ming Xiu. "That is what we are hoping for. Please tell Rama that I look forward to seeing the results of her project, and not to feel bad to have missed my departure. I have no doubt that the four of you will take care of our home during my absence."

Another circumspect nod. The man was full of them.

"We have taken too long already, it is time we move on. Queg, Aaron." She watched her Risen as he silently hovered the distance to float by her side, then waited for Aaron to do the same, sans the floating. Once they were arranged in a neat formation behind her, Ming Xiu gave one last look at the people she cared about. She had the air of someone who wanted to sigh deeply and mope her way through a long good-bye speech, but wouldn't, because that's not what leaders do.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and softly touched index and middle finger to her heart. "Farewell."

They mirrored her gesture, Jeb with his usual conviction, Falon with undisguised worry. Aaron figured why the hell not and did it as well. Nobody complained about it or looked at him weird.

Ming Xiu started to walk toward the arched break in the wall that led to the road in front of the innermost ring of habitats, and he started to follow, trailing behind Queg. Apparently it was considered rude to just fly off without stepping away first. Leave it to pointless etiquette to emerge spontaneously for all aspects of existence.

"Hey," Falon called out. Aaron turned around to see one of her almost-baseballs come into being in her hand. The stitching was a bit off and the ball was a little too perfectly spherical—she'd never handled the real thing, after all—but they sure hurt just as much when thrown toward your face at full arm-swing speed.

"Good luck." She tossed the ball underhand.

Aaron went to catch it, taking a reflexive step back. His hand closed around it, but his foot landed lopsided on uneven footing and he was forced to take a series of quick back-steps to keep his balance. Getting mediumborne didn't even occur to him.

He looked at what had made him trip, miraculously still holding on to the ball. The little chunks of white rock that Diego had sheared here and there to make his bench-turned-transport had gone with him, leaving behind a few uneven surfaces and shallow potholes. He had stumbled on one of them.

How very symbolic, Aaron thought.

The baseball dissolved while still in his hand, curls of mist drifting through his fingers.

________

The region's namesake was in display before Aaron's eyes, and there was no doubt as to why they had called this region "Spire." The Pathways had outdone themselves yet again.

It was exactly what it said on the tin: a huge spire, made of the same fleshy stuff that made up everything else. Huge didn't even scratch the surface, really, because what made it awe-inspiring above all other sights he'd seen so far was the ridiculous scale. It was massive, massive, easily five hundred meters in diameter, and the Pathways opened up all around it, leaving this humongous column in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. It twisted on itself like a piece of liquorice, going up, up, up beyond his eyesight, down and down and down with no discernible bottom. There were holes on its surface, some of them elephant-large, airliner-large, leading into tunnels that presumably networked its core. They detracted nothing from the sheer solidity of the structure.

Apparently there were amazing, unique features like this one scattered all over the Pathways, and every region was named after its local wonder. They were a boon for navigation: while the shifting nature of the labyrinthine realm-of-realms meant that particular paths and tunnels might change from time to time, and borders between regions were blurry by necessity, the location of regional namesakes would stay mostly the same for hundreds of portents. There was also an overabundance of terminals, and Queg had checked one just before entering the area.

"Before you ask," Ming Xiu said, "it does have a bottom, and it does end at a tip. Many, many kilometers higher up."

The question had been at the tip of Aaron's tongue. "Are we going inside it?" he asked, mostly out of spite.

"No. Spire Six is across, farther ahead. Queg?"

"That tunnel, left and down." Queg was pointing with one of his tentacles. The other side was so far away that he might as well have been pointing at his own butthole, for all the help that it was.

"Lead the way," Ming Xiu commanded, apparently satisfied.

They had come into the Spire clearing after what must have been hours of high-speed travel, taking about twice as long as the trip from Thousand Rivers to the Beacon. They'd started out in roughly the same direction as before, but there had been so many twists and turns that soon Aaron lost all hope of keeping track of where they were going. He couldn't fathom how he could ever get to navigate this insane maze by himself.

He had tried to travel without help, but it became obvious early on that his unpracticed jumps and jolts could not hope to keep up with Queg and Ming Xiu's ludicrous speed. They were back on her stylish, faux-glass transport, poking out of one of the countless paths that opened up into the enormous clearing, where she had allowed for a minute or two of Aaron's gawking.

The area around the Spire—he felt the need to capitalize it in his head, it was so imposing—was as if it had been carved by an enormous explosion with the Spire at its center, with a bit of a horizontal bias that made its shape look less like a sphere and more like a hole-less doughnut. Floor and ceiling curved down and up respectively as they approached the Spire, funneling around it and out of view in asymptotic progression. The gigantic column surrounded by such a curious layout of empty space made him think of the plumes of superheated matter escaping through the poles of a black hole.

Queg ventured farther in, and the transport followed. It was soon after that Aaron first noticed the travelers.

He saw the big ones first, and his mind scrambled to cope with the bizarre sights by attaching familiar nouns to each species, according to the closest approximation that it could come up with. There was a herd of wingless, eight-legged dragons trudging down a slope. Those airliner-ready tunnels weren't just for show, as demonstrated by the Zerg Overlord making its way toward the entrance of one, grazing the floor of the tunnel with a myriad tiny legs that hanged down from a bloated mass of floating carapace. The multiple giant albino mantis with spiny fins and long bat wings sure enjoyed ignoring the square-cube law as they lazily circled around the Spire.

Smaller ones came into view as well, mostly traveling in groups. A bank of bluish eel creatures snaked forth, straight down toward the lower funnel. A small crowd of squat figures, colored rocky shades of grey, gathered on the bottom layer, close to the Spire. Two man-sized, membranous monstrosities taunted and circled one another, coming into contact now and then, either fighting or dancing. They were surrounded by others of their kind, watching in complete stillness. A lone Fourteenth leisurely ascended toward one of the ceiling passageways; Queg did not look interested.

It felt like being underwater, skyborne and underground all at once. Among so much weirdness, it was comforting to see three bipedal creatures down there, all long and sleek limbs, emerging from a tunnel and taking to the sky, in a manner of speaking. Soon after, they noticed the approaching Humans and abruptly changed direction. So much for Aaron's hope of having an awesome alien encounter.

He wondered what their story was. He thought he could feel the teensiest signal coming from them, but it might have been wishful thinking. The Pathways muddled such things to unintelligibility, at least as far as he was concerned.

It seemed like everywhere he looked there was something or someone new to discover. It said quite a bit about the absurd scale of the place, how he hadn't noticed any of them until recently. It wasn't that they were tiny or that they blended in with the environment; they had simply been dwarfed by the distances, like ants being observed from the top of a skyscraper.

Ming Xiu made a displeased sound. "Word must have gotten out already that Humans are on the move."

"How so?" Aaron asked. "Those guys changing direction like that?"

"What ... oh, no. They would have avoided us anyway." She made a sweeping gesture at the scenery with one hand. "Not enough traffic, hardly any tourists. A lot of iron chewers missing." She pointed at the rocky figures, a ways ahead. They reminded Aaron of gargoyles—not the stylized, humanoid kind from cartoons and movies, but the blocky kind found poking out of old European churches.

He gave her a sidelong look over the rim of his nonexistent glasses. "Iron chewers. Really?"

She chuckled softly. "That's what you understood? I'm not as good at this as Falon, but let me try again." She daintily cleared her throat, entirely for effect. "Ferrognaws," she said, more or less. It was more a concept than an actual word, and it painted in his mind a herd of blocky creatures chewing away on a cud of red-brown filaments.

Ferrognaws. How droll. He wondered how many other things were being lost in translation. Monster names had been severely lacking so far, that was for sure. This place was in sore need of some Kroxigors, Otyughs, Illithids, Carnifex and the like; awesome names fitting the exotic nature of the beasts that inhabited it. Maybe he was missing out on all the cool words and didn't even know it.

"They worship the Spire," Ming Xiu continued. "They normally crowd around the area in the hundreds, chanting and performing their rituals, being a general annoyance." She tch'd. "Hopefully the writhen didn't learn about it before measures could be taken. It'll make for a much longer campaign, to dig them out of hiding."

It still baffled him, how casually she could talk about the genocide of an entire species. "Well, won't that give us more time for an 'opportunity to present itself'?"

She responded with mirthless amusement. "The Unbound will not concern themselves with the rabble. It's the Daedal rebels they are after, and once they are taken care of, the Unbound will move on to wherever they are needed most. And then our current chance will have expired."

"Ah."

"Enough sightseeing. Travel speed, Queg." She raised her voice just a tad to issue the command. Warp nine, Mr. Tuvok.

They accelerated steadily in the weightless way of the Pathways. "Won't it be conspicuous of us to rush about like this, then?" Aaron asked as they picked up speed. Queg was already glowing like a magic missile.

She shrugged. "Whether anyone knows of the purge or not, it's now too late for such a concern, as it is already under way." A smug smile tugged at her lips. "Besides, Humans always have somewhere important to be. There's nothing strange about us speeding past the area."

Aren't we full of ourselves.

Aaron figured it was warranted. Soon he wasn't able to figure much of anything anymore, as it usually happened when they went full blast.

He was getting better at dealing with it, though. They hurtled through space recklessly, zig-zagging at times in long curves to get out of the path of some creature or another, and he managed to get a closer look at some of them, much to his enjoyment and/or horror. There were no lanes or signs or traffic rules whatsoever. What if they came across another high-speed projectile like them? He hoped that there was some sort of safeguard that he wasn't aware of.

They got close enough to the Spire for it to have become a slightly curved wall instead of a cylinder. At this distance it felt more like a living creature than a structure, with its shifting, pulsating tints and corrugated textures. It might have been an optical illusion, but it seemed to slowly flow up along the grooves of its spiral, like a gigantic barber's pole with a penchant for the grotesque. Aaron thought he saw a human face amongst the blur of tunnels and passageways, but it was gone before he could actually place it. It didn't help that they blew past the spot in a flash.

They left the Spire behind, and with it most of the mystifying regional fauna. The passage they were heading for came into view; a vast, circular opening that bloated at its edges before sinking into the flesh of the wall—like a geyser, or (Aaron cringed) like a big fat burst pimple. Very unsightly. It clearly led into yet another tunnel.

At least this one looked fairly spacious. It was particularly nerve-wracking when these lunatics cruised through a winding passageway no wider than he was tall at three billion meters per second.

In no time they had crossed the threshold and were zooming forth, faces grave and purposeful. Ming Xiu's face was, at least; he probably just looked constipated.

After perhaps a minute of underground travel, the change came without warning and happened in the blink of an eye. What had been a lightly bent tunnel ahead of them constricted into a dead end, like a sphincter puckering up and closing on reflex. There was a deep, crackling sound to go with it, like the groan of an ancient tree-man rousing from its slumber.

"DAAAH!" Aaron said. He wanted to yell something equally helpful like "Look out!" or "Holy crap!" but it proved too much to ask of his brain at the moment. Queg slowed down almost instantly, going from sixty to zero in no more than two seconds. His front tentacles flared forward to brace the newly formed wall, while the other half prepared to cushion the Human transport. It turned out to be an unnecessary gesture, as Ming Xiu applied the brakes with equal precision and finesse, taking only an additional second to come to a full stop. Aaron felt how she took special care to prevent him from lurching forward and splatting against the Risen. It felt as uncomfortable as a tight seatbelt during a slam-on-the-brakes close call, but it sure beat flying head-first into a wall.

Once again, using his own skill to solve the problem at hand came only as an afterthought.

"What—"

"Shh." Ming Xiu lifted her index finger at him. She was looking all around the tunnel. The groan continued to envelop them, a croaking rumble like grinding ice sheets.

Her eyes stopped roaming at some point behind them, and Aaron followed her gaze. Right away he saw what she'd seen: the tunnel they'd been traversing was no more. The way back had collapsed unto itself as well.

They were trapped.

"Oh man, the Pathways shifted, didn't they." Aaron said quietly, as if afraid to trigger a cave-in. He sounded a lot more calm than he thought he would. "They shifted with us in the middle and now we're gonna be buried forever."

Ming Xiu said nothing. She had resumed her search, her head turning this way and that, tilting as if listening to something that only she could hear within that crackling groan.

"No," she murmured. The transport that sustained them became undone, and she nimbly strode toward the center of their enclosure while Aaron scrambled to land on his feet, managing just in time to slow his fall with a tug of upward gravity. A warning would have been nice.

She had diverted what little concentration was needed to keep up the platform into whatever she was doing, probably without even noticing. "No, it isn't the Pathways," she was saying, mostly to herself. She stopped walking right in the middle of their sausage-shaped prison, legs balanced on the curve of the floor, eyes still darting in all directions. Her bright red robe and shin-strapped pants made her stand out against the dull colors of the Pathways like fresh blood on an old bruise.

"I was wondering when you would show up," she told the ceiling arching overhead.

Only the snapping moans of the invisible ent responded.

She kept on talking to the cylindrical walls. "Is this all you will do? For how long can you sustain it?" She gave it a few seconds, ostensibly expecting an answer. When none came, she spoke louder.

"This will not hold us back for long! It might be in your best interest to talk!" Another pause. "Obviously that's what you are here for! Enough with the theatrics already, you are as bad as Marion!"

The pops and cracks intensified, as if the tree-man was lumbering through the woods, stomping on fallen branches and breaking through brittle autumn folliage. Then the blockade right behind Queg and Aaron opened up, only to collapse shut farther down the tunnel. Queg hovered away from the event with moderate urgency. Aaron nearly fell on his ass as he turned around and stepped away in a hurry.

Four people stood in the newly added expanse. An enormous black man, almost wider than he was tall, wearing a sleeveless vest that showed off his overdeveloped physical attributes; his full beard was well-trimmed and his long thick hair was pulled back in a tail. A pale wraith of a woman, long hair black as coal and huge eyes that pierced Aaron where he stood. A spindly man of Eastern European complexion, wearing utilitarian clothes and a flaxen buzz cut. And a tall muscular amazon that made no bones about showing skin, with closely cropped dark brown hair that framed even darker features. Aaron's eyes lingered just a tad longer on her, purely because that almost-jet-black skin was covered in a variety of intricate white tattoos that wrapped around her whole body. It was pretty damn eye-catching.

Aaron recognized only one of the four. And Yuri Zharkiev looked positively pissed off.

Ming Xiu didn't wait a beat, going on the attack right away. "Tampering with the Pathways!" she said in a hushed scold. "Are you insane? There's no realiable way to control the ripples!"

Her chastising did nothing to improve his mood. Space itself seemed to seethe around the man.

"What are you doing, Ming Xiu?"

Aaron kept expecting him to speak with a Russian accent right out of a bad spy movie. But he didn't. He spoke in a neutral, generic American accent that Aaron couldn't have placed, just like everybody else that wasn't Falon Trestail. It was a voice that struggled to contain the outrage thrumming inside of it.

Ming Xiu withstood his intense glower with aplomb, and arched an eyebrow subtly, as if to say, go on, let's just get it over with.

"Marion warned us," Yuri said, "but I didn't want to believe. I wouldn't give credit to her suspicions, it was unthinkable; you would never do this," he gestured toward Aaron as he said it, glancing in his direction briefly.

"She wanted us to go into your home and deal with this problem right there and then, but I refused." He took two steps toward her, as though talking wasn't enough to work out all that restrained anger. "I stood up for you, and trusted that you would go along with the plan that you so adamantly supported, even after the writhen got out of hand, and even after you failed to use them when you should have."

Wait, what?

Yuri didn't wait for Aaron to wrap his mind around what he was saying. Mentioning the writhen seemed to have pushed the man even further down murderous lane, and something weird was happening to the ground around him, as if buckling under the pressure of his presence, wobbling and contracting and expanding in his immediate vicinity. Aaron couldn't determine whether it was real or just an illusion brought about by his mounting apprehension.

"Because Ming Xiu knows what needs to be done," Yuri continued, "just like all of us. She knows what would happen better than any of us. And Ming Xiu never goes back on her word. And yet here she is, on her way to Spire Six with"—another glance—"Aaron Gretchen in tow, as if she was doing nothing wrong. You didn't even bother to mask your undercurrent!"

Ming Xiu had maintained her stoic poise throughout his speech. She made a vague hand gesture toward the big man behind Yuri. "With Meliwaze around? I didn't see much of a point."

The guy whose name must have been Meliwaze made a rueful nodding movement, as if to say "what you're doing is terrible, but we agree on this particular issue."

None of the others made any effort to insert themselves into the conversation. The amazon warrior look-alike lounged against a wall, in that casual-alert way that confident and dangerous people would generally adopt. Ghost girl held her hands crossed at her lap, standing motionless in her long white gown, to the left of Meliwaze. Those pale green eyes stayed fixed on Aaron with bird-like intensity. In a different situation it would have creeped him out spectacularly, but he was currently busy trying to understand what in blazes was going on.

Yuri was not amused by Ming Xiu's retort. He shook his head while staring straight at her, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together.

"You may have ruined everything already," he said. "I still haven't thought of how to truthfully explain our absence. If the Unbound start asking the wrong questions, it all might unravel without even requiring your presence."

"Perhaps that would be for the best."

She might as well have slapped him across the face. Whatever it was that she was trying to accomplish, she was far away from taking this confrontation to a peaceful resolution.

It was around that time, seeing the man's reaction, that a tiny pocket of comprehension opened up in Aaron's mind. He realized how Yuri Zharkiev wasn't just angry at Ming Xiu. His wasn't the predictable hatred one could throw at a declared enemy; it was far more bitter, more poisonous. It was the confused, frustrated, disappointed anger borne of betrayal.

He was a man who had just found out that his most trusted ally was, in fact, a traitor.

"I ask you again, Ming Xiu." He made every word into a sentence. "What are you doing?"

Ming Xiu's posture cracked slightly. Her brow twitched. "I've decided to take him to the Unbound, Yuri."

The effect on Yuri's party was immediate. Everyone's face darkened as she confirmed their fears, snuffing out whatever benefit of the doubt she'd been entitled to. The sense of dread that suddenly pervaded the tunnel was so thick that Aaron could taste it in the back of his tongue.

Yuri was about to speak again, his expression a mixture of outrage and disbelief, but he stopped at the last moment. His brow furrowed with thoughtfulness.

"Is he ...." A sudden realization widened his eyes, and he directed his accusing stare at Aaron. "Have you leashed her mind? Is that it? You are as talented as she was, aren't you! Well, not talented enough yet. Boundless vigilance, if you have tampered with Ming Xiu's mind, I will end you right here and now!" He took a step toward his quarry, suddenly protective of the person he had been about to strangle with his own bare hands. The ground moaned and seemed to shake beneath Aaron's feet.

"Shit man, I have no idea what you're talking about!" he blurted out, spreading his hands in front of him, stuttering liberally and backing away as he did. He was alright with being cowardly now and then. Choose your battles and all that.

Ming Xiu was shaking her head. "He has done no such thing, Yuri. He remains nearly as powerless as a newborn. Woefully so."

He would have normally contested it, but Aaron found himself nodding emphatically.

Yuri looked from one to the other, taking a moment to abandon the idea. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

When he looked at Ming Xiu again, the pain of her betrayal burned in his pupils. "Why, Ming Xiu? Why? You need to have a reason for this. Tell me you have a good reason." There was an honest appeal there, an earnest desire to understand and work it out. But something dark and ugly lurked beneath his plea; a wordless acerbity that spoke in somber undertones of what would happen if there was no good reason to be heard.

Ming Xiu seemed to deflate under his scrutiny. Her voice made a subtle shift, from trying to command to trying to explain.

"Do you truly think it coincidence for him to arrive at my realm, of all eighty-four of us?" she asked, mixing wistful with fervent. "To the only ancient that would be sympathetic to his cause? To the only ancient that has not become Boundless?"

Yuri stared at her with grave bewilderment. It took him a few seconds to understand her meaning. "Providence, Ming Xiu? Are you speaking of providence?"

"Don't think I didn't fight it. But how else can you explain this?" She grew more confident as she spoke, gesticulating angrily as if displeased with fate itself. "For him to integrate at a stone's throw from my home. For a denizen acquainted with my cause to find him. For me to be the one beside him when he found her message. For her to leave a concealed message at all, and for him to find it as if through magic. Is that not evidence enough of something greater than ourselves at work? Wouldn't all this shake your own convictions as well?"

Aaron was beyond antsy. He didn't understand much of what was going on—they were all involved in a conspiracy of some sort? And Ming Xiu had betrayed them by helping him?—but she kept referring to her as if Alexandra wasn't just Aaron's long lost wife. As if everyone knew exactly who she was.

"You cannot be serious," Yuri was saying, full of stern disbelief. "Is this what drove you here? Happenstance and circumstantial evidence? I can't believe—"

Ming Xiu quietly interrupted him. "You still remember Alexandra, don't you? How special she was?"

The world froze inside Aaron's head.

He turned to look at Ming Xiu as if locked in slow motion. Her quiet words were ice-cold water pouring onto him, drenching his insides with their frigid touch and grinding all thought processes to a halt. He could only stare, his eyes only slightly wider than normal, his heart an inert glacier lodged inside his chest, as her lips kept moving, the sounds kept flowing, the icicles kept stabbing at the gaps between his ribs.

"What if we never knew just how special? What if she was far beyond anything we ever knew? Could she not have foreseen his eventual arrival, and prepared for it? Could she not have foreseen this very situation?"

"That's insane, Ming Xiu! Alex could do many things, but she could never predict the future!"

Alex. They call her Alex.

"And yet somehow she knew we would delete her entry? And somehow guided her husband to a message that would send him straight to the Unbound? And made me swear—" She shut her mouth, holding back what she'd been about to say. Then she carried on, in a more mindful tone. "Maybe we are not meant to stop him from finding out. Maybe Aaron is here now because this is the time when it must happen. Maybe we are to facilitate it. What are the chances of a coincidence, Yuri? Tell me, what are the chances!"

Ming Xiu talked to her.

"That doesn't matter!" The frayed barrier holding back Zharkiev's temper gave way at last. "Of course I remember her! and I remember what she told us, which you seem to have forgotten! It's the reason why the Unbound got rid of her, because they knew what would happen, just like we do!" He stabbed a finger in Aaron's direction. "If the Unbound were to find out he exists, it will be the first step to the end of our era. How can you no longer see it? You have changed your mind because of fate? Alexandra would laugh at you. Do I need to quote her? 'Start looking for fate and soon you will be blinded by it'!"

The Unbound got rid of her.

Ming Xiu's conviction didn't waver. "How many have found their loved ones, Yuri? How many relatives does anybody ever find when they come here? It has never come to pass, and now he happens to be the very first one? How can this not be fate?"

Understanding dawned behind Yuri's irate stare. It made his voice all the more scornful. "That's what it's all about, isn't it. If Alexandra's husband can turn up, why couldn't it happen to you as well?"

Ming Xiu appeared flustered, as if caught in a barefaced lie and not wanting to admit it. "Aaron is the first. Who is to say that he will be the last?"

"Hundred skies, Ming Xiu! This I can believe least of all!" Scorn had become venomous resentment. "You are still hanging on to your beloved Yun, after all this time. We were fools to believe you'd given it up."

"I HAD!" Ming Xiu yelled, letting go of composure. Her fists were balled and ready to slug the man. "I had left her behind, and found peace, and then he came along, and brought it all back by succeeding where I failed!" Tears dampened her voice by the end of her sentence. It took her a few seconds to drop her volume to seething moderation. "Don't you dare speak her name to me. You never knew her. All you ever knew was misery."

"In life, perhaps. I am not that same man." Much of Yuri's own anger had dissipated. A cold, businesslike manner had replaced it. "I have people I care about, now, and people I care for. I have pride, in my home, and in the Human nation. And I cannot allow you to risk them any further."

It was her turn to glower and boil with derision. "You don't even know. You are so sure that he's our doom, but he could be our savior. You don't even know."

"Enough, Ming Xiu."

"You intend to silence me, like you silenced Tamira?"

"You are leaving us no choice. And you have no right to bring up Tamira. None at all."

It was the cue for the others. They became active as one, walking up to stand by their spokesperson. Whatever they were determined to do, they did not look forward to it. The black-and-white amazon was hard as steel, but Meliwaze appeared openly sorrowful, and ghost girl's big round eyes were full of grim self-loathing. In the meantime, Queg had done his best to blend with the wall and become invisible.

Aaron stared on, feeling strangely vacant at a time when he knew he should be flooded with emotions. Maybe that gelid clump of frost within his ribcage was the culprit, biting his every idea with its numbing chill.

They were tossing around her name as if it was a sacred relic of a past long gone, and the more they did, the more he felt at a loss for words. It was like watching a movie unfold, feeling as though nothing he could say would have an impact in the outcome. He wondered what Queg was feeling at the moment, for some reason. It must be awful, he thought, to so be at the mercy of human beings.

"Don't." Ming Xiu told the Boundless before they actually did anything. "I'm warning you, Yuri, everyone. You don't know what I'm capable of."

Zharkiev's eyes narrowed. "We know exactly what you are capable of, Ming Xiu."

"Do you? Just like you knew all about Alexandra's hidden message? What else did she hide, Yuri? I knew her in a way none of you did. What other contingency plan did she leave behind that you don't know about? Do you truly want to find out?"

The group of four traded uncertain glances. The implied threat was crystal clear to them.

"You can't expect us to believe that she prepared you for this," Yuri said.

"You wonder why I believe now that it is fate?" Ming Xiu asked, spitefully. "Fine. I know that it is. Because Alexandra made it so."

Yuri's frown became even deeper. "You are actually serious." It took him a moment to assimilate it. "What are you suggesting? You want me to believe that you are some sort of double agent, hidden until now? Even if you were capable of fooling us for so long, why would Alexandra do any of these things you claim, when it was her decision to let the Unbound take over? She would support what we are trying to do, if you think about it."

"Ming Xiu let out a short, surprised laugh. "That's how far you've taken it now? You are not just saving Humanity, but doing her a favor? No, Yuri. I happen to know for a fact that she would destroy all of you right where you are if she were here. But she knew she wouldn't be. She knew she wouldn't be able to protect her husband when he arrived. So she gave me the means to do it in her stead. I thought she was losing her mind at the time, to be honest. I never believed I'd have to use it until now."

Yuri was clearly skeptical. But his three friends showed increasing signs of indecision.

Meliwaze was the first to say it out loud. "This is Ming Xiu, Yuri. Her word is as sound as ours."

"Alexandra did always treat Ming Xiu in a different way," the amazon contributed. Her voice fit her bearing: low pitch, steady. "And ... she did seem to always know more than she let on."

"But it makes no sense!" Yuri complained.

"Look at him, Yuri," the ghost girl practically spoke over his protest, in a soft murmur that somehow reached beyond its means. She hadn't stopped looking at Aaron since they arrived. "He is so harmless. All this time, worrying that he would be as great as she, preparing to contain the wrath of Alexandra's lover. All to find out that we could snap him in two with a stray thought." She closed her eyes, subtly lifting her chin as if to pick out a smell. "And he is so full of emotion. Such a sweet symphony you carry within you, Aaron Gretchen. I would be loathe to silence it."

Aaron looked back at her, betraying none of his glacial thoughts. Don't talk to me, he wanted to say. Who the hell are you? Who the fuck do you think you are, to speak of my wife as if you know her better than I do?

None of it came out.

Yuri had his own reasons not to be pleased with the woman. "Victoria ...."

"We've been through too much together," Ming Xiu continued, interrupting whatever Yuri had been about to say. "This is why I'm giving you this chance, and why I tried to reason first. I know your motives are noble. There might be forgiveness for you, if you don't take this any further. But if you do ...." The change in her posture was subtle, but it was felt at a level that went far deeper than flexed limbs or tense muscles. She was ready to act at a moment's notice. "Do you truly want to be known to the Unbound as the ones that tried to sever Alexandra's husband? Isn't that what the plan was conceived for in the first place? To avoid the blame for such a horrible crime against her? It is not too late yet for you to turn back. But the moment you make the first ripple, you will no longer be able to avoid that blame. Your fate will be sealed."

Only the groans of the Pathways could be heard for a brief while. It was once again Meliwaze that spoke first.

"I have no desire to face eternal torment for just trying, Yuri."

The amazon seemed inclined to agree. She visibly abandoned her about-to-pounce stance. "I believe her, Yuri. Scrying the future or not, Alexandra outwitted us in this. She vested Ming Xiu with trust none of us could earn."

Zharkiev would have none of it. "No. No, she has nothing, it is impossible." His intense gaze remained fastened on Ming Xiu, observing her every shift. "Aaron Gretchen must not reach the Unbound. If this is the sacrifice that must be made ... so be it. I will take care of it," he told the others, "and I alone will bear the consequences."

"You will do neither," Ming Xiu said, and a weapon flashed in her hands, curls of mist resolving into some kind of glaive. "This I swear."

All four of them perked up in astoundment for the span of an inward breath. Then Meliwaze and the as-yet nameless warrior took a step back in unison, clearly recognizing the weapon. Yuri's eyes widened with quickly concealed alarm. Victoria the ghost leaned forward in awe, like a child dying to touch the roped-in dinosaur display at a museum.

"Is that ... " she begun in a whisper.

"It's her blade." The black-and-white amazon put in, her voice taking on a heightened level of respect, bordering reverence. "She gave you her blade."

It was a thick length of dark wood, taller than Ming Xiu by at least a head. Its sinuous, glowing-blue patterns wrapped around and ran the length of it. Rather than having a blade attached to one end, the sharp edge seemed embedded into the wood, organically protruding out of it like a natural growth carved in the likeness of curved steel. Even in his bleak state of mind, Aaron recognized in it the kind of elegance that would appeal to Alexandra's taste.

"Is it ... real?" Victoria asked.

Ming Xiu brandished it like she knew exactly how to use it. The weapon looked strangely weightless. "She passed its every detail onto me, the way you all know she could. Did you never wonder why she stopped using it?"

"I figured—"

Yuri talked over Victoria's reply, impatient and frustrated in equal measure. "You cannot expect me to believe it can do everything the original could. A weapon matters for nothing; it is the individual behind it that counts."

Ming Xiu gave him a smile that was as smug as if she could chew rocks and shit diamonds. "Come. Let us find out." She held the edged staff almost casually in one hand, point tilting forward, shaft loose under her arm so that its butt rested on the curved floor of the tunnel. "It might yet save you the trouble of explaining why you are not currently present in Spire Six."

Yuri's eyes kept going from the weapon to Ming Xiu and back. For the first time since he appeared, real indecision took over his features. His dilemma was plain for all to see: it was one thing to nobly sacrifice himself for all of Humanity. It was another, very different thing to throw himself at certain severance with nothing to be gained from it.

All the compounded discouragement seemed to finally take hold, driving away the sense of immediate violence that had charged the space between them.

"A compromise," he said. Zharkiev was virtually grinding his teeth. "There isn't a need to disperse him—it was never our original intent, in any case. We could take him away from here, hold him for as long as it's needed."

Victoria was shaking her head slowly. "It might have been possible before, but he knows too much now, Yuri. He will never let go." Her gaze returned to Aaron, and she heaved a shuddering sigh that was full of pleasure. "I wish you could sense him as I do. There's so much ... so much everything. He burns as bright as the Silver Sun."

Aaron had heard enough. He'd felt enough, seen enough, hurt enough. He looked at the woman straight in the eye, and spoke from the deepest recesses of his heart.

"Fuck you, Victoria."

He said it with outward calm, but it startled her all the same. He maintained eye contact for a few more seconds, then addressed the room in general.

"Fuck all of you." He felt himself thawing. The numbness was departing, and the journey back from extreme cold brought about the scalding burn of defrosting flesh. "You are wasting time, and I have someone to meet. Either kill me already, or get the fuck out of the way."

He could have asked them questions, he figured. But it was clear that they would not answer any of them. They had crafted an entire conspiracy just to prevent him from learning those answers, it seemed. There was no telling why in blazes they would do that, and quite honestly he didn't give half a damn about what drove these people. They spoke as if the Universe would implode if he were to even learn of Alexandra's fate. Worth the price, as far as he was concerned.

But if it turned out that he was at the center of some goofy Prophecy of Doom and he didn't even know it, he might just kill himself purely out of spite, and give all these idiots a final middle finger.

"Brighter still," Victoria said with a smile on her lips. Far from taking offense from it, his participation in the conversation had pleased her greatly.

I swear, Aaron thought, if you say something stupid like 'He's a fiery one,' I'm slugging you in the mouth.

"Aaron raises an excellent point," Ming Xiu said to them. "Let this go now. We will continue on our way and it will be as if we never encountered you." Speak for yourself, I'm ratting out all of you assholes. "Return to Spire Six and look for escapees, so that you can say that you were making sure no-one got away. The Unbound should have no reason to question you further, if at all."

Yuri Zharkiev looked frustrated enough to start punching holes in walls. The crackling all around them grew louder, more urgent, and for a moment it felt like the man was going to lose it and throw himself at Ming Xiu anyway. Some bloodthirsty part of Aaron, which at the moment was rather prominent in his mind, wished that he would—just to see what would happen.

Suddenly the blockades came undone, quickly un-puckering in a gruesome display. He couldn't suppress a wince, then an inward chuckle at the thought: leave it to Yuri Zharkiev to be capable of large-scale Goatse.

The man spoke into the silence that followed. "I should not have trusted you."

With a final look of disappointment and resentment that spelled "you have doomed us all," Yuri turned his back on Ming Xiu and took off in one fluid motion, in the same direction that they had come. The others moved to go as well.

"I trust Alexandra's wisdom," The amazon said. She quickly brought index and middle finger to her heart as farewell, then turned around to follow. Victoria and Meliwaze nodded at Ming Xiu anime-style—once, solemn, silent—before doing the same. The midnight-haired wraith made sure to wink at Aaron before going, as if they were the bestest of friends and she hadn't shown up with intentions of screwing him over at all.

Only after a full minute of them being gone did Ming Xiu go from taut to lax. The weapon dissolved with none of the usual stylish flare and she exhaled a deep breath that was a strung out moan. She hunched over as she did, her arms flopping to her sides, and Ming Xiu all but collapsed where she stood, spiritually speaking. She looked drained and shaky, and relieved, but most of all she looked struck by grief and regret.

Aaron was not at his most sympathetic. There were one thousand angry words fighting to spew out of his mouth. And at the same time, she was the one who had saved him from the asshole parade, by sticking out for him yet again. She was the one tasked by his very own wife to save him, if he was to believe her impossible story.

This is why, instead of running up to her and demanding answers while shaking her by the shoulders, he limited himself to a quiet start at a slow simmer.

"You're ... a contingency plan?"

She looked up at him briefly. Her eyes were clouded with shame when she looked back down. "I bluffed, Aaron. I lied to them. They could have easily destroyed us."

Aaron stared for a while as he yet again attempted to figure out what was fact and what was fiction. Was it even worth the trouble to ask questions? Would he ever get the actual truth out of this woman? That slow simmer was quickly making its way to a roiling boil.

"I thought they might listen, at first," she explained. "But I got desperate when they started to move in. I had a feeling that playing to their fear of retribution might work, and thankfully it did. I don't think it would have, if they hadn't been looking for a good reason not to go through with it. We could never find one good enough, you see."

It was a familiar situation for Aaron by now, hearing a sentence where he could point out ten different topics to ask questions about. But there was something else fighting for his attention this time around: that seething pool of anger stirring inside, filled with the outrage borne of deception and betrayal. It clamored for vindication, drowning out the sensible pursuit of more practical knowledge.

The anger won out in the end.

"You are a first-class bullshitter, aren't you."

She grimaced as if he had physically stabbed her. Aaron couldn't care.

"You knew her." It was the furthest from a question that it could be. "I told you my wife's name when we first met, and you didn't even blink. You watched me going crazy over the whole thing, and you knew her all along. What the hell."

She was nodding slowly. "I did know her. But before you say anything else, before you—"

"And then you got pissed that I could suspect you of lying to me. You got all up in my grill about it, acting all uppity and righteous. And you were bullshitting me all along."

"I've never lied to you." She sounded apologetic, but a hint of her pride came through. "Everything I've ever told you is true, only not in the sense you chose to understand it. I know it's a small comfort—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Aaron gestured with his hand for her to hold on, forceful, abrupt. Hold on, hold on to that motherfucking thought just for a motherfucking moment.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I didn't realize until now that you were freaking Aes Sedai!"

Puzzled frown, plenty of blinks.

Aaron plowed ahead anyway, using his hands liberally for emphasis.

"What, did you swear an oath that you would speak no word that wasn't true? So now you have to bullshit your way around straight lies? You know what that's called? Lying by omission! You're still fucking lying to me, dammit! You're still deceiving me, and it's just as bad! Only you get to feel all smug and good about yourself because you do it indirectly! Do you get that?"

She was starting to show signs of indignation. "I didn't—"

"Dammit Ming Xiu! What about that speech in the grove? Was that all bullshit too? That's when I really started to trust you, you know? When I could see us actually becoming friends! And it was all just a bunch of empty words to manipulate me. I'd rather just get lied to my face, honestly. At least you'd be owning it that way."

"I had no choice!" Aaron had kept his voice loud enough to be imposing, yet not so loud as to qualify for yelling. Ming Xiu's response was a frustrated screech that ground against the insides of his skull. "Do you think it's been easy? Do you think I've enjoyed it? To guide you with one hand while keeping you from the truth with the other? To help you without letting you know a blighted thing? Do you think I want to keep secrets? It was not my place to decide!"

"Do I even want to listen to you? Or is this all going to turn out a lie too?"

Her eyes widened, bristling briefly at his insolence. How dare you, she was saying. Then her disposition shifted; a twitch of her brow, an insecure glance. It's a fair concern, she conveyed in an outward breath.

She gave it a few more seconds before speaking again, in a much calmer, almost bashful voice.

"There was nothing dishonest about our conversation in the grove."

Another gap between sentences, dense with lingering blame.

"I fought it for as long as I could," she said. "I tested your resolve, I led you into danger, I asked every question ... and you still came through. I challenged fate itself, and I lost. This is what you helped me accept at the grove."

More silence. By then Aaron was busy trying to get a hold of his perfectly rightful yet hardly productive anger. Enough time had passed for the mindless component of it to recede, letting the fact that they were still pressed for time start regaining relevance.

It was unfortunate that what she was saying sunk in just then.

Tested me. Tested fate.

"The stray writhen," Aaron murmured, putting things together. "The ones that escaped, and headed right for me. It was intentional, wasn't it. You tried to fucking kill me!"

"I spared you, Aaron. You were supposed to cease to exist in that tunnel. But I spared you."

It was disbelieving rage all over again. "You sent two bloodthirsty nightmares after me, and you spared me?"

"I still believed as they did at that point! I was supposed to let the horde take you. But I couldn't do it. I was already shaken by doubt. So I tested you; I figured, if he is supposed to be here, he will remain. And you did."

He stared at her as if she was a raving lunatic. "That is so messed up, Ming Xiu! Just ... murder me, just like that? How could you ever be okay with it?"

Even through the anger, he felt surprised at how disappointed he was in her. She was shaking her head, her features once more grimacing with pain, as if she could feel his disappointment and actually cared about it.

"You are but one man, Aaron. We were concerned with the fate of a nation."

"But what kind of threat could I possibly be!" His hands were turned up in front of him, fingers curled. "It makes no freaking sense!"

There was pity in her eyes. "I cannot explain it to you. You already know more than you should. It is up to the Unbound now."

"What? No. No, you are explaining everything to me, right here, right now!"

The answers he craved were right in front of him, and their foul taste was an irresistible addiction from which he had no desire to abstain. He couldn't let them slip away now that they were so close.

Ming Xiu's expression hardened, and barriers that were almost tangible rose between them. "I will do no such thing."

"Oh but you fucking will!" he said as he took a step toward her. He was yelling and not even aware of it.

Ming Xiu faced him straight on, a dangerous note entering her voice. "Or what? What will you do to me, child?"

Nothing! A whole lot of nothing!

"Dammit Ming Xiu, WHERE is my WIFE!"

She simply stared until his clenched fists stopped shaking. Only then did she speak, calm, matter-of-fact. "I will not explain anything else, as I am bound by other oaths. And there is nothing in your power to force me to do otherwise. So you have two options: you can stop relying on my help and try to make it on your own. Or you can follow me for a chance to meet with the Unbound and perhaps, in the end, learn everything you wish you learn."

His fists started shaking right back. It was too freaking much, and there was no way to push it down anymore. There was nothing conscious about it; it was a physiological need, the way eating or pissing had once been. All the pent up pressure needed somewhere to go or he was going to burst.

He turned

"FFFFFFFFF—"

and punched the wall to his side

"—UCK!"

with all his strength, uncaring of any pain that might come of it. Maybe breaking a few bones would vent out some of the unbearable frustration and sense of impotence.

His fist punctured a hole into the fleshy stone as if it was made of Play-Doh.

He was aware of Ming Xiu looking at him, impassively, almost expecting him to behave in exactly this way. As if she knew exactly what he was feeling.

The thought infuriated him even more.

"We are not too late to join the fighting, with luck." She faced the way out and started walking, motioning for Queg to take the lead. The creature obediently complied, no doubt hoping for none of the crossfire to ricochet his way.

"Make your choice," Ming Xiu said without looking back.

It made him want to laugh. Or maybe cry; it was hard to tell at that precise moment. Because the tide was already pulling him in the one and only direction there was, in the same way as it had before. What else was he going to do? Ineffectually demand more answers? Find the Unbound on his own? Turn back? There were no forking paths, no reasonable alternatives. Maybe she had said it as a joke, because there was no motherfucking choice to be made.

Aaron followed.

14

The floor-plan of the citadel was a rebellion against rectangular design.

The perimeter of the room Alexandra currently occupied was shaped like a huge kidney, and every other room she'd seen didn't just veer but fled from a standard four-wall configuration. There was an exit into another chamber, straight ahead of her; an exit on the other side of the kidney, leading to an outside courtyard; and a number of glass-less windows that were walkways all by themselves, as the walls were at least five feet thick, in places.

Rich ochre textures covered these walls, like overly artistic corrugated cardboard painted in a hundred different hues of brown and yellow. They went straight up and then curved inward in a gentle arch, coming together above her head to form a tall, irregular dome—at least twice as tall as it was wide. The walls didn't close all the way at the ceiling; an opening had been left at its center, about as big as one third the size of the room at ground level. A blank expanse of blue filled the entirety of the gap, except for one small dot up there, like a black moon in broad daylight.

The room was entirely barren of furniture, but she had to step carefully all the same. The floor dropped and disappeared at unexpected places, as if having a flat surface to walk on was more an aesthetic choice than a structural necessity. Everything about the architecture of her surroundings focused on round edges, clear views and open spaces, like a shelter custom-built for a claustrophobic patron with an aversion for right angles.

She put a pale-knuckled hand on to the frame of the tall, wide archway leading to the next room, looking around with both awe and fear. "Is anybody in here?" she called out with a shaky voice. No response came.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Can anybody help me?"

After a hesitant wait, Alexandra walked into the room—a sphere that was slightly flattened at the bottom, dipping toward a gap in the floor surrounded with rugs that imitated a mantle of leaves. A few pieces of furniture were sparsely distributed around this room, but they seemed to be purely ornamental: a small shelf protruding from the wall, supporting a sculptural, somewhat abstract rendition of a bonsai tree; a pair of tall, wooden sticks with gnarly supports and heads that looked like hat racks or candle-less candle-holders; a wide table, also protruding from the wall, but entirely too high up to be of any use; five lengths of some kind of rope-y material, hanging down like vines from the rim of the hole in the ceiling that was a mirror image of the one in the curved floor. The vines ended in what very much looked like hangman's nooses.

She got a bit closer to the oval-shaped hole, risking a slanted peek at the view down there. There was open sky below her, and then there was the ground much farther below, majestic cliffs and crags as far as the eye could see.

She took a step away from it, visibly agitated. She was turning her head constantly by now, doing her best to keep an eye on every direction at once.

"What is this place? Am I up in the sky? Is ... is this Heaven?"

There was an incipient hope in that last question that was almost bashful.

A creature appeared then, coming in from yet another adjacent room, and Alexandra jumped back with a startled yelp as soon as it came into view. It was humanoid, slighter than your average man, close to the complexion of a slender girl in her late teens. Its face was terrifying for the simple fact that it wasn't human, but it wasn't necessarily unpleasant: large, aqueous eyes and beak that were reminiscent of an owl's, set in a round, somewhat top-heavy skull with a prominent forehead. If it hadn't been so alien, she might have even found its features ... refined. It was what she might have called feminine, even if it lacked the more obvious female features such as breasts or curvy hips.

Its skin was velvety plumage of an immaculate white, and feathers of a variety of sizes covered many parts of its anatomy: forearms to elbows, outside of the thighs to heels, shoulders, flanks, temples. Feathers like a mane piled atop its head where hair should have been—a windswept crest that became a long, cascading train. An elegant mantle of white sprouted from her shoulders and shoulder-blades, and trailed behind her like a split cape.

It wore clothes that clung to it like spider silk: a flowing blouse that was more sleeves than anything, and a lopsided skirt that was longer on one side and became fluttering ribbons at mid-thigh. Its naked hands were long-fingered claws, colored in a gradient that went from white at the forearms to dark gray at the tips. Its bare feet were a bird's talons, and they did not touch the floor.

Alexandra kept backing away in a stumbling shuffle as she struggled to take in the creature's appearance. Her retreat was cut short when the back of her thighs ran into the shelf and little tree—her buttocks bumped on the life-like statue and tipped it off its place. It fell on the ground, coming down with a ceramic thud and proceeding to roll down the slant. Being top-wide, it rolled in an arch and came to a stop on the leafy rug before it had a chance to fall into the pit.

She spared it only one brief, frightful glance. Her back was pressed against the wall. She was breathing quickly, panic riding along with air and colliding with her teeth as it rushed in and out of her lungs. Her hands grabbed at the little shelf as if it was the last remnant of reality in the midst of a waking nightmare.

The creature was slowly approaching her, effortlessly sailing through space.

"There is nothing to fear, young one," it said in a mellifluous string of bird-like chirrups. Its narrow beak vibrated slightly as it spoke.

Alexandra only gaped in fear, grasping the table even harder, pressing herself against the wall behind her in the hopes that perhaps she would disappear through it.

"Be calm. You have found peace at last."

She kept trying to get away, spurred by the basic instinct of putting distance between the unknown creature and herself. But soon her eyes sparkled with a hint of comprehension.

"Are you ... are you an angel?" she asked tentatively, anxious that she could be wrong.

"Yes, young one," the angel said as it hovered a little closer. "Remain calm, so that I may take you to paradise."

It took Alexandra a moment and a few blinks to accept what the creature was saying. A relieved smile bloomed on her lips, and soon she was raising a nervous, hesitant hand, taking a tiny step toward the apparition.

I want to touch you, the hand was saying, but I don't know if I should dare.

It floated closer still, no more than five feet away, and she could already feel a delightful wave of peace and contentment starting to wash over her; the angel's presence, no doubt, soothing away all worries.

It was then that Alexandra's face changed, from relief and cautious hope to a grim expression devoid of anything even remotely hopeful. Something else changed along with it, at a much deeper level. She no longer needed to appear weak to her prey.

"You will be perfect," she told the alleged angel. Her upper lip curled up as she said it.

There was enough time for her to perceive the surprise in the bird's plumage, right before she surged forward and closed the distance that separated them in half an instant.

Alexandra forcefully melded with the Chirm.

It wasn't her first time. She tried not to think too much about what she had done to find out whether she was capable of it, and then to get practiced at it. Some memories are better left locked away, shoved into the Vault for the Greater Good.

(Though at the same time a part of her, a part that overlapped with the terror of coming across Aaron in this particular realm—that part of her relished it, bathed in the memories of her actions against these filthy creatures that could have submitted her husband to the same torment she had witnessed time and again. These things were animals—less than animals: they were monsters, because they chose to enslave her brethren and treat them as unfeeling property. These monsters deserved every single misfortune that would befall them, and she was naught but the hand of fate, of karma, visiting justice upon scum whose punishment was long overdue.)

She used the surprise caused by her deception to full advantage. Before she sensed the bird recovering from the shock and preparing to defend itself—good luck with that, asshole—she had already clamped down on its behavioral patterns, casting a net with her dampening influence that would inhibit its ability to ... well, to do much of anything, really. Between that and the mind-bending, all-in-one barrage of Alexandra's life story currently getting forcefully shoveled down its gullet, it truly was not much of a challenge to keep the bird completely immobilized. Let the bitch choke for a while on what she had been doing in their precious utopia. Let it slowly realize how powerless it was to stop her. Try to pretend you're an angel now, you little shit.

It was a bit of an effort to regain a cool sense of detachment and not just watch all the shifts in the bird's mind as it came to understand the inevitability of its own demise. Fighting down spite and resentment had become harder with every soul she liberated, and she could feel that part of her that wanted to see them suffer encroaching on her every thought, working to blot out every shade of gray. When did appreciation for poetic justice become mindless sadism? When did a righteous insurgence become bloodthirsty retribution? It was a daunting balance, to think of them as monsters, to know that they weren't that much different from humans.

It was with this in mind that Alexandra shunned the morbid temptation of watching it squirm, and set out to get what she was after. Which was to learn everything concerning ... "Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf." Seriously?

With a mental sigh, she started to let the information reach her in large but manageable gulps. She explored the bird's mind as if it was an interactive encyclopedia, clicking on all the different topics she was interested in, which happened to be all of them. It was a rather apt comparison, in fact: everything was mixed and intertwined and cross-linked in a very Wikipedian fashion—overzealously so—and it was as if every time she "clicked" on an article, all at once every other article referenced within it would open up as well.

She learned in this way of Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf's deep seated racism, that covered not only every other species out there, but extended to several other castes within her society as well. Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf—Leafy for short, she decided—Leafy scoffed at how the short plumed and the bold beaked tried to erase who they had been in life once they came to paradise, and was dismayed at how it was largely allowed by the council. Or even worse, some would act as if it was of no consequence whatsoever, reportedly coming from a time when such differences were not discriminatory. Leafy couldn't even fathom such a period of history, let alone abide by it.

On the other hand, she harbored no ill will toward any creature that actually knew their place. She enjoyed taking care of a number of pets, sentient or otherwise (but no Humans, much to her chagrin, and she had been ever so excited to find little helpless Alexandra, at least for a little while before the tables got turned), and she wouldn't engage in the the crude, pointless cruelty that some individuals—the haughty emphasis was almost humorous to Alexandra—were prone to indulge in.

And Leafy was indeed a she, apparently. The birds were either male, female or neutral, the latter of which, as far as Alexandra understood, was akin to being born of noble blood. It was not nearly as relevant in their current society as it had been during life, and so she didn't care to find out more about it. Indulging her academic interest was the least of her motivations nowadays.

She learned of Leafy's proclivity to burst into song much more often than your average Chirm, many times uncaring of who was around to hear. Of her often cheerful, happy-go-lucky attitude, when she felt safe and comfortable enough to let it show. Of her lost hatch sisters and the mate she never got to meet. She'd been young when she died, only twenty-seven star-orbits, and her kind could live up to over three hundred, either thanks to longer lives or shorter orbits, or maybe a little of both. She was one of the many to succumb to the fungal epidemic during orbit fifty seven of the twelfth era.

Alexandra learned of Leafy's love for eccentric architecture and her habit of perching atop her citadel, watching for hours the comings and goings of all her creatures. Alexandra learned speech patterns and mannerisms, friendships, enmities and acquaintances, holdings to her name, her role in society—which pretty much amounted to "socialite"—and the names of all her "pets", along with countless other details that would or might prove useful at some point the future.

And all the way through, it continued to baffle her how similar and how different the experience was from touching a human soul.

At a conscious level, the contrast was stark. The human mind was little more than a jumble, a mist that enveloped her and where she could find roughly delineated zones that constantly mingled together in a tangled mess. Continued practice had let her discover the myriad threads that ran through it all, to the point where she could pick and choose which ones to follow, which ones to touch, which ones to ignore.

But the landscape of the avian mind that sprawled before and all around her was like standing inside an ancient oak tree with thousands upon thousands of branches. And each branch was a function, an idiosyncrasy, an experience; each leaf a thought, a memory, an emotion, a mannerism. Although intricate to the point of absurdity, it was clearly defined, structured—comfortingly so. All that was missing were bright neon signs: Ego This Way, Super-ego Straight Ahead. You Now Stand On the Id, Please Don't Feed the Bears.

Yet that was not all that she saw; it wasn't even half of it. She recognized all this imagery as the same simplifying constructs that had showed her Tamira's twisted home or Patrice's scorched ruins. They were interpretations, tinged by her own expectations and biases. A functional lie told by the guys downstairs so that she could make sense of what she experienced.

But the cover-up wasn't perfect, and she could peek through their pretty and convenient lies. At a much deeper level, that level where the other mind that lurked beneath could be found—plunging past source code, past assembly language, way into masses of rapidly switching transistors ... everything was the same, there. Just like apples and motorcycles were just different arrangements of neutrons, protons, electrons; the building blocks of both the birds and her own self were all the same stuff, creating all the same foundations. And while on the outside it felt like she was exploring two very different entities, she only needed to delve further into the depths of her perception to realize that, in essence, she was doing exactly the same thing regardless of who or what her target was.

She was only marginally aware of this, and she was aware of that fact, and she had no problem with it staying that way. Aaron had this almost pathological need to keep digging into the whys and the hows of things, but she'd never felt the need to know every process involved in, say, drinking a hot cup o' joe in order to enjoy it. What she was doing worked for her, and that was good enough.

All these thoughts ran through Alexandra's head while she continued absorbing every bit of knowledge related to Leafy's life and subsequent existence. It came as hundreds of little snippets in the Chirm's life, concepts of facts, emotions associated with faces associated with places; political opinions, rough sketches of magnificent vistas, the sight of her broken arm bent where there was no joint. And more and more and more, a veritable treasure trove of information on alien culture told from the viewpoint of a formerly young Chirm female.

Alexandra should have been fascinated with it—blown away and rendered speechless by it, in fact. She also should have been discovering these things through dig sites and ancients texts, or perhaps through a grandiose "first contact" cultural exchange. Under the current circumstances, she found herself merely impatient to get it done and over with.

Then she felt Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf begin to seriously struggle, weeping mutely, absolutely terrified.

Alexandra stomped down the needle-like pang of guilt with practiced swiftness. It might have been a crippling stab, once, but her feet were tougher than ever these days, and all she felt was a small prickle.

"Only a moment longer, and it will all be over," she sent to her prisoner. The answer was a thick surge of distress and desperation.

Prisoner? the guilt seemed to ask, or victim?

Victims are innocent. The Chirm are not.

Soon enough she felt confident that she had everything she needed. Alexandra tightened her psychic version of a stranglehold before stepping out and coalescing directly in front of the creature. She kept her hands in contact with it, aware that such a thing was little more than a visual aid, but doing it anyway.

Now she could see as well as sense—

They're one in the same, Alex

—the fear in the bird's body language. It showed mostly through the expressive feathers on her temples, but her narrow beak also rattled uneasily, and she seemed as though trying to pull away from this terrible Human, the very same Human that she had attempted to enslave just a moment ago.

"I've been lying to myself," the human confessed to her prey. "You are not a monster. You are not even evil. There's plenty of my kind that were just as bad or worse than your people."

She knew that Leafy would be screeching at the top of her lungs (air sacks?) if she had been able to. Alexandra maintained her unyielding grip.

"But you are my enemy. There is no doubt in my mind about that."

The bird had the gall to inbue her features with pleading disagreement. Alexandra's eyes narrowed.

You are not content to kill them anymore, the needle prickled again, despite her best efforts to be rid of it. How is this any different from rape?

She would have punched the thought in the mouth, if she could have.

It's different. It is nothing like that.

In one fluid motion, she took a step back, unsheathed her bladed staff into her outstretched hands—left hand up, right hand down—so the blade would be pointing to the floor, and brought it up diagonally, going through Leafy from mid-section to shoulder. She quickly brought her weapon about, sweeping it sideways to slice in half the Chirm's already drifting head.

Her dampening field was there to catch the brief shriek and the prolonged undercurrent rift that ensued.

And it's necessary.

Alexandra waited for the red-orange blood that had drenched her from head to toe to dissipate, methodically reviewing everything that she had just learned.

________

Tamira was looking straight down, at the floor of a cave deep underground—a cave that she herself had carved in a matter of minutes to serve as the fourth hiding spot so far. Alexandra regarded her severely, conveying an air of irritation that she was far from feeling. She had fully expected her refusal.

"What do you mean, you can't do it?" she demanded.

Shame oozed from Tamira's every pore as she tucked her chin against her chest.

"You can't ask me to face them," she said in a tiny voice. "I can't do it, I can't go with you, please don't ask me to do it."

"I'm sorry." There was no real apology in Alexandra's tone. "I'm sorry, I seem to recall you making me a promise."

Tamira seemed to shrink under the unyielding stare, as if trying to hide within her green summer dress. Her voice became even smaller, to the point that it couldn't have been heard by anybody that was only listening to the sound of it. "I can't ...."

"You can't? Or you won't? Do they still own you?"

Anger seeped through, mixing with the shame. "No."

"I think they do." Alexandra took one step closer as she spoke, stern and relentless. She kept her hood up and her staff out, hoping to cut an imposing figure. "They still own you if you give them your fear. What good is it to be free, if you still can't fight back?"

"They ... they'll capture me again ...." Tears had welled up and had started running down her cheeks. "I can't go through that again ... please, please Alex ...."

Alexandra steeled herself and didn't let the hard-ass attitude drop, even while her heart was melting at having made the woman cry.

"So you will go on to live in fear. You'll continue to let them dictate your fate, because deep down you still think that they're your masters. They've already captured you, Miss Keister. Only this time, it's you that's holding the keys to your prison."

Alexandra had been expecting to give this speech for a while. It was painfully obvious, the way so many of them avoided the birds as if they were flying nukes ready to go off the moment they got anywhere near. Tamira was one of the worst about it, and it was such a contradiction, because her thirst for retribution could match and surpass anybody else's any day of the week.

It was only natural, though. Alexandra wished she could be patient, and give the troubled ones time to get used to their freedom and get their dread and hatred sorted out. But she couldn't afford the time to have extended group therapy with those people. She'd have to beat a spine into every one of them.

Starting with Tamira.

"What do you plan to do?" Alexandra asked with harsh intensity. "Flee for the rest of your existence? I can't see you just leaving everybody that they still control behind, and even if you did, there would be nowhere safe to go. Or will you hide behind everyone else? Because no friend of mine gets away with being a coward."

"You've ... you've been doing fine ... by yourself ... " came the feeble response.

"You know I can't get rid of all of them like this. I'm going to be found out eventually. I want everyone to be ready when that happens."

"But—"

"I'll protect you." The words came out before she could think them through. "I won't let anything happen to you or anyone else. Do you trust me, Tamira?"

"With everything I am," the woman responded immediately, full of conviction even through the sobs. It was vehement enough to be startling.

Alexandra didn't miss a beat, even if she'd just made a promise that she couldn't possibly hope to keep. "Then you must trust what I say. There will be no peace for you until you stop letting fear control you. You will hate yourself and be miserable every day that you spend cowering. And ... I can't do this alone." She put a hand on her arm, softening her voice at last. Tamira lifted her head and looked back at her through the tears.

"There's only one choice," Alexandra continued. "And for the first time in ages that choice is yours to make." She squeezed her grip before going on, as if to lend the woman strength. "Will you fight? Or will you stand still and get caught?"

She could almost see the pride blooming within the turbulent green of Tamira's eyes. She knew where the question came from. She understood what Alexandra was saying.

The former thrall and fledgling member of the resistance made an effort to compose herself, drying her tears, taking a deep breath. Then she met Alexandra's eyes and nodded slowly.

"I will fight."

Alexandra nodded back, once. She held back a sigh.

One down. Dozens to go.

________

She felt her way around her creation with a mixture of satisfaction and disgust, checking it for the third and last time for any possible flaws or loopholes.

She still didn't know how to feel about it. They were nasty things, and at the same time so beautiful, so pleasing and fulfilling to build. It was like putting a computer together from brand new parts and having it work flawlessly at the very first press of the power button.

Pleased/repulsed by her final inspection, she broke her delicate contact with Victoria and stepped back to wait for the girl to recover. Alexandra would have thought that it would be a bitch to convince some of them to go back to their previous posts as pathetic wretches, but there had been enough volunteers to force an actual selective process. They all trusted her when she said that she would be back for them. She kept her personal opinion of "people should be smarter than that" to herself.

They didn't really go back as slaves, of course. She'd gotten so familiar with the mind-leashes that she could reproduce them with her eyes closed. Well, she'd literally done just as much, she figured. On the surface, it was virtually impossible to tell her own creations apart from the real thing.

If any one of the Chirm that could put them in place delved deeper for whatever reason—which they very definitely would never do, Alexandra kept hoping—they would notice the slew of modifications and allowances that she'd introduced.

For one, there was no suffering of any kind involved. In part because they were all volunteers, and not struggling captives; and in part because she didn't make the behavioral blocks undeniable mandates, but unequivocal suggestions that the make-believe prisoners could follow as instinctively and automatically as their very own impulses.

She'd also lent the constructs a measure of flexibility. While the avian version was rigid and unmovable as far as the host was concerned, Alexandra's imitation could be pushed back, broken to pieces and dissolved with enough force of will. It was both a reassurance for the person risking their neck and a safeguard measure just in case any mistakes had slipped her careful revisions.

And then there was the panic button—well, the panic process, or the panic mechanism. Anger was an emotion that they all carried in spades. Feed enough anger into certain contacts with the host's psyche and the results would be ... violent. It was to be used by the mole in the event of being found out.

She wasn't proud of it, but it was a necessary evil. The group couldn't afford to be exposed in its entirety by a captured spy; there was too much at stake, too many souls depending on their secrecy. Every volunteer understood as much, and they accepted the consequences. Some of them found the prospect of going out with a final middle finger quite liberating, actually. None of them were nearly as distressed by the possibility as Alexandra was, even when she understood the importance of having that final choice. It was clinging to that very same choice what has saved her own ass in the past.

A necessary evil, she repeated to herself.

Victoria had opened her big round eyes and was staring at nowhere, her pale-as-snow face vacant of any expression.

"Can you hear me?" Alexandra asked her. The girl nodded mechanically, her dark bangs falling into her eyes as she did.

"Look at me."

Victoria did.

"Should a Great One demand escort, what are you supposed to do?"

"I will maintain a distance from my master of no less than seven feet and no more than nineteen feet; I will provide all services and knowledge that is required of me; I will otherwise remain acquiescent and unobtrusive until given a direct command."

"And what will you say if given a task you are not capable of fulfilling?"

Alexandra carried on asking cursory questions, making sure there were no anomalous responses. Interaction protocol, obligations, exercise regimens and schedules. She was deeply familiar with every detail of it.

She did it mostly out of rote. She had yet to find a single problem with her work. The usefulness of it far outweighted the undeniably creepy factor.

"Will you engage in any activities that would be unbecoming of a human thrall?"

"No."

"And you will report to us how?"

"Only when contacted directly by someone I know, never at any other time."

"What if they send you on a joint task, and you meet with someone from our ranks? Will you take the chance to share intel?"

"No, interaction will adhere strictly to the needs of the task at hand."

"And if I come around and tear your master to pieces, will you be alright with that?"

"I'll be laughing while you do it, Alex," the girl said with a wolfish smile.

Well. One more spy, coming up.

________

The name of the realm was Aerie, aptly enough. The name of the citadel and surrounding grounds was Still Pond (of) Plentiful Waters, although there was no water to be found anywhere on it. Even then, it was as pleasant and peaceful as its name would suggest, if you were the type of sentient being that could overlook rampant slavery.

Alexandra's first impulse had been to get rid of every single pet on the grounds. There wasn't even a point to most of them; the great majority were there for the personal amusement of their master. The place felt more like a zoo than a floating fortress, sometimes.

But that would have been unbecoming of Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf. Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf—Leafy, the mistress, the Great One—felt great pride in her collection. She could spend hours just observing them, and cared nothing for the freedom of lesser beings.

As it happens, she was elated to have recently come into possession of her very first Human thrall—integrated inside her own fortress, no less! Oh, how many times she had daydreamed that something exactly like that would happen. Such a wonderful stroke of good fortune.

She had even gotten it leashed all by herself, ready and able as she was. Or she would have, if Ming Xiu would just get over it already.

"It's for your own damn protection," Leafy chirruped. "If you want to stop being cooped up in a hole every time I can't be around you, there's no other way to go about it, Minxy."

The former soldier was scowling. "Don't call me that. I would sooner die ten thousand deaths than to be a slave."

"But you won't be a slave, not really. You just need to pretend to be one, Minxy."

"Don't call me that!"

"Every thrall gets a silly name, and I can't be flying about calling you Ming Xiu by mistake." The mistress' expression was grave, even concerned. None of her amusement showed, none at all. "I have to get used to it, Minxy, just like I need to get used to living like this." She gestured with upturned claws at the church-like chamber in which they stood.

"You do not need to get used to it, because I will not go along with this," Ming Xiu said, a look of concentrated exertion set on her features. She was staring at her own hands, which were extended in front of her at elbow level as if holding up a sword that wasn't there.

Her own sword hung in its scabbard from a leather strap around her hip. Her armor was gone—she had physically taken it off and then panicked for a while when it eventually dissolved into misty wisps. She was now clad in white, long-sleeved shirt and trousers, which was what she'd been wearing under the bulky armor pieces. Her skin was free of grime now, as were the locks of collarbone-length hair that framed her face; the dirt had simply vanished over time, along with all the blood that she had brought with her ... with the exception of the red on her hands. It looked like she wore a pair of thin red gloves, from a distance. She couldn't or wouldn't get rid of the dried bloodstains covering her palms and fingers, and Alexandra had no trouble understanding why. She would have done the same, if it had been Aaron's blood on her skin.

"If you would let me concentrate in our lessons," Ming Xiu continued without looking up, "instead of prattling on about this nonsense, I might eventually become more useful to you."

Alexandra didn't bother to keep the hint of annoyance from entering her voice. It was the best part of talking to Ming Xiu, not having to hold back. "We wouldn't have to resort to this 'nonsense' if you showed more progress. I don't want to carry you around forever."

"I'm doing everything I can." She was definitely sullen. "I just need more practice."

"Yes, well. I was facing a whole mob of monsters single-handedly by this time, you know." And getting my ass handed to me, but let's leave that part out. "Maybe you just don't have it in you, and beggars can't be choosers."

Almond-shaped eyes darted in Leafy's direction, and the look was dirty enough to make up for its brevity. Alexandra didn't know why she enjoyed getting on Ming Xiu's nerves, but the fact was that she found great pleasure in it. Maybe it had to do with that one time when she had found the woman's sword sprouting from her chest.

Ming Xiu's intense glower returned to her hands. A long, narrow shimmer suddenly appeared above her palms, spanning the space between them. Flickering curls of mist flew in to fill in the gaps, coalesced, merged, danced around one another ... then escaped and fizzled into nothingness.

Annoyed frustration entered her features, but only for a moment. Soon she was back to full-on concentrated staring.

"Think back to when you first appeared," mistress Alexandra said into the silence, slipping into the patient tone she would use when trying to teach what she knew. It was curious, how it lengthened the squawks and chirps. "You unsheathed your sword and pointed it at me, but that sword hadn't even been there the second before. You created it—even then, right after showing up here, some part of you already knew how to do stuff like that. Try to remember how that was like."

Ming Xiu negated with her head almost imperceptibly, as if afraid to let her stare deviate the slightest bit. "I couldn't tell you what was going through my mind at that time. I had just lost Yun, and fought to my last breath. I can hardly remember much of what I said or did."

A wry smile showed on Alexandra's temple feathers. "Would you like me to give you a play-by-play account?"

Another darted glance. "I said I was sorry. You are not going to let it go, are you."

Alexandra brought her claws up in a half-assed placating gesture. She felt perfectly entitled to at least tease her on her attempted murder.

She spoke as soon as Ming Xiu's attention went back to what she was trying to accomplish.

"I could ... take a look inside, if you want? See if there's anything I can do to help you along?" She really didn't want to, but she would do it if—

"No," Ming Xiu immediately responded. Alexandra concealed her relief.

"I just want you to understand that you have already done this," she said, half talking, half thinking out loud. "You already know how to do it, so ... maybe the reason you can't do it again has nothing to do with how much you concentrate."

"I don't know what that means."

"You are trying too hard to do the impossible, is what I'm saying."

Ming Xiu's glance turned into an impatient glare that stayed on Alexandra's big beady eyes. Stop being purposefully annoying, the look said.

"I'm serious!" The avian mistress stepped closer, suddenly thoughtful. Ming Xiu leaned away from her, recoiling instinctively. "Stop doing that, Minxy, you are supposed to revere and obey me." Alexandra carried on before her exasperated pupil could start calling her names. "I think we're going about this all wrong. I don't think that just having the talent is enough, like Tamira says. I think that before you can consciously do this stuff, there's something else that needs to happen."

"Something like what?"

Alexandra was getting excited. "Isn't some part of you still convinced that what you're trying to do shouldn't be possible? Don't you feel even a little skeptical that you might be able to make things out of thin air, even if you've seen me do it countless times, even if you've done it once yourself?" That heightened sense of self-awareness, those 'barriers' I've felt breaching ... "I think that's what's going on; it's, like ... like a tiny voice in your head, and as soon as you start getting it right, the voice in your head says, 'This is impossible!' and that's when you flunk it."

Ming Xiu had crossed her arms under her slight bust, looking equal parts thoughtful and skeptical. "You seem to be saying that I am stupid, or that I lack discipline."

"No, no, it's not like that." Alexandra went to bite her lip while trying to figure out how to explain it, but instead her beak did a subtle clock-wise rotation. Freaky.

It dawned on her that Ming Xiu hadn't benefited from decades of modern psychology pervading popular culture, or gone through a crap-ton of therapy like she had. She was a soldier, from a time centuries before Alexandra's own. It was likely that she wasn't even literate; the chances of her being versed in the intricacies of the unconscious mind were little to none. She could probably use some explaining.

"Our minds ... all of our minds," Alexandra begun, "they're a lot more complicated than we think. There's a lot going on under the surface that we're not even aware of. Like, when you parry with your sword, or sidestep just so. You are not consciously deciding to do these things; they're ingrained in you and you do them by instinct. Right?"

"Yes, of course." She said it like indulging a small child in their deranged, long-winded speech.

"Right." Alexandra let it pass, this once. "But instinct can be wrong too, right? Like just now: you recoiled from me, because I look weird, even though you know it's just me. There's something in there," Alexandra tapped Ming Xiu's temple with one sharp claw-tip, "that works without you even thinking of it, making you twitch away from my finger. I'm sure there's a definite term for it, but let's just call it your unconscious."

Ming Xiu looked mildly offended. "I'm truly not so ignorant that you have to explain this, you know. You speak of the urge to break ranks and flee for safety in the face on the oncoming throng, even if you know that your only chance of survival is to stand and fight together. Emotional imperatives and snap judgments, like the ones telling me that you are an insufferable brat that's mad as a box of dogs, while rational thought clearly says that you are not."

Alexandra chuckled briefly, which came out as something close to the soft clucking of a raven. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Ming Xiu grimaced. "Would you please go back to normal already? I'm sorry, but it's driving me insane."

"You gotta get—"

"Get used to it, yes, I know, but please? Just while you're trying to teach me. I can't concentrate with you looking like one of those things."

The mistress pursed her lips—or rather, tilted her head slightly to the right while her temple feathers inclined to a certain angle.

Fair enough.

There was no challenge to it anymore. The task itself hadn't become any easier, but she had practiced tirelessly, whenever there was downtime to be had. "Tirelessly" was at the heart of the matter: it was amazing, how many things she could get done now that fatigue never set in. It was always 11AM in the afterlife.

A burst of enveloping mists, and dark skin replaced pristine plumage, hooded outfit replaced mantles and spider silks, sooty eyes and full lips replaced avian features. It was still an unpleasant experience, and she suspected that it would remain so no matter what she did, but it no longer felt like a swarm of wasps needling every inch of her body. It was more of a jump-into-cold-water kind of unpleasant experience by then.

She made a sarcastic ta-da! gesture in Ming Xiu's general direction. The woman had taken a step away as the transformation took place, and now sat cross-legged on the slightly slanted floor, looking up at her.

"Good enough for Her Majesty?" Alexandra asked, sitting down in front of her.

Ming Xiu replied without a hint of mordancy. "Yes. Thank you."

Alexandra turned an involuntary sigh of contentment—it did feel good to be back in her own skin, even if it was purely psychological—into an exasperated one. "What was I even talking about?"

"Apparently I am too stupid and ignorant to understand what I'm doing wrong."

"You said that, not me." The reminder let her jump right back onto her train of thought. "It's more like you're sabotaging yourself. Unconscious-you, that is. She's sabotaging your conscious efforts to do the impossible."

"Clearly."

Alexandra huffed out a breath. "I wish you would stop being difficult for just a second and actually listen to me. I know what I'm talking about." I think.

Ming Xiu visibly wanted to be argumentative about it, but restrained herself and responded only with at first irritated, then expectant silence.

Alexandra took a few more seconds than necessary to settle down in front of the impatient woman, mirroring her cross-legged position. She idly noted that Ming Xiu was just as anal as she was about keeping a straight back. So she lazily slumped down to rest elbows on thighs, because she was such a rebel.

"Alright," Alexandra said once she was done. "I want you to close your eyes."

Ming Xiu raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm being serious now, stop second-guessing me already. I don't know how much this will help, but it doesn't hurt to try. We're gonna figure it out."

The woman pursed her lips lightly, then gave a small nod. She closed her eyes at the apex of a deep breath.

Alex waited for a good while. She wanted Ming Xiu's thoughts to quiet down and wander on their own. She spoke after two, three long minutes.

"Think back to some place where you have felt at peace," she said. A doubtful pause. "Were you ever in a place like that?"

"I ...." Ming Xiu's mouth parted slightly as she searched her memories. Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes."

"Good. I want you to think of this place, and just let yourself relax. It's alright if you can't, at first. We'll be here as long as you need." Alexandra's voice had gradually become softer; she tried to make it warm and calm and caring, the way Jane used to talk to her during their sessions. "Imagine every detail around you. You can tell me about it if it helps, but you don't have to."

Only Ming Xiu's deep breathing could be heard for a while. She didn't feel like telling, apparently. Just as well.

"Picture everything in your mind as it used to be," Alexandra continued, leaving long pauses between sentences, letting her words drift leisurely into Ming Xiu's thoughts.

"Smell the air that you breathed that day.

"Listen to the sounds all around you, next to you, in the distant background.

"Touch the fabric of the clothes you wore."

Ming Xiu's voice came a few beats later, drowsy and unfocused. "I'm not wearing anything ...."

Um. Right.

No wonder she didn't feel like telling.

A deeply content smile had creeped onto her lips, the kind of smile that a woman will show in a mattress ad, pretend-sleeping in the bed of her dreams. Her undercurrent was becoming more steady, almost languid. It came to Alexandra's otherworldly senses more crisply than usual, unfolding with new fine spun nuances.

"Yun sleeps," Ming Xiu said softly, and the words were as though uttered by a completely different person. The anger, the resentment and bleakness that seemed to hang around the former soldier like dark rain clouds were gone, and in their place there was just ... love. Profound, selfless love, unblemished by conformity or the slightest hint of doubt. It had an almost tangible quality that struck a discordant twang through Alexandra's heartstrings, tearing into the little prison she had made inside herself to contain the thousand crippling memories of a life she couldn't go back to.

Where does she get off, finding peace, rubbing it in my face.

Just listen to him breathe, he's so cute. What is bliss, if not this moment?

She squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth.

Stop it.

Stop it!

She forced herself to open her eyes and get on with what she was trying to do, stuffing the sudden heap of emotions back into their sub-basement prison. Moans and self-pity never helped anybody.

Her eyelids lifted to see a Ming Xiu that wasn't all the way there. Tiny curls of mist were peeling off her skin and clothes, and somehow she didn't seem entirely ... opaque. It was all very subtle, but definitely happening nonetheless.

Alexandra shrugged and let some more time pass, mostly by choice. If it was anything like it had been for her, Ming Xiu was now deeply immerse in whatever fantasy she had conjured. She still smiled, naked before Alexandra despite her simple clothes. Alex begun speaking again, her voice like the low murmur of a forest-bound breeze.

"You must look inwards now, Ming Xiu. Turn your attention to everything you feel, everything you think.

"Become aware of all the things inside you, all those things that you never noticed before.

"What hinders you, Ming Xiu? What fights you?"

The smile faded in slow motion, leaving her lips first neutral, then slightly thinner. Her eyebrows transitioned from a pleased arch to a flattened V. After a very long minute, she spoke.

"There is no reason to learn."

Alexandra considered it for a while before inquiring further. She hadn't expected to hear that. "Why do you feel this way?"

"It's hopeless. They are gone, and we are in denial." Her voice was a droning monotone. "We lost everything, and nothing matters anymore."

I feel like a wuss compared to how you're handling things, and you're just faking it?

This is something that she feels unconsciously, she responded to herself. At least she hasn't collapsed to the floor blubbering away like you did.

Not yet, anyway.

"It's not true, Ming Xiu. We have to assume they're somewhere, just like we are. What you feel is only the terrible heartache of separation, and the fear of failure. It's weakness, trying to convince you to give up. Don't let it control you. Don't let it defeat you."

It was easy, coming up with advice against despair. She had told herself every one of these things at some point or another.

"I try ... " Ming Xiu said, in the voice of someone who is tired of trying. "I try to use it, turn it into anger to drive me. Or I try to push it down, as far as it will go. But it's always there, and it grows with every step we take, because none of it seems to take me any closer to where I want to be." Her brow knit with bated worry. "More and more I feel like it will swallow me."

Alexandra was frowning. It was a familiar story. It didn't end well. "And then? What will happen then?"

"I ... don't know." The attempt to put up the barriers again was evident in Ming Xiu's suddenly guarded expression. Then her frown became deeper, as if admonishing herself, before going back to almost relaxed.

"I would seek a way to end this awful existence," she said after a while, quiet but no less matter-of-fact for it.

There was no surprise in Alexandra's reaction. "And you would leave Xiaoping Yun behind."

"Xiaoping Yun is already gone."

"Really? Was Tamira Keister gone as well?" Although still warm and patient, her voice had become more involved, earnest. "And Daniel, and Victoria, and Ahmed, and all the others? Maybe their loved ones gave up on them, and forever lost their chance to find one another. Not me, Ming Xiu. And not you either, so help me God."

Ming Xiu was shaking her head with apologetic dissent, some of her hair un-tucking itself from behind her ears as she did. "You know that they are a grain of sand in the storm. The chances of—"

"Chances? You will leave it up to chance? The odds don't even matter for something like this. Just imagine, Xiaoping Yun as a mindless drone following every command to come out of a bird's beak. Fighting for freedom every minute, trying to run without twitching a muscle, needing to scream without a mouth to do it with. Reduced to little more than a doll for their amusement—for years, for hundreds of years.

"They suffer terribly, Ming Xiu. I've seen it. And those who no longer do have suffered the most. I want you to picture that in your head as if it was happening right in front of you, and then tell me again about chances."

Ming Xiu's breath had grown anxious, her expression a fearful grimace. She exuded anguish, as though trapped in a terrible nightmare. "That's not what's happening, it can't be ...."

"Can't? The chance of it may be small, but that doesn't make it any less real. I'd rather try my best and not find them than give up and risk leaving them behind to suffer."

Something was happening in the space between the two women, directly in front of Ming Xiu. The faintest shimmer had begun to manifest, distributed in two parallel columns at their eye level. Looking up, Alexandra could see the rest of it: it was a vaguely human shape, and the almost imperceptible columns were its legs. She was a little surprised to sense Ming Xiu's influence on the fabric of reality; she hadn't experienced that before with any of the others. It felt like a rough patch extending in three dimensions in front of her, marring what would otherwise be a smooth, seamless tapestry. And she recognized it, as the beginnings of something that she herself had done countless times by now.

Ming Xiu didn't even seem to be aware of it. Far from wanting to stop it, Alexandra egged her on, continuing to make the point that she had argued more than once against her own self.

"If you give up, if you don't become everything you can be and do everything you can, you will be leaving Xiaoping Yun to that fate—or worse, because I have no idea what else is out there. I dread to find Aaron here, but I dread even more that he could be far away, even worse off than the people in this realm."

The shimmer became a glowing cloud. Countless wisps of smoke were arching into it from Ming Xiu's general position, their path errant and fickle. Her face looked ashen.

Alexandra carried on, her voice becoming one note more urgent.

"But we can't do anything about that, can we. We can only deal with what we have in our hands right here and now, and keep on going from there, and hope. So you might as well believe that your Yun is one of their prisoners, full of pain and longing and—and holding on to the hope that somebody like you will come and make everything right, and you better hold it in your mind as truth, because we very well may be their only chance." She had leaned forward unconsciously as her speech picked up in intensity. "You gotta embrace it, Ming Xiu. We can't afford to half-ass this."

What was happening came to an end in a sudden rush, the mist speeding inward to flash into a human shape—tall, lean, closely cropped dark hair, head bowed down. Ming Xiu couldn't suppress a pained cry from escaping her throat, and the figure dissolved with it in a churning profusion of rapidly vanishing billows. It had lasted for less than a second before it collapsed.

Ming Xiu slumped forward. Her eyes were tightly shut; her posture conveyed terrible strain. Her own figure had become unambiguously translucent.

Alexandra felt a sudden stab of alarm. She could clearly see the maroon textures of the floor beneath the woman's blurred-out features. "Ming Xiu?" Alex bolted from her cross-legged position to go kneel by the former soldier. "Ming Xiu, are you alright?"

She only groaned shallow breaths as a response. She had planted her see-through hands on the ground, like a spent athlete having collapsed on the brink of exhaustion. Alexandra didn't dare touch her, for fear that her hand would slip through.

Was this how she had looked, all those times she'd been panting on all fours, reeling from self-induced migraines?

"Hurts ... " Ming Xiu blurted out breathlessly after a while. "It hurts ...."

Substance was slowly returning to her. Loose outlines sharpened, blurry features came into focus. With a pitiful whimper, she slowly wrapped her arms around her abdomen, hugging herself, bending further down as if about to sick up. Alexandra gingerly placed a hand on Ming Xiu's shoulder, and the coarse fabric of her shirt was there to greet her fingertips.

"You did it. Did you feel it? Did you actually feel it?" Alexandra couldn't contain a certain amount of excitement.

Ming Xiu didn't share it. She wouldn't or couldn't look up. "Feel ... what."

"The breakthrough! It feels like ... like ...." It was troublesome to put it into words.

Ming Xiu was nodding laboriously. "A ... barrier. Expanding. Breaching."

"Yes!" Alexandra's grip tightened with encouragement. "I've never done a person before! It never occurred to me, honestly. Was that Xiaoping Yun? Too bad I couldn't see his face, or much of anything. Though I gotta say, I imagined him more muscular." She hesitated. "N-no offense. Aaron isn't much of a muscle-man either. But don't tell him I said that."

She realized she was babbling again, and strove to contain a little that rare, super-nice feeling of Having Done Something Right. Maybe she shouldn't be so glad; Ming Xiu looked like she was running an awful fever, or like she was about to barf, or both. The thought made Alex wonder what could possibly come out, if that happened.

"I wasn't ... trying ... " Ming Xiu said through gritted teeth. "Just the image ... the thought. Suddenly ... something gave in ... and it was there. It was real—" her thready voice broke, and it was only after another minute of gasping breaths and the occasional sniffle that she found the strength to speak again.

"That vacant stare," she whispered, "those lifeless eyes."

Alexandra finally got it, just as Ming Xiu closed her eyes and shuddered. The pain might have doubled her over, but that wasn't what had her all bent out of shape. Ming Xiu was horrified at what she had seen in her mind's eye.

Guess she's got a vivid imagination?

The woman was shaking her head slowly. "Why did you do this to me?"

It wasn't angry, or even accusatory. It was said quietly, mournfully.

"I was content to deny it. I was content to say, 'not Yun.' Maybe everyone else, but my Yun is safe."

Alexandra's brow knit with sympathy. Of course she would feel that way. Ming Xiu had been there for most of them, if not all. It was the way they went about it, for no definite reason; she always stood guard and watched while Alexandra did her thing, even if the process didn't take long when looked at from the outside. Ming Xiu had seen all those human souls, who had been forced into absolute compliance, deprived of will, of humanity, as they followed Alexandra into their hideout. And then she had witnessed each one crumpling to the floor, broken in a hundred little pieces by what had been done to them. Some had put themselves back together, with varying degrees of success. Some still remained ... unhinged—although they did improve, slowly.

How afraid had Ming Xiu been, every time Alexandra brought a new one in?

Probably as terrified as you feel every time you find another one.

"Your delusions won't make him safe." Alexandra responded. Another piece of advice she had previously given to herself. "Only your actions will."

The woman was still shaking her head, but she remained silent.

After about five minutes of gradually calmer breathing had come and gone, Ming Xiu seemed to have mostly recovered. Alexandra had settled next to her and looked on with concern, one slightly awkward hand lingering on her shoulder.

"I think it's time for you to try again," Alexandra said at last.

Ming Xiu blinked a few times, then nodded. Then she sighed, and extended her hands in front of her in the same way she had before.

"Stop trying to do the impossible," Alexandra put in, mainly because it sounded like something that a cool and awesome mentor would say.

Ming Xiu only glanced at her, then went on to stare at her own hands.

No appreciation.

Alexandra felt it again, very faintly; that rough patch of space extending from Ming Xiu's hands. At first it was just a hazy outline. Then it was a shimmering length of smoke, like a dull lightsaber. Then, one misty flash later, a perfect copy of Ming Xiu's unsheathed sword coalesced atop her palms, and remained there.

It took maybe all of five seconds.

"Whoop!" Alexandra cheered, pumping her free fist while squeezing her pupil's shoulder. "We'll have you flying in no time!"

Ming Xiu simply kept on staring, perfectly serious. She carefully took hold of the grip, then slowly hefted the blade in one hand, turning it over for inspection.

"The balance is off," she said. "And the weight."

You gotta be kidding me. "So? Fix it."

She stared at it some more. It wasn't immediately clear whether she was trying to fix it or she was just plain old looking at it.

"What's different?" Ming Xiu asked, her tone as if she couldn't decide whether to be outraged or fascinated. "What really happened?"

You accepted for the first time where you are and what you can do.

You got a placebo effect going; you were able to do this all along.

The truth was, she didn't know. She wished she did, but everything was so damn weird in this place, and all she had to draw upon were the mismatched accounts of former thralls and her own messed up, nigh incomprehensible experiences.

She was about to admit her ignorance, but then it hit her. It floated up from some deep recess of her memory, and it fit so well that it was hard not to smile like a maniac. She had never imagined she would be in a situation where she could say it, but here it was. And she had almost missed it, too!

"You want to know what is different now?" She moved to squat in front of Ming Xiu in as much a dignified manner as she could manage. She took a gentle hold of the woman's shoulders, and pushed a little so she would look up. The duplicate sword hung limply from her fingertips.

Alexandra looked her in the eyes, and spoke solemnly. "It's the difference between knowing something," she tapped Ming Xiu's forehead, "and knowing something," she gently placed index and middle finger over Ming Xiu's heart.

I'm so telling Aaron about this. He's gonna geek out big time.

"That makes no sense," Ming Xiu responded, ruining everything. She didn't even seem to be entirely engaged in the conversation.

"It does too!" Alex said, way more high-pitched than it was appropriate coming from a cool and awesome mentor. She let go of the woman's shoulders, flopping down on her buttocks, leaning back lightly on her hands. "You think you're in control at all times, but you're not. It's what I was talking about earlier. Even now—even in my time, people still dismiss the unconscious as hardly more than a funny curiosity. They think of it as something that can be easily controlled and overpowered by conscious, rational thought, and that it only comes to the surface during dreams and while doing repetitive chores and the like.

"But most of the time, it's the other way around. It affects all of our interactions, and it takes most if not all decisions, one way or another. We are surrogates to it, in a way, and you are not even listening to me, are you."

Ming Xiu had gradually traded her focused, grave, annoyed expressions for a glazed-over stare into space. The sword eventually vanished as dense mist between her fingers, and she didn't even notice. Her hands had slowly made their way to her sides, slinking away unnoticed from the task they had been charged with.

She spoke just as Alexandra was about to ask what was wrong. "What did you expect this would be like, Alex?"

Alexandra took a second, mildly confused. "'This'?"

"This." Ming Xiu brought up her hands in a vague gesture that encompassed the walls, the high ceiling, the curved floor, themselves. "Everything. After death."

"Oh." Alex needed a little longer to adapt to the sudden change in conversational gears. Ming Xiu wasn't big on asking personal questions.

"I believed ...." She trailed off. What had she believed? It seemed so long ago, so far away. What did she believe now? She had been pushing the questions aside. They were too damn painful. "I believed that I would be carried off to Heaven."

I was in Heaven and didn't know.

There was a small pause. Ming Xiu nodded in understanding, but Alexandra wondered. "Do you know anything about the Christian faith?" she asked.

The former soldier shook her head absent-mindedly, still with the look of being lost in thought.

Alexandra almost started to explain, going as far as opening her mouth. She reconsidered at the last moment. She couldn't see a point to it.

"You?" she asked instead.

It was a brief while before a response came. "Yun and I died with honor. We were supposed to be judged worthy of a stay in paradise before coming back to life. We talked of coming back together, when the time came. We would spend eternity falling in love with one another, over and over again."

I'd have found that so romantic, once.

Now it's just awful.

"I was afraid that Aaron wouldn't be there," Alexandra said. Her tone had slowly matched Ming Xiu's own, dropping from politely cautious to depressive introspection. "He didn't believe as I did."

Another nod. Another pause, heavy with their burdensome thoughts.

"Do you still think we might go back, eventually?" Alexandra asked quietly. She hadn't considered the possibility until then, but the question was mere curiosity, with no real hope in her voice.

Ming Xiu thought about it. "Maybe." More thinking. "I cannot imagine how it could happen."

Me neither.

Would I even want to go back?

Would I get to fall in love again?

Would it be someone else?

"I doesn't matter, does it," Ming Xiu finally said. "What we used to believe?"

Yes. Yes, of course it matters. It's what matters the most. Entire lives are built around these questions, countless lives are given meaning by the answers.

You can't throw all that away. There must be something else at work, something we don't or can't understand. There has to be.

"No." Alexandra replied. "I suppose it doesn't."

Shouldn't it matter, though? Shouldn't it?

Ming Xiu held out her hands again. The sword flashed into existence, after some effort. She let it dissolve, then made it appear once more. Dissolve. Appear. Dissolve. Appear.

Dissolve.

She traded a look with Alexandra. "Could there be a purpose to all this?"

Alex pressed her lips together, feeling all the helplessness and frustration surge within her. It never receded far, the tide of bile that would beat against her insides like furious waves in a tempest.

"I don't know, Ming Xiu. But I have my purpose. And you have yours. Don't let this place take that away from you. Not ever."

Ming Xiu nodded somberly, gaze still lost in the distance.

And if you never find him? Then what?

There will come a time when you will give up.

Then what?

The two women sat together in silence. Their heads were slightly bowed, as though in mourning.

________

The Grand Hall lived up to its name. Nested at the heart of Aerie's central citadel, the chamber was grand in every way: it was enormous, it was opulent, and it was a vital part of Chirm society.

It was shaped as a cylinder, like a massive grain silo with two domed roofs—one at the top, one at the bottom. The curved walls were host to dozens of smaller chambers designated specifically for every nest in the realm, each one marked with their respective sigil, as well as adornments of the nest's choosing. Every square inch of the walls was covered in gorgeous artwork, some of it painted but mostly carved in relief. From top to bottom, all the way around, it was a tangle of branches and leaves of every variety imaginable, all of it rendered in painstaking detail. Depictions of all sorts of animals could be seen among the branches and trunks, most blending in with their habitat, some standing out in a dynamic pose; some eerily familiar to Earthly birds and mammals, others entirely alien but not necessarily unpleasant. It was all done in elegant patterns of gold, silver, ochre and black, creating textures that were a mixture between metalwork and wood carving. Going inside felt like stepping into a colossal, hollowed-out tree trunk.

There were only two ways in or out of the chamber. One was a set of gigantic double doors, fit on a circular frame easily twenty feet in diameter. It was closer to the top than it was to the bottom of the Hall, but not by much, and in contrast with the surrounding walls their surface was smooth and featureless, colored a seamless gradient that went from black in the middle to gold on its edges. They led to the Council assembly.

The other exit was the way in from the outside: a large circular opening at least ten yards across, smack in the middle between floor and ceiling. It was through this opening that Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf made her entrance.

It wasn't the first time Alexandra had come into this magnificent feat of Chirm architecture—laboriously built by their pets under close supervision, of course—but this time was special, and she had dressed for the occasion. She wore an outfit that was the most elegant and elaborate she could conjure, and although dresses like this weren't her thing, she was pretty damn proud of the results. It was an improvement over Leafy's best, certainly—but not so much so that it could become suspicious.

Basically, the more vaporous, the more silky and long and flowy, the better. But Leafy could never get it completely right, never subtle enough for the highest standards of the high society. Oh, how she would stew in thickly concealed envy as she watched those other females, with their perfectly artful gowns and not a feather out of place. Why was such emphasis placed on a talent that they had done nothing to earn? The outrage at such injustice had been prominent in her mind.

It was way overdone, in Alexandra's opinion, but that was alien cultures for ya. The "dress" was more like dozens of independent stoles, covering maybe sixty percent of her plumage, with particular attention to leaving her bust exposed. It was custom (or current fashion, she wasn't certain) to always leave chest and abdomen uncovered—something that had made Alexandra feel like an exhibitionist, at first. The pointed lack of breasts in Chirm physiology helped a great deal toward getting over it.

The stoles clung to and wrapped around her limbs and waist in a variety of ways, weaving in and out of her feathered mantle in contrast-rich braids. They spiraled around her legs in a complicated pattern, knotting here and there to extend far past her taloned feet, making it entirely impossible to walk while wearing it. It had a bit of an Arabian Nights flare, with all the fluttery, weightless ribbons that were like dancing veils as they trailed behind her every movement. Airborne as she was, the dress flowed around her as if she was submerged underwater.

It was colored the deep green of perennial pine leaves; the emerald green of sun-bathed shrubs; the pale green of newborn shoots—a bold departure from Leafy's translucent whites and pearls. This was wholly intentional: a scale of green was more in tune with the new and improved Forest Song (of the) Turning Leaf.

Because new Leafy's ambition was no longer hindered by a woeful lack of talent or a want-but-can't attitude. She wasn't as charming as she used to be, but was brazen enough to make up for it. She was no longer content to stay in her little zoo; gone were conformity and resignation, rueful acceptance of her place and fake deference to her so-called superiors. She had emerged from her frivolous obscurity and championed a clamor for change, justice and retribution, and that clamor had been picked up by a small but swelling percentage of Aerie's population.

Forest Song entered the Great Hall, and she did it as if she was owner and proprietor, not even bothering to look defiantly at those that would scoff at her presence. She was far past that stage. They had treated her as an unwelcome guest barging in, at first, but no more: she had clawed her way into acceptance and notoriety, one rude, outraged or demagogic remark at a time. She was entitled to be there.

Everyone present turned their attention to her. There were some cordial greetings, a fair amount of respectful acknowledgments, a sneer or two, and a few openly hostile feather configurations.

"You are not fooling anyone, fear monger!" came the predictably angry caw.

Ugh, not you again.

Forest Song eyed the source of the heckle with studied indifference. Some people had no respect for etiquette.

The look wasn't enough to dissuade the jackass. Verdant Crag (under) High Peak emerged from his niche in the wall, all fluffy red-and-green plumage and long, gangly limbs. He made his ostentatious way across the chamber, a number of sycophants close in his wake. Nobody could fail to notice the enthralled guards that shadowed him, either. Such sweet irony to exploit. He truly made it too easy.

It was quite the distance from wall to entryway. The niche assigned to the nest of the High Peak was a bit lower than entryway-level, and almost directly opposite from her position. The Hall was so large that by the time the idiot had strutted as close as he wanted to get, she had already made it halfway to the waiting area leading to the enormous double doors that guarded the Council assembly. Before Verdant Crag could start his ranting, Forest Song spoke loud enough for everyone present to hear.

"It is not my intention to fool anyone, Crag." She used the least respectful form of address possible, while making it perfectly clear that she was talking down at him. The image was helped by the fact that he had physically traveled up to intercept her.

"Save your platitudes." He pointed at her with one sharp claw-finger, looking around at a mostly uncomfortable audience. "This is nothing but an opportunistic power grab!"

A chirping murmur of approval rose from his cadre of groupies. One of them went as far as to say "You are not welcome here!" in the manner that thuggish crowd-dwellers are known to do, without actually engaging her in any way. She decided that she had officially glided into cliché city.

Forest Song waved a hand at them dismissively, wide ribbons of dress fluttering in their general direction. "Go ahead and bury your head in the ground. In the meanwhile, I will endeavor to keep my kin safe." She smirked, her temple feathers expressing it as a widespread flush at an acute angle. "Perhaps you would like to donate one of your personal escorts to the cause? Or is it too much a risk to take?"

Crag glanced at one of his vaguely humanoid bodyguards before responding. The vacant stare in its three pairs of eyes was unmistakable. "This is my usual retinue! Your deranged claims have had no effect on me!"

"I'm sure that Swaying Treetop and Hollow Branch and all the others would have called them 'deranged' as well. Right up to the moment of their disappearance."

"You still fail to present any proof of—"

Forest Song spoke over his squawks—the epitome of conversational rudeness amongst the birds, short of gratuitous name-calling. "Is that what you will tell them if they come for you, Crag? That they should leave you alone because there's no proof of their existence?"

Outraged dismay was written all over Verdant Crag's narrow features. One of his cronies, a plump female of a deep burgundy, got a bit closer. "Is that a threat?" she said, bristling.

The answer was a bout of laughter, the hollow crackle of a raven's purr. "Is that an accusation?" she asked in return. "How entertaining."

The female's anger was flushed with newly minted embarrassment. "You cannot deny that you have gained much from their disappearance!"

She said it with more ire than conviction. She knew it was a silly accusation. The plumpette seemed to hang on to the line of thought merely because she'd been foolish enough to suggest it in the first place.

"I provided a home to orphans," Forest Song replied, her earlier mirth evaporating. "I strictly followed protocol to do so, once I took care of their needs. I've been nothing but a well-meaning neighbor concerned for her own safety. And this is how you judge me? Wouldn't you be as worried as I am, if most of your neighbors and friends suddenly vanished without a trace?"

Verdant Crag rose up to the bait. "There could be any number of causes—"

She cut him off again. "Something is out there, preying on our numbers, and I for one am sick of the Council's denial!" There were several nods among the scattered audience. Her interview wasn't supposed to be public, but an awful lot of birds had shown up anyway. "I only demand the right to feel safe in my own home. I only demand better protection for everyone, not just the privileged few"—she made a significant pause, gesturing in Crag's direction again. Her words weren't directed at his little group anymore—"whose only merit is being born into these privileges. If the nest of the Valiant Perch had counted with proper sentries, for example, then my dear friend Golden Crest would no doubt be here right now."

Forest Song hovered closer to the group of idiots that insisted on delaying her, green billows of dress floating around her in a fluid halo. "And yet you dare accuse me of treason. I am more loyal to this nation than any of you could ever be, and the only reason I am here is because I want to do everything in my power to protect it. So take your 'standard retinue' and—"

Before she could suggest a number of orifices, a nearly subsonic bass vibration spread through the chamber, and the gigantic double doors cracked open a few inches. They opened like upended eyelids, parting to leave a slit just wide enough for a messenger to squeeze through. Under everyone's expectant stare, the little thing poked a tiny eyeless head out of the top of its squid-like body, swiveled it from side to side as if sniffing the air, retracted it, and then traveled a bit farther into the chamber.

Alexandra was used to the sight by then, as well as to many others a fair bit more bizarre than this one. Messengers were the lifeblood of Chirm administration. At first, it had struck her as yet another example of over-reliance on servants. But she had soon realized that there were several legitimate reasons that made the Critter Post not only convenient, but a vital necessity. Those reasons boiled down to two crass limitations of existence in the afterlife: the lack of natural cycles of any kind, which made simple things like convening to meet "in two days time" a supremely frustrating endeavor; and the complete absence of communications technology, which plunged the methods of passing information around straight into medieval ages.

Luckily, there were plenty of critters capable of fulfilling the role of Pony Express. She didn't even have to feel bad for them. They would be either mindless creatures that had been conditioned for the task, like trained pigeons, or somewhat intelligent beings that would carry out more complicated navigation and would generally take great pride in their job, just like your average postal worker. The little rosy squiddle currently flitting toward the edge of the waiting area was one such creature.

"Your attention is requested." It spoke in wavy toops that sounded like Morse code but weren't. "The Council announces that it is now ready for the hearing convened. One Forest Song of the nest of the Turning Leaf, come forth."

Looks like I got here just in time.

This was it. After all the preparations, it was finally going to happen. She suppressed a surge of nerves and pushed herself to approach the little guy, feeling everyone's attention pressing against her. Verdant Crag made as if to object to her moving away, reconsidered, and decided to stew in frustrated impotence instead. In defiance to her nervousness, Alexandra made an effort to keep her game face up, turning as she glided ahead to give out some parting words for anyone that cared to listen.

"Pay no heed to the naysayers." Once more she gestured toward her favorite punching bag. "They will want you to remain as they are, mired in complacency and a false sense of security. But they are wrong. If all goes well, the Council will act immediately. And if I join the Council, I will see to it that not one more of us will succumb to this invisible plague. We are K'chuhrr'K, and nothing will have us exist in fear."

That's how she imagined the word was spelled, in any case—the number of Ks and Rs and apostrophes shifted depending on how silly she happened to feel at any given moment. It still wasn't easy to consciously coax weird-ass native speech through her beak, especially in a setting where it had to be done seamlessly. But you can hardly make grand political statements on how exceptional your own species is without actually pronouncing its real name. It wouldn't do to resort to the human bastardization of the word.

There were many nods from the scattered crowd, even a whistled cheer or two. There was still a fair amount of skepticism, but definitely much less than there used to be. Even the nest beyond Split Creek seemed to regard her with cautious approval.

She made her parsimonious way to the squiddle and the double doors behind it. Sometimes it felt surreal, the way she had fooled them so completely. A negligible minimum of suspicion had been cast upon the nest of the Turning Leaf, and—as far as she could tell—nobody even remotely suspected who (or what) she really was. Apparently the Chirm were not familiar with the concept of "He Who Smelled It, Dealt It."

She wanted to believe that humans wouldn't be as gullible as this, but then again, not a lot of people normally suspect one of their peers to be a chamaleonic mass murderer. In fact, those who seriously suspect such things find their way into the loony bin and/or a reality show soon enough.

The ponderous bass thrummed again as she drew near, and the double doors started moving, folding and receding into themselves like a pair of actual eyelids. The messenger darted ahead of her and hovered to one side of the entryway. Alexandra discreetly peered at the view beyond, half expecting to see a tribunal stand of some sort. She could see nothing but an indistinct brownish texture, and enthralled guards on either side of the doorway, members of two particularly intimidating species suited quite well for the bodyguard stereotype.

Forest Song drifted forward solemnly, pristine white plumage gleaming, silky billows of fabric flowing in her wake. Her head was held high as the silent onlookers watched her cross the threshold into the Council chamber.

It was supposed to be her greatest triumph so far, the culmination of all the role-playing, the near-misses, the lies and the house-of-cards scheming. But, at that particular moment, she couldn't help feeling a bit ridiculous in her overblown dress and avian skin. If anyone had told her at any point in her life that this is what she would be doing in the afterlife ....

You know, you might want to save the awkward self-awareness for later.

The little guy followed her in, hovering behind her as it announced her entrance.

"Forest Song, nest of the Turning Leaf, appears before the Council!"

It then floated outside and took its place to one side of the entryway, right before the eyelid doors closed shut with a thundering rumble, sealing them in. One of the four guards flanking the door tested the air in her direction, using one of his miniature elephant trunks (it had several), and appeared to find everything in order. None of them moved, otherwise. Their undercurrents were a diverse conglomerate of curious peaks and valleys, each one radically different than the next, but sharing the same fundamental principles that Alexandra easily recognized.

She did her best not to look like a lost child as she scanned the Council chamber. She had expected something even more grandiose in here, but the place was sorely lacking in the lavish department. The room was yet another cylinder, considerably smaller than the Grand Hall, floor like a bowl, ceiling shaped as a dome. The brownish texture that could be seen from the outside was just that: a vertical wave pattern the color of bronze, repeated endlessly as it ran up the wall. Up there, close to the top, the walls jutted out and thickened into a fat half-ring with deep alcoves distributed at regular intervals.

She saw them there, perching in their cubbyholes, looking down at her.

Subtle as a punch to the face.

There were fourteen Council members up there, each one occupying their own individual alcove. Five of the niches were empty: three absentees, two vacancies. She was well aware of that: those vacancies were one of her alleged reasons to be there.

Their features and body shapes were as diverse as the color of their plumage, which went from the solid black of the female straight ahead, through the blend of tropical hues on a few of the its, to the ivory white of the male in the far left. It was immediately apparent that at least five of them were not happy to have her there, as they regarded her with varying degrees of contempt—they didn't even try to hide it. Some of them acknowledged her presence politely, though, including the all-black female. Alexandra couldn't tell one way or the other with the rest.

"Proceed to the center of the room," said the right-most Council member, a squat neutral whose guttural warble and rotund frame reminded Alexandra of a mother hen. It had a crest and bulging chin and everything.

She had already started surreptitiously getting closer by the time the command came, so just as well.

"Don't go any higher," the voice came again, a tad miffed.

Fine, whatever, cock-a-doodle-doo.

She reached a point a bit higher than the middle of the room (purely by mistake, of course), then spread her arms out to the sides and took a deep bow, her legs straight and pointing in two different directions just so. She was supposed to do that.

The large neutral intoned in official-sounding squawks. "Forest Song, nest of the Turning Leaf. You appear before this Council to address the matter of missing peers and allegedly destroyed servants."

A second voice came from straight ahead. The all-black female, no doubt. "You will also be considered for a place in this Council." She traded a few looks with some of the others after she said it. Hers was defiant, while the others showed anger, or dubiousness. Two were of indifference. One other was of approval.

Alexandra still found it funky how she was aware of little things like that even when she wasn't looking their way.

"I thank you all for bestowing this privilege upon me," she said, still bent over and looking straight down at the floor, way below her.

Come on already. Am I gonna have to actually go through this? There's a reason why I didn't bother to learn your bloody names.

"Has this Council stooped so low, that we would take this fear monger in our midst?" It was one of the angry voices talking. Scrawny Miss Flatface, if Alexandra wasn't mistaken. "A newcomer whose only merit is screaming the loudest at gatherings?"

I'll do you first, asshole.

"Aerie is already well represented in this Council, anyway," another scoffing voice put in. That must have been Scowls Sir Puffington. "And even if that weren't the case, she's hardly of age to mate, let alone weight in on matters of state. A young mind will never mature here, no matter how long it has existed."

Forest Song straightened up to look at them, fed up of waiting to be told to rise. Not like it was uncomfortable or anything, although it would have been supremely so if she'd still had muscles to cramp.

"If age is your best argument against me," she said, "then opposition to my appointment is much weaker than I thought."

Some of them didn't like that comment at all. "You speak out of turn," admonished Mother Hen before somebody else could start screeching at her.

"The audience has not yet begun," she replied. She made it a point to stare at whoever spoke last. Some of the looks she was getting were as dark and as filthy as city sewers, even if she was technically right.

Anytime now, Miss Keister.

Never before had she felt more pointedly the absence of her wristwatch. Behind a solemn exterior, Alexandra was nervous enough to feel like she was going to sick up, despite the utter impossibility of it. Everything rode on the outcome of what she was trying to do here.

The sympathetic female raised a claw and spread its four pointy fingers, palm facing away from her. The fabric of her attire flowed with the movement; it was a less ostentatious, much more nuanced version of Alexandra's own. "I call for the beginning of formal proceedings." As soon as she said it, a thready wisp of mist came together in front of her hand, gathering into a tiny white pinhead. It then fluctuated and grew to the size of a hockey puck, taking the shape of a black disk framed in white. "Under Midnight Sun," it translated to Alexandra's perception.

A few others didn't hesitate to do their own: an oblique brown tree trunk, flanked by upright ones ("of the Fell Tree"); the image of a snow-capped mountain of peculiar shape ("beneath Frigid Peak"); a wide, grey stone tower with three tall banners at the top ("in Stolid Rook"). A little while longer, and most of the rest produced their sigil as well. Forest Song displayed hers for all to see: a round-ish two-pointed leaf, tinted light green and gold and dark brown, belonging to the kawteek'kchakee trees endemic to the lands of her people.

The image wobbled almost inperceptibly, matching Alexandra's fretfulness. She was weary of the idiotic protocol and the whole façade that had brought her there, and now that the end was so close, she couldn't wait for it to be over. It should have started by now. She felt a stab of panic, worried that Tamira might have been caught somehow before it had even begun.

Miss Flatface despondently put her hand forward, the image of an undulating line with hues of brown beneath it ("above Barren Plains") materializing in front of her palm.

"Let this farce begin," she said, and just then the thunderous boom Alexandra was waiting for ruptured throughout the central citadel.

Yes. Let's.

She felt a rush of taut excitement, and the nerves flowed out of her, as she had hoped they would. It was always the anticipation that got her nervous; once the important thing was actually happening, be it semester finals or weird-ass Council assembly, her belly fell still and she was free to focus on whatever she was trying to do.

Before they could understand what was happening, Alexandra sprang into action.

She surged left and up in a fluttering blur, toward the impertinent nit that kept looking down on her. She made it to the niche almost instantly, and her bladed staff sliced off the still extended arm, then seamlessly went on to cleave the head in half. Not pausing to examine the messy results, she made it to her next target to the left just as shock started to take over its features, and quickly dispatched it with another swipe of her weapon. At the same time, she inverted the dampening field she would normally use to suppress the undercurrent rift, amplifying the signal instead. The resulting cacophony was the equivalent of a flashbang thrown in the middle of the assembly, making each one of them recoil and cower instinctively. Not wasting a second, she made it to the left-most ocuppied alcove and tore apart a third Council member, still encountering no resistance at all.

Eleven to go.

"Stop! What are you doing? Guards!"

It was Sympathetic Female (under) Midnight Sun, talking in shrieks over the unbearable cascade of rupturing souls and the thunder that had continued tearing through the structure. The alien guards did indeed rouse from their shocked stupor, but did not head toward the deranged newcomer attacking the Council. Instead, they darted away from the door in pairs, each picking the most vulnerable target they had available. Elephant boy, together with Pincer Blob, went straight for the plump moderator in the rightmost niche. Before Sympathetic Female's horrified stare, the alcove shifted and suddenly closed up all around the Council member, swallowing up whole its considerable girth. Another, somewhat muffled rupture added to the mix, shortly after. The other pair of guards was hard at work as well: a highly focused resonance was being sent forth by Shorty McSpikes, rendering an as yet un-nicknamed neutral entirely immobile. Shorty's buddy hovered behind, protecting both of them in some esoteric way.

Only a small part of Alexandra's awareness was keeping track of their progress. Most of her mental resources were committed to blazing her way to her next target, brandishing her blade, and bringing it down on his head with every ounce of willpower she could muster.

Puffington had time to raise a suddenly gauntlet-clad hand to intercept her blow, yelling stridently as he did. Her weapon made contact, and there was resistance, a lot more than she expected. But her blow got through.

All the way through.

Gore and organs spilled out of each half in a stomach-turning jumble. For an appalling moment, it looked as if they did not want to fall and spread, faint mist tendrils shooting out and latching on together, fighting to remain whole.

... the fuck?

Alexandra wasted a second watching it happen, daunted by the awful display but much more alarmed by the possible implications of what was happening.

The moment passed, the connections strained and snapped, and everything fell apart the way it was supposed to. Another flailing rift would begin soon.

No time.

She put the whole thing out of her mind and focused on the next step, quickly scanning the situation.

There was only so much that the element of surprise was going to do for her. The remaining eight rulers were starting to react to the sudden chaos around them, coming out of their alcoves and getting closer to one another. The raven-black female was yelling outrage at the treasonous guards, while keeping an eye on the murderous blur making short work of her compatriots.

"Stop! I command you to stop!" She had raised a claw at the guards and was leaning forward intently. Forest Song could feel the Chirm's noxious influence extending in a wide arc toward the rebels, mollifying their aggression and sapping their will. It was stronger than she had ever seen. Worryingly so.

The guards were responding to it, becoming sluggish and confused. They didn't look entirely cowed, however. But the safeguards she had implanted in them were barely holding their own, and quite clearly were not enough to repel this female's talents.

Alexandra slammed her own influence onto them, flooding the former slaves with unfettered rage at their long-time captors. It was something that took much less effort to bolster: it was the emotion that had brought them all together, the one common cause shared by every single creature that had joined her efforts after she had approached them. It was an alliance built on hatred and resentment.

The guards faltered, then seemed to snap out of it in force. All of them shook and screamed furiously in a discordant battlecry, lunging forth recklessly at the female trying to control them. Alexandra considered that she might have nudged them a bit too far, maybe.

The matriarch under Midnight Sun screeched in frustration, and presumably would try a different tactic, but Alex couldn't afford to keep all her attention on that side of the conflict. She had seven Council members starting to band together, and an eighth slowly coming out of stasis. They seemed dazed and uncertain, alternating their focus between her, the unleashed guards, and the terrible pandemonium of sound and sensation that surrounded them. Most showed signs of not quite believing that this terrible disaster was actually happening.

She recognized their momentary proximity to one another as something that she needed to exploit. Forest Song burst into motion again, sweeping out of the alcove and speeding up along a wide horizontal arc. She felt another stab of nervous excitement for that split second as she approached at an angle, getting closer to the loose cluster of three straight ahead. They were lined up ever so nicely for her. This was what she had practiced endlessly for.

She propelled herself as fast as she could go, then turned left abruptly, when she was hardly twenty feet away. She swung her staff out in a wide sweep as she did, using both hands to drive the shaft wildly from right to left as hard as she could manage. There was probably an easier, more efficient way to go about this, but that was the way she had taught herself to do it.

At that crucial moment, when her body became a super-energized blur, she put her mind's eye into the tip of the blade, the way she had practiced until she found that it was indeed possible for her to become exhausted. She felt the sharp edge with her mind, aiming her every thought and effort into it, and concentrated on the trajectory of that edge, on the curved gash that it left behind as it traveled. Mist burst forth from her in waves, thick and violent like pyroclastic flows that trailed into the crescent cut arcing in the space before her. The roiling smoke came together at the front, pushing ahead in the shape of a large wedge, coalescing and taking form as it went.

A paper-thin crescent of shining steel, as wide as she was tall, shot straight into the Chirm faster than the eye could follow.

Alexandra's mind-blade sliced clean through the three birds that she had aimed it at, and ripped into the arm and abdomen of a fourth. Haphazard strands of angry smoke spread all over the area as they trailed behind the crescent, obscuring the view for a time. But she didn't need eyesight to know what was happening.

She steeled herself from the sudden sense of drain that she knew would come after what she'd done, and made the effort to focus her amplifying field on the rifts emerging from the severed Council members. She poured so much of her will into it that she started finding the signals close to unbearable, even protected from them as she was. The remaining birds—six to go—shrunk away from the awful cacophony at once, spreading out further. The group that had almost formed broke into a sparse collection of shocked individuals. After seeing seven of their colleagues torn to pieces in less time than it takes to count them, their disposition was shifting from defiant and outraged to utterly terrified.

Alexandra threw herself at the nearest target to resume her close-and-personal approach. The tall, multi-colored neutral screamed incomprehensibly before succumbing to her blade. She went through the lingering smoke and up, and a feeble, panicky attempt at soothing her aggression was all the resistance offered by the long-beaked, long-feathered Council seat. It was while flashing toward the next stop that a completely different undercurrent, one lacking the Chirm signatures she had blocked out, exploded into her perception and threw her reeling into a splitting headache.

She let out a pained cry and frantically searched for the source, while letting go of the amplifying field that was suddenly working against her. The rift quieted down to a manageable level, enough for her to recognize it as being of Pincer origin. It was coming from a spot close to the middle of the chamber, where she had last seen the rebel guards. At the center of the anomaly, the Midnight Sun matriarch danced.

She wielded a pair of curved blades, ressembling broad sabers the color of bleached bone—although they were currently stained with splashes of dark blue. Chunks of the Pincer guard drifted all around her, reluctantly dissolving in a stridulous mess. She was in the process of hacking Elephant Boy to pieces while deftly fending off the other two.

They're not supposed to do stuff like that!

Not once had any of her targets tried to match blades with her. Then again, none of them had been given the chance. But if it was common for them to get their hands dirty like this, one of the freed thralls surely would have mentioned it! She mentally kicked herself for half-assing her research, even if she couldn't imagine at which point in her ramshackle masquerade could she have gone about finding out these things without rousing suspicion.

Spikes and his weird scaly buddy were still standing, and still thoroughly enraged. They made up for their lack of discipline in their purely physical attacks with staunch ferocity.

They'll keep her busy long enough, hopefully. I still got the rest of these guys to mop up.

She shifted all of her attention back to the remaining three Council members. She did it just in time to see the edge of a large ivory-white cleaver rushing straight at her face.

FUCK! she yelled inside her head, blurring to the side and avoiding the thing by the breadth of a hair. She quickly grabbed the wrist that held the weapon, pulled down and toward herself, and slammed the ball of her other claw into her attacker's shoulder-blade.

She was rewarded by a shocked squawk, but no disabling fractures or dislocations were forthcoming. Either Chirm physiology didn't work the same way as human, or bones couldn't be counted on to break in this place. It didn't really matter, though.

"Good try, bitch," Alexandra rasped at the stocky male that had almost split her head in half. She wasted no time in kicking his feathery back to put a small distance between them, conjuring up the staff that she had dissolved just a second ago, and driving it into the side of her opponent's neck.

She paid no mind to the head drifting away and concentrated on locating the remaining two, watching out for any other nasty surprises. But only one of them had mustered the nerve to go after her, apparently. The other two were already halfway to the entrance of the chamber, one of them missing the better part of an arm and bleeding their bright orange blood profusely—the Chirm sucked at healing themselves and avoiding harm through disbelief. As far as Alexandra understood, most didn't really think that they were actually dead, or dead all the way, or whatever.

They also were not as fast as she could be. She circled around to the entrance, rushing along the curved walls, and planted herself in front of the gateway before the two escapees could complete their mad dash to relative safety. They stopped in their tracks and stared, near-delirious dread clear in their avian features. She recognized the unwounded one as the one male that had been approving of her presence there.

"Why are you—" he begun to cry out, but his question was cut short by Alexandra's forward charge. She kept her extended weapon static as she passed through, letting it rend through the bird's throat. She immediately turned and swung low at the other one, hacking into its undamaged side and finishing what she had started earlier. She aimed the next swing higher, and the agonized screams were brought to an abrupt end.

The harrowing distortion unraveling from two entirely different undercurrents came into the picture then, adding to the two that she has just created. She turned toward the matriarch's general position in time to watch her close the distance to the last rebel, deflect its flailing attacks, and get a well aimed, back-handed chop into its supple neck. The blow struck but was too weak to make it to the other end; she swung with her other blade hard at the same location, getting all the way through the thick body part and leaving her lopsided. Normally, the alien might have been able to put up its protective shield and fend her off for a while, but its mind was too far lost in slobbering rage to do anything other than attempting to get its three-fingered hands on its hated foe.

Probably should have done something about over-stimulating the living shit out of them?

There was no time, she responded to herself, mostly believing it. The least she could do now was to use the distraction to her advantage.

Before the female could turn her full attention back to her, Alexandra shot ahead to finish up the job. She rushed in at blinding speed, drew up her blade-staff, and wielded it like a halberd to bring it down at an angle on the matriarch's turned back. But the female had carried on spinning after her forceful blow, and became aware of Forest Song's approach. One of her blades shot up at the last moment and deflected the downward slash, aided by her continued angular momentum as she kept spinning out of the way. Her other sword came in a wild, desperate swing that forced Alexandra to raise a hand and catch the blow with the shaft of her staff, barely avoiding a gash through her chest.

The matriarch made no effort to fly away. She pressed on with more controlled attacks, swinging and thrusting in a quick succession designed to overwhelm with finesse and speed rather than strength. Alexandra's awareness went into overdrive, working at capacity to intercept or dodge everything that came at her as she was forced to back away.

Oh fuck this! she thought, and raised her arm during a tiny break between strikes. A burst of mist rapidly condensed into an enormous tower shield strapped to her forearm, which she immediately bashed against the relentless tide of attacks with as much strength as she could put into it.

Which was a lot.

The blow caught the matriarch by surprise and connected head on, sending her sprawling away, closer to the back of the chamber. Alexandra thought that there had been a crack, but it was difficult to hear such things in the midst of all the chaos. While the multiple undercurrent rifts were gradually fading, the thunderous noises induced by Tamira's efforts had only increased in intensity.

Alexandra let go of the shield and followed after her dazed opponent. Much to her chagrin, the female had already recovered, and looked no worse for wear.

"You planned this," the matriarch stated, not bothering to make it a question.

Alexandra had no interest in a conversation. The longer she took, the more chances of any one of her allies being overrun. But she hadn't expected this level of resistance. Rushing in and trying to impale this damn female didn't seem like a viable strategy anymore.

She wants to play ninja, so let her. It's just swords. It won't touch you if you don't let it.

There was no way she would go for that. Her weapon did plenty of damage, after all. She knew at some level that none of it was literal; there was no steel, no bone, no flesh. But she couldn't bring herself to consciously put her body in harm's way here, because there were simply too many variables she wasn't aware of. For all she knew, the matriarch's blades could do what Ming Xiu's couldn't. For all she knew, those bleached bone sabers could mangle her into oblivion.

Forest Song nodded, showing no emotion.

"Why? Why are you betraying your own people? I worked to get you here! Why are you doing this!"

There was a terrible anger in her inflection, but the confusion and disbelief were also impossible to miss. It was the deep-cutting pain brought about by betrayal.

Don't you dare feel guilt now, you stupid bleeding heart idiot! Think of everything they do! They're all slaver scum!

Alexandra clenched her jaw (tightened her beak, flattened her feathers) and stared back at the matriarch. "Because you are my enemy, slave driver."

The female's feathers flattened as well. Then they rotated down slightly, and she tilted her head to the left. Incipient suspicion.

"Who are you?"

She'd just been fed a straight line if she ever knew one. She had rehearsed the question, and had come up with a respectable number of bad-ass one-liners to respond with. It was the question that they were sure to ask her, sooner or later.

None of them came to mind at the moment, however. Instead, she shed her Chirm disguise like so much discarded laundry. The transformation was smooth and fluid, taking barely a second for her feathers to melt into a haze that became clothes, her fur-like plumage shimmering and then darkening into smooth African skin.

The matriarch looked as horrified as if she'd just seen her closest friend melt in a pool of acid. This alone bothered Alexandra more than anything else. She drifted a bit closer.

"I," she said, embers smoldering in her eyes, "am the end of your species."

Not too bad, for being improvised.

The female went from horror straight to contemptuous hatred.

"A filthy Human soil dweller!"

The reveal really, really pissed her off, much more than Alexandra had expected. The matriarch (under) Midnight Sun immediately threw every bit of mind-controlling flapdoodle that she could command straight at her despised opponent. The wave of influence struck Alexandra in an almost physical tide.

She spent about a second dismissing it with smug disdain. Then she had a little while to feel shocked, and then terribly alarmed at the fact that it was actually affecting her. A little longer, and being alarmed didn't seem all that important. She was aware of every little change in her disposition, going from adamant determination, to not so adamant, to tentatively determined to see her mission through. Hints of fatalism started to emerge (There's no way I can pull this off, she's got too much experience on me, I thought I could shrug off their influence but I guess I can't), and soon they had turned into crippling doubts, well on their way to insurmountable certainties.

"You and I will become the best of friends," the matriarch said. Something inside Alexandra's scrambled thoughts insisted that there was nothing but honesty in those words. There was a nascent desire to believe they were true, and she found her lips curving in a little smile.

"I've been wondering what your name is," Alexandra said. There was no real reason why they couldn't be friends. Different species aside, they were both strong women that could use some mutual support. And she was curious how to get her gown to flow so beautifully.

The matriarch drifted nearer, slowly. "I am Windswept Feather (under) Midnight Sun. And you?"

"Alexandra Gretchen." It was only polite to say. She felt awfully polite. "You can call me Alex, if you like."

"I think I will. Thank you."

But she was so nice! Why hadn't she tried to be diplomatic first? Why had she brought all this violence and brutality to an otherwise peaceful conclave? She might have ruined every chance of a prosperous alliance between her people and the Chirm. But Windswept Feather said they could still be friends ....

Alexandra looked around her, at the now empty Council chamber. "I ... killed everyone." A frown broke her dazed expression. She found a trace of suspicion in some corner inside of her, so she grabbed it and grafted it onto her question. "Could you really forgive me?"

"Of course," the female said, and with it came a warm surge of friendliness. Some part of Alexandra noticed that it clashed radically with an expression that was full of loathing, but surely she was just getting the signals mixed up. It was an alien, after all; all those frowning feathers probably meant that she was so very happy to have resolved this awful misunderstanding.

It was when those two conflicting thoughts fought for prevalence that Tamira's wordless shriek pierced through the fog taking over her. It grated inside her skull like glass-fracturing feedback; the woman's voice might be raspy in a normal conversation, but she sure could bring up the octaves when experiencing terrible pain.

Tamira Keister. I know that person. Why would she be in pain, though?

So unlike her to raise her voice. When I first met her, she was quiet, demure and obedient.

(As she should be, as I should be.)

She used to be in terrible pain, but not anymore. Her name was different, then.

(you can call me Alex if you like)

Her name used to be

(don't call me that)

... Tami.

Tami. Feli, Tish, Yuri. Tori, Lin, Naya, Dani, all the rest.

Should we add Alex to the list?

The spark caught, and the rage ignited like so much gasoline.

"You BITCH!" Alexandra shot forward in a ravenous cloud, straight at Windswept Feather. She did not conjure her staff, or a shield, or any other weapon. She passed through lightning-quick swings of those bone-made blades as if they weren't even there, and forcefully melded with the motherfucking bitch that had just tried to enslave her.

She went in prepared for an excruciating battle of the wills, but it was immediately apparent that the matriarch had been caught completely flat-footed. All that met her was the instinctive, undirected resistance against a foreign entity. Windswept Feather (under) Midnight Sun had zero experience in this, Alexandra realized.

And after refining her methods and trying different approaches on a long list of forty-seven humans and five birds, along with all the volunteers she'd practiced on, the ordeal was old hat for Alexandra.

Counter to what she would normally do, she established every one-way contact possible and flooded every one of them with a full upload, pushing the jumbled mess of her personal experiences down Windswept Feather's throat. She smashed what little initial resistance there was as she went: it was like a full-body hug, and every pore-to-pore contact injected a massive overdose of information for the bird's mind to process. There was a chance that this alone would be enough to mess her up irreparably, if the mind proved unable to adapt, but Alexandra didn't count on it. It wasn't what she was going for, anyway; the tactic was a tried and true distraction that would allow her to work unmolested for a good while.

Because she had already planted the fractal seed, and was working on making it grow at record speed.

A filthy Human, aren't I.

I'll give you friendship. We'll be best friends forever.

She had explored forty-seven constructs that were essentially the same as the one she was building. She had studied every one of them in minute detail, and taken them apart through painstaking labor that was hours-long only in her own perception. She had recreated some from scratch, and understood their principles thoroughly, and modified them to fit the needs of one particular infiltration or another.

They were all different on the surface, adapting to the permutations of personalities, dispositions, phobias, immunities. But these differences were only in the outermost layers, and could be inferred through iteration. At the core, they were all the same foundation, the same concepts, and they applied to each and every individual she had liberated. There was no reason for it to be different in this case, even if her target was Chirm instead of Human. Delve deep enough, and it's all the same.

All the same.

I'll teach you to make slaves out of us. I'll show you exactly what it's like.

Windswept Feather was paralyzed, completely overwhelmed for the time being. Yet Alexandra could sense the mind she was in contact with desperately struggling to adapt, to process the explosive sensory overload and regain a semblance of control.

"You won't control anyone, ever again," Alexandra sent over the information-induced madness, not much caring whether it got through or not. She methodically slapped into place each segment for all the different aspects of self, thorny vines latching on and constricting the matriarch's thoughts. It even was less complicated than it had been with her assortment of spies, thanks to the easy-to-navigate structural clarity inherent to the avian mind—as well as the fact that she didn't give half a damn about being gentle, or screwing up the delicate balance between suggestions and commands. There was no such balance to worry about: she left no wiggle room, no choices, nothing but asphyxiating obedience.

She felt it then, the first conscious effort to combat her advances. It was feeble and aimless at first, as if Windswept Feather was just trying to figure out what was going on. But it quickly grew purposeful, focused. Alexandra spread her influence to wrangle that purpose, enveloping the bird's will with her own. She wrapped her tendrils around the matriarch's mental pushing and shoving, and choked the living hell out of it.

"This is what it's like. This is what you do to them."

Maybe the Chirm understood, maybe not. But the attempt at throwing her out soon became a struggle, and the struggle soon went from frantic to desperate. She knew, she knew what was happening to her. And as the construct took more definite shape, she knew how futile it was to fight against it.

She threw herself at it anyway, full of fear and anxiety. Just like so many of the former thralls had done. It was coupled with deeply shocked outrage, of the kind that went "this cannot be happening to ME."

"Karma is such a bitch, isn't she."

Windswept Feather grew quiet, like someone interrupting their private tantrum at becoming aware that they're being watched. It looked like she was trying to focus on something in particular.

It took a little while for Alexandra to realize that the Chirm was addressing her directly.

How? the matriarch was asking, in a disembodied voice that was no longer wrapped in bird-like speech. How?

Nothing good would come out of talking to her, Alexandra knew.

She did it anyway.

"That's for me to know, and for you to agonize over."

There was more outrage at her insolence, but it was short-lived. The anger was dwarfed by a sinking sense of helplessness.

She reached out again, her voice-in-thoughts muffled through a wall of barbed wire.

Don't do this to me.

Alexandra's eyes would have narrowed. "You are in no position to make demands."

What are you doing? She thought at herself. Stop talking to her and finish what you started!

There was a long pause, cut short by the Windswept Feather's mounting urgency.

Please.

"Oh don't you dare!"

Alexandra, please.

"Don't you fucking dare! How many of your slaves begged? How many did you ignore?"

A few beats went by.

I did not know. I am sorry.

That did it.

"You are not sorry! Do you think I don't see it? I can see everything that makes you tick, you manipulative bitch! I can see through your calculating bullshit lies! Do you think you can take advantage of all the new shit you know about me? This filthy soil dweller knows what you are better than you do."

What a stupid mistake she'd made. Alexandra put an end to the conversation right away, slamming the last door to the matriarch's prison. Other concurrent threads of thought had carried on with their work while she wasted her breath sparring with Chirm garbage, and it was not long before the task was complete.

There were hundreds of details that she could not take care of in such a short time, like nuanced behavioral protocols, redundancy safeguards or a long list of contingency measures. She would have to improvise on a lot of those, but that all could wait. The mind-leash was functional, and—most importantly—air-tight.

She broke contact and let go. As she come into being, the maelstrom of the outside world fought to rush back to the forefront of her perception, but she tuned it out for just a little while longer. She immediately brought her blade to the matriarch's neck and watched the female closely.

She was confident in her work, but she was human, and there could be a mistake hidden somewhere. Just one suspicious movement and Windswept Feather would be joining her Council peers in oblivion.

Alexandra peered into those lifeless eyes and kept on staring. Try as she might, she found it difficult to derive much satisfaction from the hearty dose of poetic justice that she saw in there.

This is bullshit. I kick the Council's ass and I don't even get to feel good about it.

She slowly pulled back her weapon. Windswept Feather didn't so much as twitch.

"You will address me as Alexandra, unless I say otherwise." She had entertained the thought of making her do humiliating stuff, just to show who was boss. The idea didn't seem nearly as fulfilling, now that the bout of righteous wrath was subsiding. "You will follow my commands only. You will never harm a Human, for any reason." A tiny pause. "Unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Alexandra."

Even if it was just a brief string of complex bird chatter, the difference in inflection was unmistakable.

It wasn't fair. She wasn't supposed to feel guilty about this.

"I'll give you a way out ...." She hesitated at the name. Windswept Feather (under) Midnight Sun was such a mouthful. " ... Heather." Good enough. "I won't make it easy, but it'll be more than you ever gave anyone.

"But that's for later. There's a lot for us to do."

With that, Alexandra turned around to face the entryway, coming back to the ongoing chaos that she had helped create. Every outside stimulus that she had been shutting out until then came thrashing against her senses.

The noises had become deafening. They were sounds of rupture under duress, like the agonized wails of a submarine's hull about to buckle under pressure. Tamira had gone quiet, and it felt as if a whole hour had gone by since she screamed, even though Alexandra knew from experience that only a handful of seconds must have passed. Maybe a whole minute, after the short conversation with Heather.

Entirely too long.

"Follow me."

Alexandra launched herself at the eyelid doors, uncaring of the method by which they opened. She punched through the middle of it like a hurled spear, and only after the fact did she realize that she could have gone in weapon-first. She stopped a short distance into the Grand Hall, needing a moment to process an environment that was far from the way she had left it. Heather bumped softly against her back.

The once majestic walls were now like a puzzle halfway to completion. The pieces that were missing floated all over the room, some of them stationary, the rest of them zipping dangerously one way or the other. It was a mess of sheared ornamentations, indistinct shapes and actual chunks of wall, the removal of which had left a number of blue see-through pockmarks on the walls of the chamber. Alexandra looked at the very bottom, and found a huge hole where the inverted dome had been. She had expected something closer to a mine shaft, not the vertical subway tunnel that had been forcibly blown in. It must have been quite the entrance.

The crowd was mostly gone, with the exception of one terrified straggler that she vaguely recognized and about a dozen individuals half-guarding, half-cowering at the regular entryway. But not everyone that was missing had fled, as evidenced by the rippling residues tingling Alexandra's senses. She tried to pick out Verdant Crag's signature among the fading remnants, but couldn't locate it anywhere. She did sense his entire entourage scattered all over the room, though. She could imagine the little bastard bugging out in a hurry while leaving them behind to cover his ass.

There was an awful lot of remnants, actually. A great majority had not had the chance to flee. As if to illustrate the fact, a cluster of high-speed ornamentations that had been shaped into razor-edged, cymbal-shaped disks finally caught up with the familiar Chirm straggler, bit into its body, and dismembered it in a double-digit number of pieces. The projectiles then continued on their way, forcing those at the exit to get behind cover as the improvised weapons were hurled out of the Grand Hall.

Most debris concentrated around the center of the room, where they followed a hundred different orbits around the figure in the middle of it all. Tamira Keister hovered there, in her dark green blouse and lighter knee-length skirt, curly mane dancing on her shoulders as she kept close watch on the way in. Her arms were loosely spread, her head bowed down, and although she was facing away from Alexandra, it was easy to picture the fierce snarl curling her lips. Hatred and trepidation emanated from the woman so intensely that it was hard for Alexandra to sense anything else.

Her leg was blurry from mid-shin down, and it hung at an unnatural distance away from the rest of her body. A sheet of red covered her hazy pale skin from calf to toes. She liked going barefoot, for some reason.

At least it looks like the firewalls held for her, Alexandra thought with relief as she took in the scene. She unnecessarily put her hands around her mouth before shouting "it's done!"

Tamira whipped her head in Alexandra's direction. About time, she seemed to say.

Her arms convulsed, then tensed.

The mourning howls thrashing through the walls gave way to a terrible cracking boom. It happened without a prelude of spreading fractures, or raining debris, or teeth-rattling tremors—only the crushing wall of sound, a perfectly synchronized thousand-strong salvo of cannon fire. The Grand Hall was whole one second, and the next it had broken in two.

The gap ran from top to bottom of the chamber, mostly straight. As both halves started to separate in the midst of skull-pounding groans, Alexandra could see that it wasn't just the Grand Hall that had been split. The whole island was slowly drifting apart.

Holy Hell, Tamira.

She'd said she could do it, but seeing it in action was pretty freaking impressive all the same. The enormous fracture went straight through the middle of the entrance to the Grand Hall, and the dozen or so individuals that had remained there were now getting away from it in a panic.

Alexandra approached the former thrall, Heather right at her heels. The elaborate dance of spinning debris seemed to open up to grant them passage.

"What is that?" Tamira asked right away. Her tone was strained and grim.

Alex cast a glance behind herself. "Heather is with me. With us." She let that sink in, meaningful look and everything.

Tamira blinked a few times. "Are you daft?"

As an answer, Alexandra turned to her raven-feathered new friend. "Heather, this is Tamira. Destroy anyone that poses a threat to Tamira's integrity. You must keep her safe."

"Yes, Alexandra."

It probably would have been much wiser to use the matriarch in a more nuanced way, but fuck it. There would be time for finesse later.

Tamira was grimacing with disgust. "You didn't mention that thing as part of the plan!"

"I had to improvise! Your leg."

"It's still there."

"Don't you remember what I taught you?"

"Yeah, that's the only reason why it's still there. The bastards sliced it clean off. Care to do something about it?"

Alexandra got closer and grumbled as she took Tamira's hand. "It's not like you need a leg to walk in this place ...." Her fingertips passed through the woman's skin and stayed there. Alexandra neatly made the appropriate contact and gathered Tamira's flow of self, as she referred to it in her head. She directed it and poured it into the bright-red gap throbbing where Tamira thought that her leg should be. The mist flowed in familiar ways, and soon the leg had regained its normal position, consistency and milky white skin tone.

It wasn't nearly as easy to do as she made it look.

Tamira appeared only slightly more drained than she already was. "Thank you."

"The others?"

Tamira shook her head. "They're all gone. Barely made it myself. Too many loyals."

Alexandra's expression darkened, but she made an effort to accept and move on. It's not like they were Human, a quickly suppressed part of her chimed in. At least she could be glad to have insisted on Tamira taking several recruits with her for protection, even when their resources were stretched so thin. The plan might have gone to crap, otherwise.

"So what's the hold up?" Alexandra asked while gesturing at the two halves of real estate slowly drifting apart.

Tamira frowned a bit more. "Do you want to do it?"

"Just sayin'."

After letting the dirty look linger for a moment, Tamira faced away from Alexandra and back toward the entrance. She bent forward slightly, as one would do when tightening core muscles, and grew still with concentration. Soon she was gritting her teeth, shaking, her fingers curled, a groan deep in her throat. Her arms were slowly spreading to the sides, as if she was struggling to pry apart sliding double doors with her forearms and barely making any progress. Her pose and strain reminded Alexandra of one of those way-over-the-top anime characters with yellow hair, charging up power levels or whatever it was that they did. She covered her mouth to hide a smile, hoping to pass off her amusement as disbelieving awe. Tamira could be sensitive sometimes.

Then the two halves started moving noticeably again, and the awe was much more sincere. The Grand Hall split open before her eyes, growing farther and farther apart, widening the view of a perfectly clear blue sky and the couple hundred floating citadels located within the central sector of the realm. A craggy brown landscape spread in all directions at ground level, far below them.

They were visible from everywhere inside the central sector, and many more places in the periphery. Everyone would be able to see the broken Grand Hall falling out of the sky.

"Keep going, Miss Keister!" Alexandra said, a slightly maniacal smile on her face. "Triple points if you get two bull's-eyes!"

Tamira didn't acknowledge her, which wasn't much of a surprise. She was far too concentrated on directing the island halves just so.

Well, there's another weird one for posterity. My friend can't trade idle banter because she's too busy using the Force to move a building.

Alexandra put it out of her mind and did some concentrating of her own, spreading out her awareness past the immediate chaos to listen for the dozens of signals that were supposed to start emerging. She wasn't all that sure that she could pick them up at that distance, but she was going to try.

The faint traces of Chirm rupture reached her immediately, coming from all directions. Four almost at the same time, then one, then two more. A few seconds, and there was another, and another. She opened her eyes when one exploded only a handful of yards away, and saw Heather chopping up a group of three daring birds that, by the look of things, had lingered behind and mounted a suicide assault to rescue the almighty Windswept Feather (under) Midnight Sun from her filthy Human captors. Well, good luck with that, fellas.

She tuned out the other two rifts that soon were flooding the area, and continued listening to the progress of the uprising.

A Human rift came through just then. It was immediately followed by seven others of diverse origin, two of them Chirm.

"Shit." Alexandra lurched forward, peering over the edge of the expanding distance between walls. "Chiyo didn't make it," she said loud enough for Tamira to hear. She could see now Unkempt Garden down there—or the blackened husk that remained in its place. "Went nuclear."

The news made Tamira's groan turn into a growl, and the two drifting halves started accelerating at a visible rate. The spinning debris that had served her as both shield and weapon followed after, speeding up or scattering at random in the wake of the half-citadels. Sensing the shift in the woman's undercurrent, Alexandra looked at her again, and frowned with concern.

"Don't overdo it!"

Tamira didn't listen, even as the signs of dangerous over-exertion became more and more visible. It was a more subtle affair for her than the flashy swirls of mist or the loss of opacity Ming Xiu or Alexandra would show. Tamira was becoming more definite, more ... solid. Her undercurrent was slowing down and getting less erratic, its compound frequency steadily decreasing. It was as if her efforts caused her to carry more weight in the fabric of reality; as if the more influence she exerted upon the matter in the world, the more the world required her to become a part of it. And her foot was starting to bleed and blur and become translucent again, as though her soul was struggling to conform to the rules of actual live beings and once again become flesh.

Soon the island nesting the Grand Hall was descending in two different directions, leaving the group of three floating in the middle of an empty sky. The immense citadel fragments continued picking up speed and became architectural meteorites barreling toward their respective targets.

Alexandra got closer to the furious woman, intent on stopping her before the strain became too much for her to bear. It had been Tamira herself who had explained that taking it too far past a certain point would make the process irreversible, leaving you as just another lowly denizen of the afterlife, devoid of the power that had gotten you in trouble in the first place. Done on purpose, it was an effective forfeit of one's abilities, and the Chirm strictly forbade it both during training and through restrictions in the mind-leash. They went as far as punishing those who pushed their pets too far, since they were risking the loss of valuable community goods.

So it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise for her when Heather got there first and unceremoniously shook the woman's shoulder.

"Tamira! You must stop!" She sounded genuinely agitated.

There was no delay to Tamira's reaction.

"Get away from me!" Her arm shot up in a sweeping motion to slap the thrall's claw away. She pushed with her other hand, shoving at Heather's chest and causing them to drift apart. She looked ready to scratch out the Chirm's eyes.

"Settle down, Tamira," Alexandra said.

The woman only spared her a glance before going back to the thrall. "Tell your pet it's never to touch me again." She was already returning to normal as she said it.

Heather spoke up, plenty of attitude in her voice. "You had become a threat to your own integrity."

"I did order her to keep you safe," said Alexandra. "She did what I was about to do."

"I had it well under—" She was interrupted by yet another humongous boom that made all three flinch in unison. It felt like space itself was shaking around them. "Ogh! And now we missed the impact!" Tamira said as she turned toward the expansive noise.

Alexandra looked as well, but there wasn't all that much to see. The half of island had hit Proud Spire (amidst) Enduring Wind and sent a large cloud of pulverized material in all directions, blocking the view of anything else that might be happening. The couple dozen resulting rifts reached her quickly—although only four were Chirm. One of their projected victims must have escaped somehow, or never made it there in the first place.

Tamira's voice came at her through the noise. "The other one is about to hit!"

Alexandra looked in time to see the other palace-sized cannonball explode against the Archives, blowing it apart spectacularly. The blaring thunder resulting from the impact instantly added to the ongoing insanity, making it awfully difficult to tune it down to a manageable level.

"Ha! How many?" Tamira shouted over the noise.

The rifts came just as quickly as the others had. "All twenty-one, plus guards."

"Yes!" she said while pumping her fist. Tamira was positively exultant, but Alexandra didn't miss the vindictive shine in her eyes, the vicious curl to her lips. Revenge had been a long time coming.

The impact had happened slightly to one side of the fat structure, sending most of the debris in largely the same direction. It enabled the high-up spectators to watch the still huge remains of the improvised meteorite continue on a slightly altered path, grow even more momentum, and slam into Ancient Grove (of) Still Thoughts.

The excitement gradually drained off Tamira's face as the elaborate citadel grounds got obliterated into a bajillion pieces. The entire island had violently collapsed in a matter of seconds.

She eyed Alexandra nervously. "Uh ... there was no-one there, right?"

"Just pets. Looks like no triple points for you, Miss Keister."

"What? But ... I did it on purpose! More chaos, you see?"

Alexandra gave her a sidelong look. Tamira averted her eyes, suddenly dour.

"Well, it would have been perfect, if that thing hadn't interrupted me."

"And whose fault is that? She's a damn automaton."

The only response was an inarticulate grunt. The world-breaking noises were transitioning into the din of distant, continuous thunderstorms, letting them dial down the conversational volume. Alexandra heaved a brief sigh, displeased at the nervous jitters that were starting up again in her belly. "Things are working out so far. I expected more casualties by now, to be honest."

"You underestimate our hatred."

Another sidelong glance. A moment of silence.

"You know, you can be a bit creepy sometimes."

Tamira raised her eyebrows, giving her a dubious smile. Look who's talking, she all but said.

Alexandra glossed over it. "All these escapees are gonna go looking for outside help sooner or later. I better go make sure they don't get the news out."

"Ask Ming Xiu if she enjoyed the fireworks when you get there. Wait, did they already have fireworks in her time?"

"Only for six centuries or so."

Tamira let out an uncouth snort. "Nobody likes a swotty wise-arse."

"Not my fault that you're some ignorant Brit off the dark ages." She carried on talking over Tamira's protest. "I'm going. I want you to get down there and make sure every refuge is safe. If they are, go help somewhere nearby. If they're not, you know what to do."

Tamira dropped the casual attitude and nodded, all business once more. "Understood."

Alexandra turned to Heather, who was still quietly hovering to the side. "You have your orders. Can I trust you?"

Well, there's a stupid question.

"Yes, Alexandra."

"Good. I'll be back for you. Follow Tamira's lead until then."

"You're leaving it with me?" Tamira asked, dismayed and not wanting to show it.

"She already saved you twice," Alexandra responded dryly.

She was going to leave it at that, Tamira's pursed lips be damned. She'd almost shot away to her next destination when she changed her mind and turned to address the woman one more time.

"Heather is on our side now. Treat her as an ally under your command. Not a slave. Understood?"

Tamira glanced at Heather, then back at Alexandra. After some thought, she gave another, very tiny nod.

Alexandra nodded in return. A smile crept onto her lips. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You kicked ass back there, Tamira. I was really impressed."

The sullen redhead swelled with hurriedly concealed pride. Alexandra still felt rather inadequate when doling out praise as if it was a precious gift, but she understood the importance of it. "Keep your guard up," she said as farewell, giving the woman's arm a squeeze.

Alex turned around, surveyed her surroundings to get her bearings straight, and took off toward the Nexus gate.

"Be careful!" Tamira called after her.

She should know by now I'm not very good at that.

Maybe that's why she said it?

She waved a hand without looking back and started to seriously pick up speed. Rifts kept erupting everywhere below her, the great majority of them not Human, thankfully. The large-scale backstab had gone mostly as planned, and her forces had gone from woefully outnumbered to simply being at a numerical disadvantage. Obliterating the ruling body of their society ensured a complete lack of leadership, and thanks to the non-stop work of the last ... what, month? Year? It was so hard to tell time in this damn place—thanks to all the work, she knew (hoped) that they were no longer grossly outmatched.

Although having seen Windswept Feather in action was worrying. She would just have to hope that the Chirm matriarch was just an exception in a decadent culture of servant over-reliance. It was too late to change course now, anyway.

She started to notice other combatants scattered here and there, heading in the same direction as she was. They would join in any fights they came across, wiping out what opposition they could, herding deserters toward Ming Xiu's squad at the exit. Where she would be waiting soon enough, making sure nothing escaped—whether it was going out, or coming in.

It was her main concern now, ensuring that other realms didn't catch wind of what was happening here before the insurgency was ready to move on. She would need to strike again before the enemy presented a united front, and having gotten rid of their leaders was supposed to help a great deal toward that goal. But her knowledge of the Chirm domains outside of Aerie was dreadfully limited.

Such fortunate happenstance, then, to have recently come into possession of an invaluable source of information on such matters. Capturing an official should have been a priority, she realized, instead of an afterthought brought about by her temper.

Alexandra surveyed the battlefield below as she went, noting all the little pockets of guerrilla war that had sprung up. They saw her up there; her comrades, her troops and allies. She could imagine, with a mixture of pride and embarrassment, how their spirits were lifted by the sight of their savior as she approached the exit to the realm, like a shooting star across the firmament. She put some extra effort into a powerful burst of speed, letting the resulting swirls of mist trail in her wake and draw a hazy aura around her frame. There was nothing wrong with giving them something to believe in after all the hardship, she told herself.

It had felt like she was finally close to being done, back in the Grand Hall. Like there was only one more big thing to do, and then it would all be smooth sailing from there. She'd been fooling herself, obviously.

The war had just started.

∞

I gotta admit, this is pretty sweet. It feels like getting back from a long vacation, slipping back into all the wonderful comforts of home. And they've really worked out the kinks since I last played it. Whoops, sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to put a bullet through your head. Only I did mean to lolololol.

I notice I'm not even max rank anymore—they must have patched in a great deal of further progression over time—and soon I've set out to remedy that problem without consciously deciding to do it. Oh, yeah, that's right. That's why I stopped playing: it's so good it's addictive, and I kept procrastinating on everything else. Welp, too late now, it seems.

What's he talking about? I keep constant watch on the sky, you never know where the damn drop-pods—oh, wait. What is that?

Is Aaron doing this? Is this why he wanted to play? How do you even—

Will you marry me?

What?

I realize I forgot to breathe so I decide to start doing that again. At least that's an easy decision. Am I even making a decision here? Didn't I decide already? Shouldn't I be saying something? Everyone else doesn't seem to have a problem saying things. The chat lines are scrolling up in an unreadable blur.

"Aaaaaaand I'm banned." Aaron's voice jolts me out of stasis and the nerves just crash into my system all at once. This is really happening is the only thought I seem capable of, and it looks like it's stuck on replay.

I rotate in my chair like I'm doing the robot, and—oh, so now he's on his knee. He's cute cute cute cute cute.

I've run this a hundred million billion times in my head. Well, not exactly this, because I never thought he would do it like this, but the gist of it is pretty much the same. Why are none of my envisioned reactions happening? Where is the huge smile, the breaking into tears and jumping for joy? I find myself kneeling in front of him, and I have no clue why I'm doing that.

"You used corpses to ask me to marry you," I say for some stupid, stupid reason. Even as I say it, my hand is volunteering all by itself to receive that gorgeous ring.

"Uh. Yeah?" He's just looking at me, still in that awkward position with both hands prying open a tiny box. Seeing my hand, he takes the ring from the plushy little slot and dubiously lines it up with my ring finger, keeping track of my stupid blank expression for any worrisome changes.

He's trying so hard not to cry. It's alright, my love, find solace in the fact that you won't be first this time. I file the dig for later use.

15

After ten minutes of tense silence, Aaron couldn't keep the anger boiling.

It wasn't for lack of trying. The entire incident played over and over in his head, the obsessive tread and retread usually reserved for social slights and dumb marital arguments. It had made him borderline nauseous at first: boarding the newly created transport had felt like riding bitch seat to a leather-clad bike ganger. Worse: he had felt revulsed by Ming Xiu's proximity, as if she had been a fondly remembered high-school teacher who later turned out to be a violent pedophile. Her reasons were simply irrelevant, and he couldn't have cared about them even if they weren't. All that he could think about was the scope and thoroughness of her deceit, the depth to which she had hidden from him the one thing that he ever cared about.

He held on to that anger, stoked it and nursed it as if it could somehow burn all other feelings away. But as bends and tunnels passed by without leaving a lasting imprint in his awareness, he just couldn't keep it going at a full blaze.

Not like he was anywhere near forgiveness—he couldn't even conceive the notion just yet. But conciliatory thoughts kept creeping up on him, and telling those thoughts to shut up was becoming less and less effective. They said things like You know, she's still sticking her neck out for you and How would things have turned out without her around? They might have been valid points, but he was not yet ready to acknowledge them.

He wouldn't have heard them at all if it weren't for the newest grief weighting down on him. Falon had called them ancients, and they talked about Alexandra in the past tense. As if she was a hero of an era long past, a myth. How long? How long ago had she met these people who loved and defied her in the same sentence? How long had she gone at it alone in this awful place, looking for a husband that would never turn up?

Long enough to give up, no doubt. Long enough to forget. He fueled the anger, because the wet blanket of dysphoria was waiting in the sidelines, ready to choke down the flames and everything else along with them.

And then there were the questions, always the questions. Even if he could no longer trust any one of her answers, the need to know more gnawed at his insides more viciously than ever. Ming Xiu had known her. How many things could he find out about Alexandra's fate, if he asked carefully? If there was one reason to put an end to the silent treatment, that would be it.

He looked at Ming Xiu through the corner of his eye and, for the first time since the confrontation, he didn't feel another spike of resentment at the sight of her. She kept her eyes straight ahead, concentrating on tailing Queg through the winding route to Spire Six, carefully paying Aaron no mind.

He found himself finally able to push a question through his lips. "Is everyone at Thousand Rivers in on this conspiracy to keep me away? Is that why Diego was so mad, and Falon doesn't like me?"

He begun relatively harmless. He wanted, he needed to get her talking about Alexandra again, a part of him not even caring if only lies came out of Ming Xiu's mouth.

She seemed surprised that he was speaking to her again. Pleasantly surprised, which made staying furious even harder. "They don't know, Aaron. No-one knows, except us. And Falon likes you plenty. I had to advise her not to get too attached, in fact."

"Ah, because of the whole 'planning to murder me' thing. Of course."

She winced. "I didn't ... " Then she pressed her lips together and changed what she was going to say. "You just didn't seem like Caretaker material, and Falon is very committed to Thousand Rivers. I simply let her know that you probably wouldn't be staying for long."

Her insistence in acting so damn reasonable made him lose sight of what he was trying to accomplish. "You're just pretending again, aren't you. You don't care if I'm friendly to you. You don't give a shit whether I'm mad or I follow quietly."

You should keep being a jerk to her, that will definitely bring Alex back.

Ming Xiu kept her composure, staring straight ahead. "I care, Aaron."

Her arduously composed bearing was suddenly familiar. She looked ... she looked just like in the Beacon, after the battle had ended and Yuri had blamed her for the demise of Chae Sun. Hurt and ashamed, too proud to show it.

It's just an act, like everything else.

Had Yuri truly been talking about that, even? Everything these people had said now took on new meanings, opened things up to different interpretations. He made an effort not to dwell on it for the moment, telling himself that there was nothing practical about getting outraged all over again.

He managed to break the silence after their transport cleared a particularly sharp bend and the view opened up to a landscape of tall, mushroom-like platforms.

"At least tell me this. How long ago? For how long has she been in this place?"

Ming Xiu briefly glanced at him, and it was perfectly clear that she knew what he was trying to do. Mired in indecision, she fought to settle on an answer as they zig-zagged through the sparse forest of artificial mushroom stalks.

"She was there to see me integrate," Ming Xiu said at last, almost timidly.

He stared briefly, suppressing the impulse to call her a liar.

Falon called them "ancients."

He gripped the glass hand-rail even harder. Closed his eyes, breathed for a while.

"Did she ... " Did she look for me? Did she tell you about me? Did she ever stop looking? Did she forget me? Did she suffer, did she like you, did she hate you? "Did she ever ... " Did she manage to find happiness? Did she ever manage to find peace?

He swallowed.

"Did she really use a staff?"

She smiled faintly at the unexpected question, and then smiled more fondly at her memories. "She was ... very attached to her staff. She modified it shortly after we met, into the guan dao that you saw. She kept working on it, over time."

Aaron imagined Alex bent over her toy, making sure every little detail was in place just right. He had to chuckle at it. "She had this thing about wizards and staves. Said that a character couldn't be a wizard without a cool staff to his or her name. I kept telling her that they were this way overplayed cliché, and an obvious phallic symbol on top of that. She'd have none of it, saying how a wizard without a staff was just a magic user. They could be mages, arcanists, magicians, warlocks, whatever you want—but if you want to be a wizard, you have to own a staff." He was smiling wistfully by then, looking at nowhere in particular as he dove deep in remembrance. "She was super anal about it. It was the weirdest thing, because she wasn't even a fantasy fan before we met." He traded an amused look with Ming Xiu, lost in the telling. The eye contact reminded him who he was talking to. The amusement faded quickly, awkwardly.

Ming Xiu carried on with the topic as if she didn't notice, offering up information apparently deemed safe for disclosure. "She placed great stock on her weapon for a long time, even after discovering she didn't quite need it for anything. She told me that she just enjoyed the concept of it. And that it made her 'look bad-ass,' in her words."

Sounds like her.

"She gave up using it, eventually. It was a gradual shift as her abilities progressed. She stopped seeing the point to it, I believe."

Ming Xiu's undisguised affection for the woman he loved was making it impossible for Aaron to maintain his hatred. More and more Ming Xiu came across as a prisoner of circumstance, as opposed to the vile con artist that had fooled him so conscientiously.

Either I misjudged her again, or I am stupidly easy to manipulate.

He didn't discard either option. Queg suddenly shot up through a gap between mushroom-platforms, and Ming Xiu followed as if she was on rails. The ceiling above them was crowded with enormous stalactite structures, each one hollowed out to allow passage through them. As the platform rose to enter one of the tunnels, Aaron found it harder and harder to put bite in his tone.

"Maybe you can show it to me?"

Ming Xiu nodded gravely and obliged. The transport lurched the slightest bit as the weapon materialized in her upturned hands, mist flying artfully, reverently around shaft and embedded blade before taking definite form. She looked at it with admiration for a moment, then wordlessly offered it to Aaron.

It was as long as he, which made it slightly taller than Alex. Elegant, slightly flashy, designed to create an impression. He imagined her again poring over it, working out the exact pattern of the leather-like grips, the exact shape of a blade honed to perfection.

"Later on," Ming Xiu said, "the edge would come to shift and fluctuate when she wielded it."

She placed a hand on the shaft. The edge within the staff begun to ripple and fume, dancing black and blue flames warping lines and wrapping around shapes. "Her touch looked better."

Way to be a show-off, Alex.

The giant cone of a stalactite swallowed them up, and they continued traveling upward as his fingers traced the glowing grooves on the dark wood.

"Was she really your friend, Ming Xiu?"

The question came out almost on its own. It appeared to catch her off-guard, and once more she seemed to weight the possible harm done by answering. Conflict was still evident in her expression when she spoke.

"She was more than a friend. She saved me, several times, in different ways. She was a mentor to me, although I taught her, as well. I admired her, maybe more so than others, because ...." She trailed off briefly. "Well, they knew her differently."

Aaron pursed his lips at the obvious self-censorship, but refrained from pointing it out.

"There was also a bit of rivalry," she continued, amused by the thought. "We fought often. She was stubborn, and liked things done her way, which admittedly was best most of the time. I might have been difficult as well, maybe. Then ... we parted ways for a long time, in not the best of terms. We had a ... disagreement on methodology, and I was obsessed ...." She shook her head. More censorship.

"You went off on your own to find the person you loved," Aaron said. "You were a leader among your people, but you didn't care."

She raised her eyebrows at him, confirming with her surprise that he had been spot-on. Aaron was mildly offended at her low expectations. It wasn't that hard to infer, with Yuri's resentment and the hundred times she'd warned him not to make the same mistakes she did.

"Alex later confessed that a part of her wanted me to go," Ming Xiu continued. "She envied what I did. When I sought her out in defeat, hoping that maybe she had found Yun in my absence, she was dreadfully disappointed on my failure. She was happy to know I was well, but she had put her hopes on me coming across you, since she hadn't had any luck in her own search. The difference between us was that she hadn't abandoned those who depended on her just to fail anyway."

Their ascent leaned to the right as the long, cone-shaped tunnel begun narrowing and tilting to the side. Ming Xiu went quiet for a while, then shook her head again at some memory or another. She looked at him solemnly.

"She was a friend and a kindred spirit to me, Aaron."

It felt like he was at Alexandra's funeral, and Ming Xiu was giving condolence. I was proud to call her my friend, I loved her dearly, I'm very sorry for your loss.

"I wish you didn't talk about her in the past tense," he said. It was hard not to start blubbering right then and there.

"Aaron ...."

"What happened to her, Ming Xiu? Tell me. Please, please tell me."

All his careful skirting around the topic went right out the window. If he'd had room to get on his knees, he would have. He would have clutched at her clothes and wept, if he had thought it would help.

"I cannot say, Aaron."

Aaron kept on going anyway. "Did she really betray everyone? Was that message she left for me true, or was it just a way to get us here?"

"Aaron, I want to tell you what I know, but I can't, I can't."

"But you can! Who cares what you swore?"

"I care, and she cared, as do the Unbound! It is up to them to decide what to have you know. And I must beg you to stop asking me, because you have no idea how painful it is to deny you."

Frustration. Torrents of frustration, showers and mountains of it. Ming Xiu was Answers in a Can, but all he had to open it were brittle teeth. Ming Xiu was the Chinese-plus-broken-English instruction manual that could explain everything but wouldn't; she was the Piece of Eden, the Wikipedia, the leaked wires of a world-wide conspiracy.

The moment passed, and he expected anger to stop simmering and make a comeback, but all he got was more frustration. It wasn't even her fault. She wasn't doing it out of malice, or haughtiness, or stubbornness. She was doing right by Alexandra and by her principles, and he was the one trying to go against everyone's plan.

You'd think she'd have wanted me to know everything straight away. She planned like crazy for me to show up at some point, but not to let me know what's going on?

Why?

He made an enormous effort to speak over the piles of frustration. "Can you at least tell me what you swore to her? Or is that still too much to ask?"

She simply stared at him, contrite and determined and sympathetic and tight-lipped. She looked away without another word, watching Queg's path and adjusting trajectories accordingly.

Aaron debated strangling her. Then he had the thought that maybe she was debating strangling him. Well, one thing was certain: when he found Alexandra, he was going to have a few words about vows of secrecy and bullshit conspiracies. And very definitely point out how her bestest friends had plotted to keep them apart and possibly murder him. There was going to be a lot of talking about that.

Tunnels gave way to caves which turned into landscapes that veered into tunnels, all of it flashing by in circumspect silence and environmental stillness. A rebel thought process, unwilling to stew in impotent resentment with the rest of Aaron, was struck, not for the first time, by how soundless the afterlife was. Perhaps it was just life on Earth that was noisy.

It was about ten minutes of quiet before Ming Xiu's voice broke the spell.

"Queg tells me we are drawing near. I don't know how far along the incursion is. But remember what we've taught you, do as we practiced, and we might stand a chance."

Aaron's awareness came back online, and he took in his surroundings. Not much to see again; a relatively open vista of platforms, tunnels, ledges and bridges, depressingly similar to the environs of Thousand Rivers—or most any other place in the Pathways, for that matter.

"Will there be fighting even before we go in?" he asked.

"Unlikely. There is a well-stablished procedure for this type of incursions. Getting past the synergy guarding the interface might be our biggest challenge going in."

"Aren't you an almighty ancient? Just say you wanna join up and massacre those evil Daedal and whatnot."

"I see. And what shall I tell them about you?"

"Um. I'm your nephew, from out of town?"

"Brilliant plan."

"Well, you could—"

"You misunderstood," Ming Xiu cut him off. "I'm not looking for suggestions. I am quite certain I can simply go in and dare them to question me; I only aimed to say that going in should be the easy part."

"Oh."

They crested a large flesh-mountain, and behind it the landscape funneled down in spirals like a god-sized toilet bowl frozen in mid-flush. It was there that they saw the first bodies.

They must have been thousands. They cluttered the surface of the rocky spirals, becoming a blanket of corpses in some areas. Most of them were writhen, but there were others as well: vaguely feline beasts, with long thick manes and wide mouths; colorful creatures that were like tall crustaceans, complete with several claws and pincers; many of those bulky, strangely emotive golems that he'd seen at the Beacon. There was one of those beautiful bird-like beings strewn awkwardly on the ground, and it looked just like the one that had brought word of the purge to Thousand Rivers, except it was missing its head and a number of extremities.

"So I guess they already started," Aaron said in a sober voice.

Ming Xiu nodded, surveying the inert battlefield and not liking what she saw. Who knew what else she could perceive that Aaron wasn't aware of.

There was a large opening at the bottom, where all the spirals converged. They were heading straight for it.

"Aaron."

Ming Xiu was staring at the big hole intently, tension building up within her in a strangely tangible way.

"I don't know what exactly is going to happen. We might not succeed, we could be destroyed. But if we do succeed, you must know this: whatever the Unbound tell you, it will be the truth."

He snorted. "Will that be your kind of truth?"

Ming Xiu didn't bother to respond, her face gray and hard like a stone slab. They followed Queg as he plunged down the funnel and disappeared into the ten-meter-wide drain.

It was a long and straight tunnel, a wide cylinder with rugged walls that stretched ever down like an elevator shaft. Pitch black churned at the bottom, a bubbling pool of tar that covered the whole passageway. While this could have been expected at the bottom of any well on Earth, there was nothing natural about such darkness in this place.

Queg came to a hard stop, his bright guiding beacon becoming a subdued glow. The Human transport followed suit promptly.

"Boundless grace," Ming Xiu breathed.

The tide of writhen was climbing up the passageway, their advance going from a sideways run to an upward climb as they transitioned through the realm's interface. There were so many that they rode alongside and atop one another, bloating out sight of what lay beyond them, advancing more like a fluid rising under pressure than a body of individual creatures. Human rifts rippled through the lattice of the Pathways, their stridency tainted further by the the foul influence of thorns and needles.

Ming Xiu's eyes were catching fire. "How are there so many still? Where is that blighted synergy!"

"In pieces?" Aaron suggested uneasily.

"Sustain yourself, remember your lessons. Queg, guard him with your life!"

The transport dissipated into smoke, and Aaron fell for a panicked, yelping second before he managed to wrestle control of gravity away from the Pathways. Queg hurried to float under him, willingly becoming a trusty tentacled meatshield.

Ming Xiu's clothes had shifted to her red and white battle garb. She was glowering down at the approaching beasts with murderous intent.

"Whoa, whoa! They killed the others, aren't we getting the hell out of here?"

"Absolutely not. We are going in."

"But you can't even see through them! There's way more than before, they'll tear us apart!" Holy crap, they were getting close fast. The first hurled thorn pok-thunked against Ming Xiu's dynamic shield, jammed itself into the nearby wall. It was going to be the Beacon all over again, and this time he was right in front of their advance.

"I was holding back before," Ming Xiu said. She flicked her arm as if unsheathing a concealed dagger from her wrist, and her sword flashed into being. She gave him the kindest of teeth-baring smiles, even while her eyes still smoldered. "I was trying to get rid of you, remember?"

Then she dove down toward the mass of monsters.

"It does ring a motherfucking bell, you psycho!" he yelled after her.

But she didn't hear him, or didn't show any signs of hearing him. Her sword grew ever brighter as she neared the oncoming throng, her voice rising above their slobbering screeches.

"Everlasting vigilance, guide my steps to protect the watchful! May our thoughts prevail!"

She might have carried on, but Aaron couldn't hear it. Because as she came in contact with the angry sea of black, Ming Xiu became a whirlwind of silver blades.

There was nothing metaphorical about it. She swung her first swing and then kept on swinging, kept on spinning as her form blurred and shifted into a vaguely human frame within the churning mist. Long blades of light extended far past arm-length and sheared anything unfortunate enough to draw near, two, three simultaneous strikes hitting home at any given time. The writhen lunged with their claws and needles, spat their paralyzing thorns, swarmed around their enemy to overwhelm with numbers and brute force—and were felled, every one of them, split in twain, mutilated, decapitated. All the while the humanoid frame in the fog danced, a fast-forward ballerina immerse in a routine full of spins and angry strokes glimpsed in flashes of red and white.

She traveled through the mist like the keeper of the census had done, dissolving and reappearing in consecutive puffs of smoke connected by lightning. She switched targets and locations in quick succession, catching groups unaware, dispersing united fronts, swiftly taking care of anything that seemed about to spit in Queg and Aaron's direction. Mangled bodies and body parts rained down the tunnel in an endtimes-worthy hail, getting swallowed up by the rising flood.

Their rise slowed. But even with Ming Xiu's efforts, the shaft was as wide as a refinery oil depot, and their wall-to-wall numbers in the thousands. Be it cleverness, luck or simple physics, the creatures overflowed around the storm and kept on going, climbing up all around the cylindrical wall by way of claw, tail and pick-like antennae.

The storm grew bigger in response, more virulent. The mist was tangible smoke now, bright and crackling with power, stretching like new appendages extension of Ming Xiu's body. They flailed as they spun around its center, and condensed into sharp edges that sliced through several monsters at a time. Lances of pure white shot from its core and impaled countless climbers, only to vanish in hazy swirls a second later.

Still it wasn't enough. Aaron watched the few writhen that made it through draw closer to his position at the center of the tunnel, and as they threatened to surround him he was forced to make a decision.

"We're going up, Queg!"

The Risen chromatized assent. Aaron felt surprisingly reluctant to leave Ming Xiu behind, but he knew he was useless to her. His entire training had consisted on getting away from harm, and this time there was an escape route to pursue.

Maybe I should have pursued it sooner? Food for thought.

He took his sweet time to start climbing the hell out of there, along the axis of the cylindrical pit. Manipulating the right thing in the Pathways was as straightforward as finding Waldo in Candy Cane Land, even when he already had a feeble hold on it for the all-important purpose of not falling down. He finally got it right and lurched up not nearly as far as he would have wished to go, Queg following literally at his heels.

The first choke-spit aimed at him passed maybe a handspan from his ear. The second hit Queg's extended appendage and got deflected away before it went through Aaron's calf—the Risen's hide seemed impervious to them. A third and a fourth were caught in a hastily put up redirection/augmentation of the gravitational pull around him, which made him slow down and wobble dangerously—there was only so much he could concentrate on at the same time.

"AAAH!" he said in the beasts' general direction. A fortunate touch on the weave of space and he shot up farther, leaving a stream of deadly thorns in his wake. He looked everywhere at once: down to see Queg spreading as much as he could to shield him, up to see how far the lip of the pit was, inward for yet another jump. He picked up some more speed, and just then he saw the two writhen that hadn't wasted their time shooting, and had climbed farther ahead, and had jumped a mighty jump with their mighty hindlegs, and were now sailing through the air with open maws and sharp needles aimed directly at his face.

He didn't even have time to scream. Queg was there like a flying linebacker, sacking one and sending it away ass over teakettle, then barreling around and tackling the other one barely a moment before it could sink its poised antennae into Aaron's skull.

He couldn't stop to watch the interesting things that Queg's tentacles were doing to the creature. He concentrated on deflecting all those projectiles that the Risen had been blocking and now were shooting straight at him, while at the same time managing to keep climbing up instead of down. Through the chaos he saw the furious cyclone that continued boring down on the writhen tide, but he couldn't tell at a glance whether it was gaining or losing ground.

Another lackluster boost up, another hail of black thorns narrowly avoided, another Queg-powered tackle. He messed up the next jump and it jostled him diagonally instead of straight up, but it turned out to be a fortunate mistake when a leaping writhen flew right through the spot where he would have been if he'd gotten it right. It reminded him that fleeing in a zig-zag pattern was a core tenet of Cowardice 101.

His ascent continued in this manner, a tale of almost disasters averted through luck, Queg or a stray spear of light in the nick of time. The writhen going after him increased in number, and at the peak of their assault he thought that every moment would be the last. But their numbers dwindled as the overflow around Ming Xiu stopped altogether and only those that had already gotten through remained.

He cleared the lip of the pit and relief washed over his permanent state of panic, even though he remained far from safe. The frustrated monsters made a last-ditch effort to reach their hated Human prey, shooting scattered volleys from the wall while others gathered themselves up and leaped with as much power as they could put in their raptor-like legs. They would have easily reached him if Queg hadn't been right there, shining as he flew at top speed and head-butted the creatures out of the sky in every direction. Their single-mindedness worked against them, making them blind to the tentacled air-to-air missile that constantly thwarted their efforts.

Aaron struggled to keep going up in starts and spurts, intent on putting as much distance as he could between the ground and himself as he watched closely the creatures coming out of the tunnel, wary of any more bolts speeding his way. He didn't notice the three writhen already outside, waiting among the corpses of their fallen brethren, a ways up the spiraled battlefield. They lined up their gullets and spat with the power of ballistae.

The first thorn went through his thigh in an explosion of pain, the force of the impact such that it set him to spin in place and got him away from the trajectory of the other two. The shock crowded out every other thought inside his head, and he immediately dropped like a stone back into the pit.

Paralysis spread from his leg in a spiderweb of torment, faster than he could keep track of. All that he could think of as he fell was the pain, and how much of a surprise it was; he couldn't believe this much pain was possible, he wished he had known about how bad the pain would be, he didn't expect at all that there would be so much pain. It was a reprieve when the numbness came, a lack of awareness that extended from his leg to his gut and nimbly skittered to the full extent of his mind. He screamed and then the scream was choked out of him, the walls of the tunnel blurred and dimmed and disappeared altogether. The sounds and smells and fundamental consciousness of battle became a distant din that soon shut off completely.

The blackness came up to meet him, and he fell into the blackness, through the blackness.

The last experience he was aware of was that he wasn't falling anymore.

________

"Aaron!"

Ming Xiu's voice was submerged in a sea of cotton.

"Aaron, listen to me!"

Go away, Ming Xiu. You're so full of it.

"There's more coming! I can't move you without your awareness of it!"

Something in her voice made her sound wiped out, like a marathon runner being interviewed right after they've had time to catch their breath. It was a level of exhaustion unrelated to her heart rate.

"There's a platform under you, do you understand?" She kept yelling in his ear so damn quietly. Speak up, Ming Xiu! "You are in my transport, and I am moving you away! Do you understand me?"

Yes, yes! Why was she such a pest? It wasn't that hard to get, stop with the panic already. He tried to tell her as much, but his mouth wouldn't make shapes, for some reason. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement wanted to leave his throat.

She said something that he couldn't understand. It sounded very angry and very urgent.

"Alexandra!" Ming Xiu yelled then, ostensibly not at him. It made Aaron despondency fade and his figurative ears perk up immediately. "Alexandra, he won't listen to me, he won't focus! We don't have time!"

There was a low murmur that he didn't grasp, no matter how much he strained.

"Aaron, please!" It was Ming Xiu again. "You can't do this, not now! We have to reach her! She's in there, I can take you to her, but you have to help me!"

It might have been the first time ever that he perceived fear in Ming Xiu's voice. He reached out with his senses in search of any outside stimuli at all. There was nothing out there; it was all grey static and numb ether. Ming Xiu came through it in a vague warble that he could barely put together into intelligibility.

"Feel the transport under you. I'm taking you to Alexandra. Focus, Aaron, focus!"

Alexandra. The thought floated adrift in the currents of his disjointed mind, an island of specificity in the midst of vagueness. Aaron chased the thought down and grabbed at it. That's who I'm doing everything for. What happened to her? We were hanging out by the flowerbed in the back yard, and then ....

"Curse your blighted name! Curse you to the Void! I shouldn't have brought you here!"

And then everything went to crap. And now life sucks.

Wait. Wait, there was something. A thumping, a thrusting against his chest, a presence applying pressure and rattling around his ribcage. And down in his thigh—it hurt there, it hurt really bad. Aaron held on to the sensations, tips of icebergs poking above the ocean of static.

"I know that!" Ming Xiu screamed at someone. "I'm not leaving him here!"

She was bent over him, he could tell. Her fingers pressed very uncomfortably against his chest. Everything smelled terrible. It was so damn hard to muster the will to care about any of these things.

"He's gone, Alex." Her voice was somehow crisp in-between the ocean waves. "He can't help you."

The fuck I can't!

Aaron got up in a burst of activity, a flame-wreathed phoenix reborn from ashes; he searched for Alexandra in that filthy tunnel full of the stench of death, and found her standing right there, trapped in a cage made of black flesh. He ran to her—no, he flew to her, and with his bare hands tore the cage apart. Alexandra yelled his name, and she was waiting for him to reach out and take her in his arms. He drew her to his chest and they embraced each other in an overwhelming flood of relief and joy.

In the reality he shared with Ming Xiu, his foot twitched. His worn sneaker bumped against the elaborate flame-like patterns of her transport.

"Go, Queg, GO!"

Through some obscure mechanism, inertial forces were greatly dampened when aboard Ming Xiu's vessel. He had hardly felt in the past the changes in direction or acceleration as they cruised at insane speeds through the Pathways. It was telling, then, that he felt himself plastered against the translucent material of the platform when Ming Xiu set it in motion, and that he felt this even through his numb haze.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he was aware of not being inside a corpse-laden tunnel anymore. A searing rod of pain was lodged through his upper thigh.

"Alexandra," he said, or he might have said.

More time passed. It could have been a minute or twelve. Slowly he became aware, and then aware of being aware, recursively returning to consciousness and all the terrible things that came with it.

"You need to recover quickly, Aaron." The uncomfortable pressure of Ming Xiu's fingers was around that white-hot blade being tempered right inside his leg.

"Alexandra ... where's Alexandra ...." He was positive that it actually came out this time.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I needed to get through to you and get you out of there. I was running out of things to say."

Of course.

"You ... bitch ...."

"You're welcome."

More details pertaining his surroundings made themselves known to him. His immediate vicinity was a hard world of obsidian, tall chunks of angular rocks looming everywhere. His narrow view of the ceiling, fairly high above, looked just as dark and jagged. It was like the inside of a recently deceased volcano.

"What ... happened ...."

"You got hit. You fell through me and into what was left of the first wave of writhen, which wasn't much by then. Queg dove after you and kept you safe. I had to resort to driving the rest out of the tunnel and into the Pathways, which is where they wanted to go anyway. It was ... difficult."

It was still a challenge to follow everything he was being told. The fog that had wrapped around his senses was lifting slowly, but as the numbness faded away the pain in his leg was becoming more and more of a problem. He was able to discern being prostrated on rocky floor, nested behind the cover of rubble.

"My leg?"

"Queg took the thorn out." She showed it to him as she spoke; she actually waved the thick length of black chitin in front of his field of vision as if it was a candy cane. "It's inert now. You should return to normal soon enough, but healing the hole in your thigh is up to you."

Her voice still sounded so distant, for some reason. Feeble and strained, like coming from the other end of a string telephone. He made the supreme effort of looking down toward his hip, and saw Ming Xiu bent over his wound, staring at it intently.

Or what was left of her, anyway. She was barely there, hardly more than the outline of a ghost. Mist still swirled all around her, inside of her.

"Ming Xiu ... " he begun, more aghast than he cared to admit. "Are you ... alright?"

She looked up at him, then at herself. "I'll replenish shortly," she said. "Although I will feel it for a while. I was fine until you fell in. I had to resort to rather ... extreme measures. I must apologize again, Aaron. I should have stayed closer, guarding you. I've been holding a grudge against those filthy creatures since the Beacon, and I let it cloud my judgment."

Aaron grit his teeth, only half-listening to her. Paying any attention at all was proving awfully difficult as the wound kept on flaring brighter and brighter. "Queg? Is he alright?"

"See for yourself," Ming Xiu answered, pointing across from her.

Aaron turned his head to his other side and his eyes fell upon a bloodied mound of flesh and tangled appendages. His own physical pain left him momentarily, replaced by a stab of fear and guilt that was just as painful.

"Is he—"

"He will survive, I'll make sure of that. If we make it out of here, of course."

"You needn't worry," the injured Risen said in weak bleeps and subdued colors. It helped Aaron realize that Queg was lying on his back. "I've lost extremities before. Most of the fluids aren't mine."

There were severed limbs in the tangle. But upon closer inspection—as close an inspection as Aaron could manage in his current state—it was purplish-red blood that oozed from those wounds. Most of Queg's surface (skin? hide?) was covered instead in the black ichor spilled by his writhen victims.

Aaron tried to prop himself on one elbow and failed. "I'm sorry I got you in this mess," he said once he desisted.

Queg responded in sincere confusion. "Why would you be sorry?"

"We need to move, Aaron," Ming Xiu cut in. "We still need to catch up to the Unbound, and this location isn't safe. There are hordes of writhen pouring out in waves through the interface, likely on their way to strike at Human realms." The chagrin in her tone made it clear that none of it was according to plan. "I barely had the time to get the dampening field up before the next wave came out of nowhere and pushed out. There shouldn't be this many, by far. The Daedal outsmarted us, it would seem."

Some purge, Aaron thought.

Ming Xiu let go of his leg, making him let out a pained yelp. She ignored his accusing glare—maybe it was more like a pitiful glance than anything—and shuffled closer to his head, then slipped an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up, which Aaron did with much groaning and grunting. She was noticeably becoming more corporeal already.

The pain in his leg stuck closely to the path up Throbbing Climb, steady on its way to Unbearable Peak. He glanced at Ming Xiu dejectedly.

"Maybe you can ... reach the Unbound? Bring them here? I ... I don't think I can ...." Holy crap. It hurt like a motherfucker.

"I won't leave you by yourself," she told him. "I've done what I can with your wound. I don't have the ability to close it for you, but the power to restore your integrity is in you, as it is in all of us. It might help for you to understand that 'body' doesn't mean the same as 'flesh.'"

Man, more self-help garbage.

He immediately chastised himself: he really, really needed to stop having those knee-jerk skeptic thoughts and get with the whole "I have superpowers" program. The pain was so damn bad that he would have tried healing wristbands and magnets at that point.

He gathered his willpower to make it through a sentence without wheezing. "Is it the same kind of power that's kicking the poison out of my system?"

"No. You are not poisoned. Think of the thorns as anchors. They chain you to Eternal, taking away everything that makes us Sentients. Remove the anchor, and you will ... 'float back up,' you could say."

Okay. Dandy.

"So what do I do, I just ... look at it? Wave my fingers, say the magic words?" Stop that, take this shit seriously already!

You could start by looking at it, yes."

He'd been avoiding just that. He was in no hurry to see through his thigh. And the blood, there had to be so much blood down there; high school Anatomy & Phisiology and crime procedurals told him that there was a pretty important artery somewhere around the wounded area. If it was half as bad as it felt ....

"But it takes introspection with a serene mind to control the process," Ming Xiu continued, "which we don't have time for. There is another way, however. It might not work, but it won't cause any permanent damage to try."

"And why ... " holy crap, the pain, how could it be getting worse? "aren't we ... trying it?"

"But we are. How bad does it hurt now? It must be rather overwhelming."

"No ... fucking ... shit!"

Her fingers went back to the wound. They dug.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? he thought about yelling, but it was only screams. Her other hand grabbed his skull as if it was a bowling ball, her fingers burying themselves into his cranium, through bones that weren't, jabbing gray matter that was only an illusion of his Earthbound cognition. The touch brought the brutally sudden pain of searing heat, like putting his head to the broiling metal coils inside an oven—but there was no jerking away from it, no reprieve in contact interruption. The heat engulfed his thoughts as if he were burning alive, and kept on going, ruthless, relentless, somehow getting worse. The pain in his leg had become a tale all of its own, far beyond what simple digging through an open wound could bring. It had been expanded by her influence into a violent torrent that poured through his flesh and pumped deeper into his bloodstream. As the pain spread it felt like an explosion filmed in super-slow motion and then played back in fast-forward, every tiny particle excruciatingly recorded, each doing their part to advance through him in crashing, booming, deafening paths of highly detailed agony.

Several thoughts flashed in his head in quick succession. He wondered why, why, why, WHY; he decided that Ming Xiu had gone mad, Ming Xiu had finally resolved to get rid of him, Ming Xiu was evil, she was a traitor, Ming Xiu was a crazy psychopathic bitch; in another flash he wished for her to stop, please, please stop, he'd do anything, whatever she wanted; he was angry at her and terrified of her and strangely understanding of what she was doing somehow, all in the same immediate moment—and soon there was no Ming Xiu, no writhen, no obsidian wasteland; nothing but the pain, the bloated, bloating, gorging, pulsating pain that obliterated everything in its path, growing to a point where there could be no more, and additional pain simply overflowed out of him; a point where his existence became a zero-sum entity of homogeneous torment.

It happened at that moment, when sanity touched the beginnings of the abyss and the need to make the pain stop reached the deepest recesses of his mind. Supersaturated and overwhelmed, he didn't understand what happened—at least not at anywhere close to a conscious level. But some remote part of him witnessed the pieces fall into place, saw the cogs become aligned with each other to kick-start machinery that he wasn't even aware it existed. The rest of him remained submerged in the river of flames, oblivious to everything but the currents of suffering.

At some point later, Ming Xiu unlatched her claws and stood up. She might have done it right away, it could have been hour-long seconds. New input ceased, but the pain didn't, and it was a long trudge down from the mind-breaking peak to the plains of tolerable and the valley of reasonable.

Eventually Aaron gathered the presence of mind to accept the existence of other stimuli. He opened his eyes back into the world, to see Ming Xiu standing over him, serene, unaffected.

"Be calm, Aaron."

It never works when they say that. Fear held him in a vise as he shuffled away with hands and feet, putting distance between them. "Get away from me!" he rasped as he struggled to get up.

Ming Xiu didn't move, her bored expression unequivocally saying get it over with already so we can get going.

"You're nuts." He couldn't settle between angry or shocked, so he went for both. "You're fucking nuts. Why the hell did you do that to me?"

She sighed theatrically and simply pointed at his thigh. At about the same time it registered in Aaron's brain that he was standing and prancing about without even the slightest limp.

He looked down at his right leg, still darting glances at the madwoman. He saw his good ol' pair of worn jeans free of blood, without a gaping hole in them. He felt around with his hand, expecting the skin to be at least a little tender. It was as good as new.

Ming Xiu spoke again. "You said you were willing to endure and sacrifice in order to make it to the Unbound. You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

I did say that, didn't I.

"You could have at least warned me! At least ask me first!"

"It would have diminished your chances of success. Do you honestly believe I enjoyed what just happened? I might have misled you in the past, but watching you suffer has never been anywhere near my intentions. Quite the opposite."

He stared for a while. The shock of what he had just gone through hadn't quite left him. It couldn't have lasted more than a minute, too brief to leave a lasting mark—hopefully. But all the same he felt like he'd been motionlessly thrashing on the rocky floor for interminable hours.

"We do what is necessary," Ming Xiu continued. "I'm sorry I had to hurt you. But I chose to cause you pain so I could save you—or rather, have you save yourself. And now you can carry on insulting me and asking irrelevant questions, or we can go get the answers we seek."

It was Queg's cue to light up and get off the ground. He wobbled and oozed moderately, then only oozed as he stabilized himself. Missing appendages aside, he looked mostly recovered.

Aaron kept quiet, stewing in indecision between feeling grateful, feeling stupid, and getting the hell away from this woman. Queg's warning, issued a couple eons ago, suddenly showed up in his head. Dealing with your kind is ... challenging.

Ming Xiu glanced at Queg, then back at Aaron. "You will find this realm simple to navigate," she said. She was still slightly transparent. "We have wasted too much time. Follow, and remain vigilant."

Her feet left the ground, and she waited for him to do the same. She ostensibly considered the small matter of having tortured him for the greater good as concluded and dealt with.

Aaron gave some consideration to just sitting down and refusing to move. That would show her.

Who am I kidding? What am I gonna do, turn back? Ask the nice monsters for directions?

In resigned silence, he reached out to get a feel of the realm's properties. He expected another alien mess similar to the Pathways, but was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was quite close to Thousand Rivers complexity. The differences were only a matter of texture and shape, not of fundamental organization.

In the brief time he spent exploring the spatial weave all around him, the fact that Ming Xiu could destroy him with barely an effort trickled down a well inside of him and settled snugly at the bottom of it.

He had known as much before, but he hadn't really known it until just a moment ago, when he found himself completely at her mercy. It was a scary tidbit of knowledge at first, but as he prepared to get a hold of gravity he found the notion strangely comforting. Because if Ming Xiu had truly harbored any ill will toward him, there would have been absolutely nothing stopping her from acting upon it. Whatever else she might be hiding, he could at least count on her to keep him safe from (unnecessary) harm.

It was with this knowledge in mind that he ruefully pushed himself into pushing space into pushing him up. He gave Ming Xiu a pursed-lip look that hopefully said "I wish you hadn't done that, but I guess I get why you did it."

The red-clad woman nodded at him and took off immediately, up and away. As Aaron filed behind her, he took a moment to look around and take in for the first time the realm that he was currently in.

They were in a very large, roughly tubular cave, and the cave was in ruins. It was a landscape of dull shades of black and traces of silver, with the tall obsidian rocks providing all the darks, and occasional silvery veins or adornments or a different kind of long, narrow rubble—he couldn't quite tell—providing the few brights. He could see what he presumed to be the realm interface way back there, and close to it, prone or in pieces among the debris, there was what might have been the corpses of more denizens loyal to the Human cause. As he looked on, hundreds of writhen kept pouring out of a multitude of little tunnels all around the big opening and mobbing up to push one another into the Pathways. Curiously, the way out was horizontal on this end. No wonder their advance had seemed to gradually transition from a run into a climb.

Paying closer attention, he saw many, many more of these relatively small tunnels across the entire cave, all of them ending rather abruptly in the empty space carved through the rock, like countless individual pipes feeding into a giant main sewer. But the Main Pipe looked like the product of a demolition crew—a gigantic thresher maw, actually—instead of the work of a million burrowing architects. It inflated at the interface and plowed ahead at a slight upward bend, blowing through an otherwise solid network of man-sized passageways. It could have easily fit the wingspan of two jumbo jets through it, one beside the other.

All of it was illuminated in flat, caught-in-the-clouds light, just like everywhere else had been so far. It had a bluish tinge in this particular world, making the background beyond the long stretch of space eventually fade out into a blue haze.

They were heading away from the entrance and deeper into the realm, following the gentle bend of the Main Pipe. Ming Xiu led the way, for a change, while Queg dragged behind Aaron. His gravity gland flickered erratically from time to time, especially as they picked up speed. The tunnel became deathly still the farther they went.

Aaron was finding it delightfully simple to keep up. He effected his touch and let go with ease, almost continuously. It was still a far cry from second-nature elegance, but he was proud to see his flight was as close as it ever got to clean and smooth.

Spurred by this development, he caught up to Ming Xiu, questions bubbling out of his lips all by themselves.

"My yelling," he begun. "How come we didn't attract attention from the Zerg rush back there?"

The discovery that he could even form complete sentences while moving filled him with an entirely inappropriate sense of euphoria that rendered his earlier trauma all but forgotten—at least for a little while.

"Dampening field," was Ming Xiu's terse response.

"Oh. How do you know where to go? Can you sense them? I sure can't."

She made a vague gesture at the fat girth of the cave. "I think they laid out the way quite clearly for us. Our forces carve a path directly to the Daedal scum."

"Oh. Isn't all this technically your fault, though? I've thought a lot about what Zharkiev said, all that stuff about—"

"I supported the plan, but did nothing to enact it. They let it get out of control." She darted a dark glance at him. "At first I thought these Daedal saw through the plant and played it against us. But now I believe that we simply did too much of a good job at manipulating them. They were supposed to be a credible but manageable threat, not a blighted plague upon the region. Perhaps it was both their fervor and their cunning, because we have yet to hear from Gareth since he went in to spur them into action."

"Oh." He didn't know who Gareth was, and he didn't particularly care. He was going to keep running down the list of questions and make the best out of the answer bonanza. "I saw what you did back at the entrance. Why don't you always move like that?"

"But of course. Why walk at all when it's faster to run? I'm sure you always sprinted everywhere you went, just like Marion does."

"So you can get tired here." Hah! Gotcha.

"It's complicated."

"How so?"

"Exhaustion is possible, while fatigue is not."

"I don't see the difference."

"I don't see the point to your questions! We are in danger here, Aaron! Stay alert!"

Jeez, what bug crawled up your butt?

And then another voice in his head, maybe it's the hostile territory and the imminent violence? Maybe it's the prospect of facing the Unbound with you in tow? Ming Xiu is nervous, you idiot, as you should be!

He found himself strangely calm, however. Maybe it had to do with how very powerless he was at the moment to improve his chances of success, or maybe it was the aftermath of his "miraculous" recovery. After going through what incontestably qualified as the worst experience he had ever had to endure ever, simply being pain-free was reason enough to be cool about war straight ahead and monsters all around.

It was not to last, however. Nervousness made a valiant return as they got farther in.

The first change he felt were the incipient traces of Human undercurrents. They splayed ahead in an amalgam of signals, too distant and mingled together to distinguish one from the other. If he could trust his as-yet underdeveloped senses, he would say that the closest was about five kilometers away.

Second, he saw movement on different sections of the cave walls. It was hard to discern, as it was black over black, but after a few moments of scrutiny there was no doubt about it: writhen groups, slinking out of their tunnels and heading straight toward those distant signals.

Third—and this happened after maybe one more kilometer of travel—were the other undercurrents. There were many of them, far more than the other, more familiar kind. Where the Human signal was very wavy and erratically rhythmic, this kind was round, hard and narrow. Far more crisp and abrupt in the way it shifted. He'd become so accustomed to the Human version that this signal struck his perceptions as a completely alien entity.

That would be the Daedal, I guess. What do you know, my first real alien encounter.

Although after hearing how everyone railed against these guys, he wasn't nearly as excited about getting to see them as he once might have been. And besides, he'd come across so many weird-ass creatures already that the novelty value had greatly decreased and was close to having worn off for good.

He also noticed the non-writhen corpses strewn here and there, down below. And the nagging prickle of residual rifts as well, fading slowly; six of them unknown, one of them clearly Human. Ming Xiu must have noticed as well, because as they passed the quavering remants of the ruptured Human undercurrent she brought her fingers to her heart and muttered something to herself. "We remember River Tam," Aaron thought he heard her say. So much for his hopes of meeting another nerd from his own stretch of history.

The sparse groups of writhen had become roving bands down there—and over to the sides, and (gasp) above him as well. They crawled on walls with the help of their claws and scythe-like antennae, their movement slither-spidery as their limbs dug into the meat of the rock. The damn things went almost as fast on the uneven wall surfaces as they did on flat ground, like xenomorphs sprinting through vents as if they were six-lane expressways. Aaron followed their advance as they ran farther ahead, the roving bands joining into companies, companies merging into throngs, and on and on and on in a geometric progression that culminated much farther still, where they became an uninterrupted flow of churning black tar.

"This is crazy," Aaron said, a bit breathlessly. "How can there be so many?"

"That's a good question, Aaron." Ming Xiu must have been thinking the same thing, although possibly for different reasons. "I would very much like to find out about that." She increased her speed as she spoke, staying close to the center of the human-made tunnel. The distance to the walls might have been great, but in no way did it feel like a safe distance. It was only a matter of time before they noticed them, if they hadn't already.

Aaron kept up with her, albeit starting to show some strain. A quick glance placed Queg a very short distance behind. He looked better, somewhat.

Regardless of what Ming Xiu might have hoped, the pace was not strenuous enough to keep Aaron quiet.

"Well, what I mean is, what, do these things breed like rabbits?"

She exhaled a tiny mirthless chuckle that was more like a sniff. "They don't reproduce sexually. They are closer to a disease than to a creature."

No bias there, I'm sure. "So they ... divide, like bacteria?"

"They hatch. Like parasites."

Her tone dissuaded Aaron from inquiring further. The atmosphere was hardly conductive to discussion, in any case. The deeper they went into the writhen-infested passageway, the more ominously the rocky walls teemed with movement.

The hail of black crossbow bolts came from above without a warning sign. Some passed Aaron's field of vision so close to his nose that he could smell them. Others, the ones that would have impaled him in a dozen different places, phunked against Ming Xiu's dynamic steel ribbons and got deflected away. She had perked up immediately, a fraction of a second before impact; whether she had heard the spits or she had some preternatural way of anticipating their approach, Aaron didn't know.

"Blasted—Aaron, as fast as you can go, straight ahead! Queg!"

Out came her silvery sword, rising to meet the first writhen leaping down on them. Queg sprung into action as well, his generous girth laboriously orbiting around Aaron's position, intercepting any oncoming dangers the way he had done in the Pathways entrance. Aaron wanted to look up, look everywhere to keep track of what was happening, but instead he focused on putting his every ounce of effort into manhandling gravity to propel himself forward. He grabbed figurative fistfulls of it and shoved that vector for all he was worth, over and over in a mad succession of warp-speed bursts, blindly trusting his companions to keep up and keep the attackers off his defenseless ass. Tens of monsters were dropping down onto the hordes below by then, some of them whole, most in several pieces.

The rain of bodies and needles intensified as the numbers around them swelled, and his bodyguards revved up their maneuvers to a feverish pace, blurring around him while still maintaining the preposterous travel speed. Then the attacks tapered off as the three of them drew nearer to the assortment of undercurrents up ahead, the focus of the writhen in this area wholly invested elsewhere. Aaron could see some of the signal sources now, along with everything else that was going on.

It was war, and neither side was winning. The ever bulging tide of writhen crashed upon the rear ranks of a large contingent of loyals—Beacon golems, purplish lobster-things, six-legged mammoths, all sorts of creatures that might have been organized neatly to begin with but now were a chaotic blend of combatants. Hundreds more flew above them, be it bird-shaped, jellyfish-based or snake-like, working to thwart the advance of those slithering on walls and ceiling, along with the thick-limbed, insectoid beings that dominated the upside-down loyal battleline. Their predominantly light colors clashed with terrain and foes alike, making them into the stand-out centerpiece of the scene. Although the loyals were vastly outnumbered, the situation didn't look as dire as it had at the base of the Beacon spire: their line held steady against the writhen assault, and were even driving them back in places. Two Human groups—actual people, not the denizen rank-and-file—pushed back particularly hard against the writhen mob on opposite sides of the enormous Main Pipe, and Aaron figured that these were the two other synergies that had gone into the realm. The stalemate was maintained by sudden disruptions within loyal ranks, where groups of writhen inflitrators would burst out of the ground like violent black geysers. The Human forces immediately diverted their efforts into quelling these incursions, forcing the main battleline to recede against the writhen tide.

As horrifically fascinating as it was, Aaron wasn't interested as much on the denizen front as he was on the weird aliens that were shaping up in the distance. Humanoid in shape, they darted and dived constantly, like wasps troubled with an overabundance of targets, and many times they would dash into the writhen numbers for cover. They danced and dodged easily around attacks launched by Human loyals, and their primary goal appeared to be harassing the relatively few Human individuals without exposing themselves overmuch to retaliation.

The rapidly diminishing distance revealed stylized creatures whose skin was like bark shaped in countless intricate ways. Their limbs were long and spindly, and they didn't seem to wear any clothes, instead having their dense-looking hide either painted or naturally tinted in a variety of precious stone colors. Their heads curled into horns that resembled branches, or stumpy antlers, sporting adornments like metal rings or gems embedded in sockets, and their elongated faces had features that jutted out at sharp angles. They conjured in Aaron's head the image of dryads who'd been driven out of their tranquil forests and forced to adapt to much harsher environmental conditions.

Their combat prowess seemed to rely mostly on their alacrity, in the same spirit as Falon's supercharged movements. Most carried large pole-based weapons with long blades, favoring scythes and poleaxes that were almost twice as long as they were. There were also sharp projectiles of some kind involved—knives or darts or quills—and he could easily see the mist that swirled about their bodies with every bout of exertion.

Skirmishes broke out and moved all over the battlefield: aerial dogfights, crater-forming throws, Dragon Ball-style jumps and chases. For the Sentients, it wasn't as much a battle as it was a diverse collection of duels. There were two groups of ten or fifteen Daedal hassling the synergies on either flank—darting in and out of immediate range, throwing a rain of knives on them, dodging conjured projectiles imbued with permanence. At the same time, a lone Daedal, cutting a bloody swathe through the airborne loyals, was suddenly intercepted by a Human-shaped lightning and dragged toward the ground in a spinning tangle. At the same time, a churning ball of energy that looked like a man-sized comet and carried a Human undercurrent chased after a pair of retreating Daedal, speeding well into enemy lines in a matter of seconds. The aliens dodged madly, but the comet caught up with one of them and swallowed it whole. By then, hundreds of needles were being shot at it, along with the projectiles from Daedal in the periphery; the comet morphed into a human body that appeared as if dipped in silver, and the missiles plink-clanged off his skin as he sped away to relative safety. Nothing but a Daedal rift was left in its wake.

Following every confrontation became impossible as they drew near, especially when so many of their feints and shifts and exchanges happened at the speed of thought. He could only observe small pockets of action at a time: a ghostly pale, awfully familiar woman, with dark hair trailing behind her as she flowed meticulously around her five Daedal assailants, putting up barriers, shoving light-waves at their limbs, yelling like a banshee at times—Aaron couldn't figure out whether it was some obscure superpower or she was just really pissed off. There was Yuri Zharkiev, atop his flat disk in mid-air, manipulating the rock all around him to make it into his personal arsenal, lobbing huge chunks of cave at cannonball speeds, tearing the ceiling apart to create a meteor shower down below, stretching the black material around him in a protective cocoon for just a moment only to toss it at some unfortunate foe a moment later, wrap it around them and—squick—crush it into a tiny ball that shortly after ruptured in a discordant signal. An as-yet unknown Boundless, tall and well-built and strikingly handsome, simply hovered there, cutting an impressive profile and not much else; he must have been doing something important, but Aaron couldn't figure out what. Yet another lone figure, petite and female, mist-traveled between a handful of locations in rapid succession, stopping by this or that individual for the span of a few seconds, then leaving for the next. Aaron understood what she was doing when he noticed that some of the people she visited were visibly damaged in some way, but were not after she left.

And then there was the Unbound. Past the frantic activity in what had been the rear of the Human forces, the Unbound faced away from it all, staring into the face of the obsidian rock. Its vague mist-bound frame advanced in a composed hover, arms that extended into vaporous tendrils loosely spread at its sides, a hazy trail like flowing robes enveloping its shape. It traveled along the axis of the cylindrical cave, and as it did the black depths cracked, parted and crumbled before it, sending scores of writhen tumbling in their midst. Whatever thorns were directed its way would turn around and shoot in the opposite direction, while those brave enough to dare attack directly seemed to simply keel over and perish before they could get close enough.

A huge spike of unease had seized Aaron's guts when the Unbound came into view, as if to make up for his earlier, unwarranted calm. The knowledge he sought, the possible renewal of hope, maybe the bitter end of his journey, at worst his chance at revenge (please don't let it be so) were finally in sight, and as he took in the enormity of what was happening all around him, he felt small and inadequate in comparison. Surrounded by destruction and a dozen facets of pain, the thought came that maybe he should have listened to Ming Xiu. Was his quest truly so urgent, that he had dived head-long into this? What did he expect to accomplish in the middle of this chaos? How stupid, how selfish. As he approached, he felt like his heart had climbed into his throat and had decided to throw a fit in his neck.

He wondered whether he was just letting cowardice take a hold of him in the eleventh hour.

It's a moot point. It's too late to change your mind now either way, you dumb-ass.

"They're about to breach the lair!" Ming Xiu shouted over the din of battle. Aaron wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or she was just getting swept up in the heat of the moment. They reached the battlefront and zoomed right by, continuing on their way to the Unbound. Everyone seemed too preoccupied with their own problems to notice them, or to afford to care if they did notice them. Queg trudged close behind, and if Aaron was reading his undercurrent-knockoff signal right, the poor Fourteenth was on the verge of collapse. The lemniscate on his breast glowed particularly bright.

They flew over the loyal forces, past a few Boundless that somberly recognized Ming Xiu and frowned even more darkly at Aaron's presence. As they got closer to the current tail end of the tunnel, the Unbound turned its vaguely shaped head slightly to one side, as if to say, I am aware of your presence but rather busy at the moment.

They slowed down their mad dash, then stopped hardly a few meters away. Aaron had thought that Ming Xiu would say something right away, but she kept quiet, almost ... demure. Before he had time to start fidgeting, The Unbound interrupted its own advance and turned to face them. The walls did not stop crumbling even as it did.

The fabled leader of Humanity was even more of a sight to behold up close. Its body shifted and flickered, as if it didn't want to settle for only one form, only one shape. What was a hand suddenly was swirling mist, what were bare legs turned into flowing robes, turned into billows of smoke and light. Its entire frame pulsed in constant change, its grayscale skin bathed in radiance and darkness all at once. A diffuse halo surrounded it at all times, occasionally becoming long sleeves, a shifting hood, a stole or a cape fluttering in intangible wind—the halo blurred features and softened edges in such a way that it felt as if its body was about to dissolve at a moment's notice.

Most curious of all were its eyes, shining beacons in an otherwise featureless face. They were eyes made of white light and titillating mist, wreathed in ethereal flames that had the potential to be as inviting as a crackling hearth in a cold night, or as implacable and unforgiving as the all-consuming blaze of a prairie fire.

The Unbound focused on Ming Xiu first, no doubt drawn to the signal it knew, and Aaron could literally feel how it raised an eyebrow at her. Again there was that sense of extreme specificity that conveyed exactly what the Unbound meant: didn't expect to see you here, the unseen eyebrow said, both a pleasant surprise and very faint mockery. Then its attention shifted to him and, as it gave him the once-over, its otherworldly eyes widened. It glanced back to Ming Xiu in utter disbelief, then back at him.

Their eyes met just as the solid obsidian wall crumbled spectacularly to reveal a large hollow chamber behind it, and a tightly packed front of Daedal waiting there, ready to strike.

"Aaron?" the Unbound said. The Daedal might as well not have existed.

He took in an involuntary wide breath as his eyes widened in turn. He lost his grip on gravity and quickly fought to regain it. His whole brain had become one enormous exclamation mark.

What he had heard wasn't the omnipresent conglomerate of voices that had spoken at the Beacon.

It was a very definite, very feminine voice, a voice he had heard countless times, during his life, in his dreams, in his memories, in his nightmares. A voice he loved. A voice he had begun to resign himself never to hear again.

"Alexandra?"

The Daedal had already attacked, and Aaron wasn't even done saying her name before they reached their loathed, distraught enemy.

Their scythes bit into the Unbound's swirling flesh and ruthlessly tore her to pieces.

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The Unbound was forced to tear her attention off the apparition.

Or rather, she left only a thread of thought working on that, while the rest of her dealt with the Daedal problem. It had been a long time since she had let anything get this close to hurting her, and this type of pain was something she was no longer in the habit of feeling. Such an indiscretion, to let the entirety of her focus be diverted so.

It seemed the Daedal were trying to sever her in the crudest way possible. The poor bastards. Their scythes surrounded her and passed through her in violent arches, and she let them, not terribly concerned about the superficial separation of her substance. There were parts of her scattered all over the realms; who cared about small distances such as this? It even made it slightly easier to carry parallel thought processes—oh, the irony.

A different thread inside of her found amusement in their enthusiasm. It was almost comical, to perceive in their undercurrents that they thought they were winning. They thought they'd gotten her. Cute.

Meanwhile, that separate thread considering the apparition was shell-shocked. The ghost had said her name, her old name, her private name. The Unbound gave this independent thread of thought some more room to work with, spared it a tad more attention so it would get over the surprise quicker.

She had to hand it to these guys, though: she hadn't thought they'd dare go this far. Many other species would have simply fled—or attempted to flee, anyway. Many had tried in the past, as a matter of fact. But however misguided, these guys had courage in spades.

Such a shame.

Still disjointed in several misty blurs, The Unbound tore their gnarled scythes off their hands with a casual flick of her will. She went to the effort of breaking each in two, four pieces, the gunshot cracks of snapping wood resonating across the area—she coached the sounds to be particularly loud. They watched it happen, paralyzed all around her. She shouldn't toy with them like this, but thousand skies, they'd tried to cut her down. They could bear with her for a little while.

Those other threads of thought were getting over the shock and had started firing up suggestions at last. The apparition was obviously a Daedal trick: they'd found out about him somehow and used it at the critical moment to catch her off guard. It was Ming Xiu's prank: she had perfected her mistshaping to the point of figuring out how to give her constructs an actual undercurrent that couldn't be told apart from the real thing—it even had all the qualities this particular signal should have. The pertinent information, no doubt, had been culled from the long sob stories they had shared with one another. It was unbecoming of Ming Xiu to play a prank on her, and particularly this prank at that, but she might have found a wry sense of humor somewhere in that petting zoo of hers.

The Unbound mist-traveled a ways to the side so she could have all the Daedal in front of her. She tapped into the flow of her being and bridged the recently created gaps, regaining a mostly humanoid frame. She lifted her arm smoothly, theatrically. She gave them a breathspan to understand what was about to happen.

Or maybe not a prank, but a gift. It was odd timing, certainly, but all the more surprising for that. Ming Xiu had slaved away to make a duplicate that could stand up to the original. If she couldn't have the real thing, might as well settle for the next best Aaron Gretchen, right? Or perhaps it was intended as a reminder of ancient times, like stuffing the corpse of a beloved family member and planting them in the livingroom. An almost-living portrait. A sex doll of sorts?

Tendrils of light shot from her extended hand, branching and multiplying to coil around every one of her opponents like ethereal whips. The Daedal were quite a few—many more than she had planned for when going in, to be perfectly honest. Their joint opposition to her grasp was not trivial to overcome. But she had known that in advance, and had made it look trivial, but in truth she had put her every ounce of effort (except for that parcel of herself currently distraught at Aaron's likeness being not twenty feet away from her) into casting a strong enough net. Their willpower snapped before her push just like their weapons had, and the whips tightened, biting into their bark like serrated wire.

It was strange, though. She'd sensed this signal before. She remembered it from her appearance at the Beacon, a faint pulse in the distance, along with Ming Xiu's. Would she have encountered this same thing, if she had decided to undermine the impact of her intervention by stopping for a chat?

Another suggestion came up, delivered somewhat bashfully.

It could be him.

Now that was cute. She was genuinely surprised that she could still entertain such thoughts. She dismissed it out of hand, in a rather abrupt manner.

The Unbound pulled with her extended arm like tearing a Wanted poster off a wall, sending the appropriate influence down the whips as she did. The coils contracted far past skin-deep, then tore off diagonally, uncaring of what they tore through. Sixty-eight rifts soon flooded the newly emptied chamber.

She took care to shield Ming Xiu and her ... companion ... from the brunt of it, but let the rest of the cave feel a greatly amplified version. Morale was such an important part of warfare.

Meanwhile, the part of her that wondered at the image of Aaron Gretchen saw fit to query Ming Xiu for an explanation, focusing the speech ripples so they would reach only the space that she occupied.

"Is this your idea of a prank, Ming Xiu?"

The question reached her ancient friend just as the Daedal were ripped apart, jolting her out of her staring. She recovered quickly, as was to be expected, and spoke her answer out loud. "I would never make this into a joke, Sire."

Aaron (the image of Aaron, the illusion, the falsehood) took his (its) dumbstruck eyes off the Unbound and looked over at Ming Xiu, visibly wondering what she was going on about. It was a ... painfully uncanny impression. More resources were diverted into the consideration of this most peculiar matter.

Battle still raged behind and below, but she knew her forces could deal with that. What was the point of bringing an army with you, if you didn't let it claim victory for themselves? Good leadership knows when to step in and when to delegate.

"Alexandra?" the illusion repeated, and got closer by way of its dreadfully clumsy spatial bends. "Is it really you?" His voice, oh blessed shadows, his voice.

Speaking of delegating: the writhen that were almost done pumping out of the realm would have to be dealt with by her lieutenants. It was well that they had plotted to bring this pest to her attention, even if they had let the threat grow too big to control. At least it meant that they still strove to keep Humanity thriving on its toes. But the incident at the Beacon had shown her just how complacent her people had become. It was clear that speeches and appeals to pride and cries of shame would not be as effective as it was required. And so there would be destruction, and casualties, but the nation would come out stronger as a whole, better defended, more vigilant.

For a while, at least.

"Ming Xiu," Alexandra spoke to her. There was fear. How long since she had felt fear? Why was there fear? "Ming Xiu, what is this? Tell me what this is."

She could feel her oldest friend filling up with emotion. How long since that had happened? "It has come to pass. This is Aaron Gretchen, the Aaron Gretchen. He came to me. He was brought to me, and I've brought him to you."

No.

"And you brought him here?" It was a different thread, a more practical thread, an outraged thread. It spoke to the four winds. "To a purge turned war? Is this keeping him SAFE?"

Ming Xiu talked quickly, "I've done my best to fulfil every oath I've incurred. I owed him haste, and I owed you safety. I compromised. I sacrificed what was necessary. I took risks but they paid off."

Huh.

"You got a promise out of her?" the Unbound asked ... it. It couldn't be Aaron. It couldn't be.

It blinked. It couldn't be.

"She ... offered? It's, uh, it's complicated ...." The same dubiousness, the same uncertain bashfulness when confronted with a strange situation. "Look, just ... just tell me, okay? Is it really you? The message said ... the freaking census thing said you killed her, but your voice earlier ...."

The same quavering tearfulness she'd known in the most intimate moments of her life, remembrance saved and treasured under lock and key. It ignited a spark she'd known to be long dead, and she proved unable to snuff it out back into cold silence, no matter how much she tried. That part of her that had suggested the impossible was sheltering it and nourishing it back to life. What if? it was saying, practically screaming. What if?

There was only one way to be sure.

But not here.

Not here.

∞

17

Aaron watched in horror as the Daedal attacked it (her?), and the urge to jump in and do something to help was irresistibly strong. His heart sunk into a pit at the result of their coordinated weapon swings (it had been his fault, his fault!) but before he could make the conscious effort to propel himself forward and undoubtedly get chopped up as well, the tables inexplicably turned.

It was as if the Unbound had become a force of nature, a mystical alien made of light and pure thought, unhappy at the insolence of lesser beings. Their scythes and axes got scornfully destroyed and discarded as rubble, while the pathetic little beings themselves appeared unable to do anything at all. Aaron had no trouble sensing the immense warping forces being exerted in the relatively small pocket of space in front of him.

Then the mist came together once more, all blurry lines and smooth transitions, those eyes ablaze in a searing inferno. Retaliation was swift and ruthless. Aaron stared in dumbstruck awe.

This thing can't be Alex, the thought came, unbidden.

Ming Xiu said something just then about telling jokes or some such, but he couldn't really catch it in his overloaded mental state. Could this be Alex? he kept repeating to himself. Could this really be her?

"Alexandra?" he called again, as though awake inside a bizarre dream. "Is it really you?"

The blaze in its eyes flickered away from terrible outrage and morphed into a mollified smolder of uncertainty. The Unbound kept focused on Ming Xiu, as if it was deliberately bypassing Aaron's presence.

Ming Xiu spoke again, and he understood this time. "It has come to pass," she said, hoarse and raw like back in the grove. "This is Aaron Gretchen, the Aaron Gretchen. He came to me. He was brought to me, and I've brought him to you."

Only took a few murder attempts along the way.

Aaron could feel the anger build up before the Unbound even uttered the first word. "And you brought him here?" it said, in a completely different voice—back to that indeterminate mixture of every human voice possible. "To a purge turned war? Is this keeping him SAFE?"

"I've done my best to fulfil every oath I've incurred," Ming Xiu said. "I owed him haste, and I owed you safety. I compromised. I sacrificed what was necessary. I took risks but they paid off."

Wow, that's a lot of story you're conveniently omitting! he thought at her, but couldn't care enough to articulate. Ming Xiu had brought him here, in the end.

The Unbound finally addressed him, imbuing its mouthless words with uncertainty and just the slightest hint of admiration.

"You got a promise out of her?"

Still the strange, impersonal voice. It was the mountain of frustration all over again: there was no way he had imagined Alexandra calling out his name. No freaking way.

"She ... offered? It's, uh, it's complicated ...." And he didn't care about that. Ming Xiu was the least of his current concerns. He got closer to the Unbound without even thinking about it. "Look, just ... just tell me, okay? Is it really you? The message said ... the freaking census thing said you killed her, but your voice earlier ...."

Yes, go ahead, cry in front of the all-powerful God that might've killed her. Beg for answers as well. Fuck's sake, what kind of man are you?

He must have made an impression somehow, because the Unbound kept quiet for seconds that stretched forever. Its neutral expression and bearing gave nothing away.

Then it spoke, and while it still wasn't Alexandra's voice, it sounded much softer. Almost tender. "You crave answers," it said as it extended an ethereal hand that resolved in long, feminine fingers. It was disappointingly colorless. "I do as well. Please ... will you come with me?"

Yes, it was disappointingly colorless. But there was a ring on it. It was wreathed in light, mist and diffuse flows like the rest of her, and it was the wrong hand to have it on, but he knew the ring all the same. He knew it well.

Whether it was a cherished memento or a trophy taken from a vanquished foe, he was going to find out.

Aaron gingerly cradled his hand in hers, half-expecting to get shocked on contact. But it simply felt like human touch, soft and warm. How extraneous such a sensation was, he realized, after not feeling it for so long. Her fingers closed around his, gently.

Before he had a chance to ask where could they possibly be going when they were surrounded by rocks and monsters, Ming Xiu started talking without being prompted again.

"I understand. I will. We will destroy them all." The content of her sentence clashed with the continuous stream of tears running down her cheeks. She was looking at them, at their linked hands, and smiling with relief. With genuine happiness.

"I won't," she said in reply to whatever she was hearing. "Thank you."

The Unbound hadn't stopped staring at him, and he found himself getting lost in those eyes without pupils that changed with the passing of every instant.

"This will feel uncomfortable," she said in her soft voice, "but the pain will only be passing. Nothing will happen to you."

"Uh, not a real fan of pain here. Kinda all pained out at the moment."

A mouthless smile. And something deeper, quickly repressed. "Aren't we all."

Entranced in her ever-changing gaze, he barely noticed when the mist enveloped him and bloated out every sight and every sound around them.

________

Aaron opened his eyes at last, and white over white filled his vision.

He could still feel the funky rattle of the trip in his bones, but the worst of it had passed. It hadn't been so bad, really. He realized he still clutched her fingers as if he intended to crush them, and self-consciously let go of them. The Unbound didn't show she cared either way.

Soon after he figured out that the enveloping mist had already cleared, and the all-around whiteness he saw was his present location. He'd fallen in moon-like gravity for maybe a foot before the ground had gently met his feet, and he now stood side by side with the Unbound on pure white floor. He could hardly call it "floor," really; there was no substance to it, no texture or solidity. If he looked straight ahead, he could see a scarcely darker thin line stretching across his field of vision, marking a perfectly flat horizon. It was nothing more than a continuous horizontal line that divided two homogeneous hemispheres of white.

He looked back at the being who'd brought him there, to find her intently focused on his person. She wasn't really standing, he noticed; her diffuse body was poised in underwater weightlessness. And she stared on, unflinching, for longer than anyone would find reasonable. Again, there was no telling what thoughts may pass behind her gaze.

He tried staring back, but his attention kept roaming to the ebbs and flows of her figure. It was fascinating at first, but soon it just became awkward.

He couldn't take it anymore. His voice dragged its way out of the silence. "So ... you can teleport to places?"

The question seemed to startle her out of her trance-like scrutiny. After a short while, her hand reached out to touch him, then hesitated.

There was that ring again. She noticed that he noticed.

"I need to make sure," she begun. It was the conglomerate voice, yet soft and sweet and very much cautious. "I need to look."

His eyes went to her extended hand, then to her, then back to the hand. "What?" he asked. In a small panic, he surreptitiously looked for eyeballs at the tip of her fingers. There were none.

He perceived the hint of a frustrated frown, and she inched closer, then stopped again. Her hand lowered slightly.

"I'm not used to asking permission," she confided, looking at him as if he was purposefully trying to annoy her. There was a bit of an apology there, as well. "May I ...."

The Unbound, leader of all of Humanity, mighty godlike entity of ancient lore and ruthless destruction, was blushing before him.

"May I look?"

Her fingers gestured toward his temples as she asked, patently wishing to make contact.

She wants to read your thoughts, moron.

He recoiled out of instinct at the idea of a mind probe. He gave her a blinking look that was supposed to be taken as an appraisal of intent, but he was just trying to figure out how he felt about the entire situation.

"I came here ready to hate you," he said at last, "but I don't know what's going on anymore."

"I brought you here prepared to destroy you, if you turn out to be some kind of trick."

Fair enough.

Her hand was still a wink away from touch. Tiny eddies of mist coiled between her fingers.

He nodded consent, not willing to consider what would she do if he refused. The Unbound nodded back.

The hand remained in place, while the mist surrounding her slowly condensed and expanded toward him. "This will feel strange," she warned him. It was hard not to flinch away as the tendrils engulfed his limbs and fused with his skin. "It won't hurt you."

Her fingertips grazed the side of his face, the underside of his jaw. He felt the strangeness she had mentioned right away.

It was a presence within him, hints of another mind bumping at the borders of his own. At first it observed from a distance, as if afraid to go all the way in. Then it begun searching, probing. It became more frantic and thorough as it progressed, touching every corner of his psyche, rummaging through every dressed and drawer. And he let it, he consciously allowed this presence into the innermost recesses of his being. He would have certainly resisted in different circumstances—although he doubted it would have done much good—but he found himself offering willingly everything that he was up for inspection.

Because he could feel it in return. Perhaps not nearly in as much detail. Perhaps in a way that was much more inconclusive and abstract. But he could feel her emotions as she searched, and there was no malice in there. There was wonder, and amusement, and fear, and a deep, deep hunger, a longing so far beneath piles of bitterness and disillusion that he was surprised it could surface at all. The blanket of thick, heavy disbelief that covered it all was peeling back slowly, reluctantly, until just the raw feelings underneath remained.

It had been her voice. It had been her ring.

The certainty struck him like a boulder cast into a pond, splashing everywhere and sending waves that rippled through his whole body. The Unbound broke away as the thought came, as though overwhelmed by the intensity of what followed in its wake.

She broke away, and physically put distance between them. She was looking at him in the wide-eyed, speechless twilight where suspicion becomes truth. He was looking at her in the befuddled blankness that comes before understanding.

"Aaron ... " It was her voice. His heart kicked into overdrive. "I can't believe it, Aaron, it's you, it really is you...."

He understood what she was saying, but he couldn't make a reply escape his throat. A dozen conflicting emotions were vying for control inside of him, as one thought repeated itself over and over in his mind.

What has happened to you, Alex?

He wanted to be rid of it, to purge it from his list of concerns as momentarily unimportant (it was her, it was really her!) but it wouldn't go away. The thought fed upon the worry for a loved one, a husband's protectiveness, his tarnished memories of what was, the image of her as he had hoped she would be. All these things screamed in pain at the sight of what she had become.

Meanwhile, the mists fluctuating about the Unbound had receded and collapsed upon her frame. They churned and embraced a different color, a different shape. Her feet touched the immaterial ground softly, gracefully.

His stupor dissolved the way the mists had, replaced by a nascent sense of wonder as he took in the dream-dwelling sight.

Short curly locks framed a face he had not allowed himself to forget. It was impossible not to revel in her features—full lips, pronounced cheekbones, eyes dark as soot. The faint lines around them, finely crafted by laughter; the tiny freckles scattered over skin that was as dark as dark chocolate; the delicate arch of her eyebrows, their symmetry marred by the path of an old scar. Her nose was narrower than he remembered it, but it might have been his imagination.

Her wiry frame, toned through years of training, was covered in a plain white shirt wrapped tight against her slight bust, and baggy purple sweatpants that fluttered freely around her ankles. And she smiled at him, an impish, bashful smile that strummed across his heartstrings the same way it always had.

"Alexandra ...." His awed whisper barely made it past his lips.

She took a step closer, still hesitant, still searching his face timidly, hopefully.

Aaron lifted a tremulous hand to her, slack-jawed and dim-witted. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning against his hand while her smile went from nervous to blissful.

He could touch her. Truly touch her, the way it had always felt, the way that spoke of nerve endings and neurons and electrical impulses. He didn't question it, but simply marveled at it.

Alexandra cupped his hand with her own. Laughter had broken free of its confinement at last, and now danced in her eyes. "You're one lucky bastard, you know that? I could hit you. I could slug you one, just for being so damn lucky."

"What?" he repeated stupidly. This was definitely his wife, stumping him as usual.

"I don't care. I can't believe it. I still can't believe it."

That huge smile of hers threw the questions out the window. He didn't care either, not right here, not right now. His other hand sought hers all by itself, and pulled on it, and brought her into his arms in a motion that came as naturally as pulling air into his lungs. And it felt just like that, as if he'd been out of breath all this time, parched, famished, and she was the air that broke the vacuum, the water that he drank in gulps, the nourishment he so ravenously craved. Fuck the questions and fuck everything else. He would breathe, drink and eat until he burst.

He had found her.

She was squeezing him back just as strongly. How deep must her need run? For how long had she starved? As he pressed her against his chest, he sensed hints of her own emotions, as if the boundaries delineating their minds were overlapping and mingling with one another. It was a symphony of incredulous joy.

"I missed you," she was repeating, like a liberating mantra. "I missed you."

His arm was wrapped around her waist, resting on the curve of an amazingly firm rump. His fingers were tangled in the back of her head.

She smelled of lavender soap, like she'd just stepped out of the shower.

________

They sat side by side, cradled into one another and idly playing with their hands like a new teenage couple.

The first burst of emotion had passed, and in its place there was now a placid, elated plateau: a transition from "woo this is awesome!!!" to "this is so awesome." The incongruous attempts at speech and uncontrollable giggling had died down to a manageable level, although there was still a permanent smile plastered on their faces. They would stare out into the blank distance, or just look at each other, poke here and squeeze there, basking in the glow of just being together.

Eventually, as though angered by their earlier dismissal, the questions were back to beat down on the door of Aaron's mindless enjoyment. A long list of silly unimportant questions, like "what is the deal with the whole Unbound thing?" "Is she the same person I knew?" and "does she really still love me after so long?" Worst of all—half because it was so terrible to think about and half because it felt like such a selfish concern: "did she ever find someone else?"

She's been looking forward to this moment for a ridiculous length of time. I will not ruin it by turning it into an interrogation.

Nothing wrong with starting a conversation, though.

"You know, I like what you've done with the scenery here," he begun. "Very imaginative."

"Oh yeah?" She spoke without lifting her head off his shoulder. "Which part do you like best?"

"It's gotta be that patch of white over there. Especially vibrant."

She chuckled softly. Then she looked up at him, a hint of playfulness entering her tone. "What would you like it to look like?"

"Oh, I dunno. Somewhere nice and warm to go on a date? This is a little ... antiseptic. No offense."

"Oh, none taken. How about Woodland park?"

"Yeah." his smile broadened at the memories. "Wouldn't that be nice."

Alexandra waved her hand. She just waved her hand, and everything around them changed. There wasn't even mist involved.

Trees towered all around, scattered in an eclectic variety; tall trees and squat trees and lush trees, the individual names of which he'd never bothered to learn. The ground had become a mantle of gravel and grass, and the songs of birds immediately colored the atmosphere. The fragrance of vegetation and the coppery smell of a nearby body of water quickly inundated his senses, the scents carried by a pleasant breeze that sang in whispers through the foliage.

It wasn't the park itself, he realized; it was the small nook they'd scouted out by the lake, right behind the tiny golf course. A nice little cluster of trees and brush provided some privacy without taking it as far as seclusion, and there was the small L-shaped pier poking through the canopy, surrounded by the deep blue of water glinting in the sunlight. And it was real sunlight, filtering down on them in pleasant beams of warmth. He looked behind him, and saw through the swaying leaves hints of a deserted Lake Trail and the fence that ran by it.

A checkered red-and-white blanket stretched beneath them, with a basket full of food and a cooler full of sodas rounding up the cliché. Aaron looked everywhere around him with the face of someone getting mugged by talking dog.

"Are we in, like ... a holodeck?"

She put some authority in her voice, talking to the sky. "Computer, freeze program."

Everything stopped moving as soon as she uttered the words, from the flight of birds to the sun's reflections.

"You're shitting me."

She broke into laughter, and leaves and wind and water resumed their natural course.

"I made it, Aaron," she said with amusement. "We're in a small bubble of reality inside the Void, particularly sensitive to my influence. Sometimes I like to just ... disappear for a while. It's stressful out there, sometimes."

"Oh."

He doubted there could ever be a better lead-in for the five hundred pounds of heavyweight questions sitting ponderously in his head.

There'll be time for that later, don't ruin it now!

He searched for a lighter topic toward which he could divert the conversation. His eyes settled on the borderline cartoonish basket.

"So we got snacks and everything, huh?"

She didn't seem fazed by his change of subject. "It's all home-made. Check it out!"

"Don't mind if I do." Aaron lifted the lid off the picnic stereotype. He uncovered a colorful assortment of pastries, a veritable diabetes-inducing pile of sugar-frosted doughnuts, bearclaws, apple fritters, flaky croissants and jelly filled buns.

"Damn!"

"Go ahead and try one."

"Are you serious?"

She just smiled even more and waved an encouraging hand.

Aaron picked up a very standard-looking doughnut and looked at it closely, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. It looked wonderfully normal. He glanced at Alexandra, who was giggling at some secret joke and trying not to show it. The smell of the pastry wafted enticingly into his nostrils, and the sugar frosting was already making a mess on his fingers. He wasn't hungry (he was never hungry anymore) but he wasn't full either. Thinking, screw it, why the hell not, he crammed the whole thing into his mouth.

It was freaking delicious. Alexandra was laughing delightedly at his dumb overstuffed cheeks; she brought a napkin out of nowhere and wiped at his struggling mouth, blithely chiding him to hold still. Their eyes met as he chewed on the awesome gooey goodness, and she must have read on his face everything he'd been thinking, because her smile turned from amused to knowing.

"I'm amazed you've held it in for so long," she said.

He talked through his cheek-cuds. "I don't need to pee, honest."

She snorted another chuckle. "Just ask, Aaron. I'll tell you everything you want to know. Even the bits I'm not proud of."

He chewed some more. His swallowing made an audible gulp. "You ... you don't have to tell me everything. I mean, I ... I understand." Liar liar liar liar "It's been so long on your end, I can't expect—"

"No one else has touched me." She'd positioned herself right in front of him, knees on the blanket, hands leaning on knees. Before she continued, her hand reached over and rested on his. "I haven't had feelings for anyone else. I am yours, I've always been yours, and I will be yours forever."

Wow.

"I just thought we should get that out of the way," she finished.

He blinked a few more times, a little stunned by her directness. She'd never been one to mince words, and she definitely hadn't grown shy about it in his absence.

"Well, I, thank you, I ...." He adjusted his glasses—oops, no glasses. He scratched his head. Scritch scritch. "You know I feel the same way?"

She nodded beatifically. He was blushing furiously by then, flustered by her intensity and ashamed to have doubted a faithfulness she had sworn to be everlasting.

"Would you really be okay with it, though?" she asked. Far from hopeful, she sounded a little worried about it.

"No." The answer blurted out without any mediating consideration. "Hell no. It would kill me—uh, again. But I could understand why. I wouldn't blame you."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't!"

"I believe you."

"Hey, I'm a modern, don't you know? I am understanding, forward-thinking and lack prejudices. Ming Xiu told me so."

Another snort. "Ming Xiu is full of shit."

"You don't have to tell me twice. I gotta ask, what the hell did you make her swear? I mean, I don't want to make you feel bad or anything, but it was kinda shitty to be stonewalled even after I knew she'd met you at some point."

She tilted her head to the side, brow furrowing lightly. "I only made her promise to keep you safe if she ever came across you, nothing more." She paused to give it some more thought. "I guess it was a pretty serious oath. We had a ... intense ... relationship back then. It happened even before we were keeping track of portents."

"Then why would she ...."

Click, went Aaron's brain-gears.

"Son of a bitch, she did it again! She lied straight to my face!"

Just like I told her to do!

Both her eyebrows were up now. "Ming Xiu lied to you? What did she tell you?"

"She said that she couldn't tell me anything about you, that she'd 'Made An Oath' and all that honorable-sounding drivel."

"She was still keeping you safe, in a more obscure way." A small pause. "And ... covering her own ass."

"Or she was just getting me to shut up."

"Gee, Aaron." Only one eyebrow remained quirked, and her smirk had gone sideways. "I wonder why."

He gracefully ignored her mockery. "Now I'm wondering how much of the protocol thing was just an excuse to keep me quiet."

"Oh, the protocol is very real. I should know, it started as a way to get you into Human realms and keep you there. It evolved into thorough upbringing policy, over time."

"Really?"

"Yup," she said. The image of a fretful Queg goading him into Thousand Rivers floated up from his memory. And he could see Alex mandating that everyone learn martial arts, just for the chance to get back at Aaron's laziness about it in life.

The extent of Alexandra's efforts to make a net wide enough to catch him were just then starting to dawn on him.

Something else tickled his curiosity, however.

"You make it sound like this is all news to you. I thought you saw everything that's happened to me, with your weird mind powers back there. How does that even work, anyway?"

She shook her head lightly, curly ringlets fluttering about her face. "I only touched in-depth the threads pertinent to emotion and identity. They overlap slightly with events, but I saw only broad strokes of your journey, leaving most of it untouched on purpose. It's difficult to put event timelines together, and I didn't want to spoil the telling for you, either." She patted his leg. "And I respect your privacy," she added, suspiciously close to an afterthought.

"Right. I appreciate that."

She kept her eyes on him, wearing a teasing smile that he knew oh-so very well.

Aaron rolled his eyes. "You're wondering for how long can I go without talking about the big fat elephant in the room, aren't you."

Alexandra's smile broadened into a grin.

He exhaled a deep sigh and leaned down on his elbows. "I guess I can't even figure out what to ask you. You understand how it's ... well, it's a little weird, having seen you as ... the other thing. The Unbound?"

Alexandra cringed at his words. In a sudden flashback, Ming Xiu's sword was once more prickling at his throat. The Unbound is not a thing.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's not the Hulk, Aaron," Alexandra said in a patient tone. "There's no 'other thing'; it's not a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation. I do need you to understand this, because it's as hard for me as it is for you. I am the Unbound. It doesn't matter what you see. You are still talking to the swirly mist right now, as you were talking to the woman you now see, back in the cave. It's who I am. It's what I've had to become."

He had expected bitterness from her at what she was saying. He quickly realized that there was only pride in her voice.

"But why? I mean, I get the whole 'dress to impress' thing, but it's such a" inhuman alien scary intimidating "departure from your normal self."

"That's just it, isn't it." Hints of irritation showed through, although they didn't feel aimed particularly at him. "You try to have a confederacy soldier take orders from a black female. See how far you get. It's the same with a Chinese nobleman, or a Norse tribesman, or pretty much anyone in history, including other black females. It worked out fine in the beginning, but soon it became a huge chore just to put people in their place. Most everyone leaves that kind of dumb prejudice behind, eventually—especially once they learn of all the other species they can hate besides our own. But most of the time I couldn't afford to wait for that to happen. Eternity has been hectic, let me tell you.

"Everything was so much simpler in the beginning, honestly. I was able to look for you openly, and tell everyone I came across to watch out for you. But then there were enemies as well as allies, and talking about you slowly became not such a great idea." She spoke while looking down at her hands, her expression becoming more detached as she went. It echoed a different time, a different place where she'd told a different story, also heavy with two metric tons of baggage. "If they found out what I was looking for ... boundless vigilance, I dreaded what they might do to you, if any of them got to you first. And I'd have caved to any demand, I'd have brought Humanity to its knees if it meant having you back. I couldn't allow it to happen.

"Then Ming Xiu left, because she felt I was giving up. Giving up! It still bothers me to think about it. I simply accepted the way things are: I couldn't keep on trying to just find you. This place is too big. I needed to take steps so that you could be brought to me, and the whole time it had to look like I wasn't looking for anyone at all. The protocol, my entries at the census, Nino's realm, all the Boundless, the aggressive expansionism, the Twelfth, the inscriptions at Broken Peak and the Spire and all the others ... I did everything I could think of. Everything I could."

Aaron squeezed her hand. What does one say to something like that? She smiled at him for it, all too mechanically, all too briefly.

"I ... I did give up, much later. I got to hoping that you wouldn't ever show, or that you were come and gone. Because I've seen such terrible suffering; I couldn't stand the thought of you being out there, somewhere, going through who knows what. And if you never showed, I'd never have to explain ...."

She darted a look at him. There was only sympathy in Aaron's face, which made her press her lips together and shake her head with visible distress. He gently tugged at her wrist to bring her into a hug, but she brought up her hands in a gesture that said I need to get this out first. She made sure he understood before continuing.

"And now you're here," she said. "I look back at all that's happened, and I find I'm dreading to tell. It's ... such an alien feeling, this fear of what you might think of me." She made eye contact, but couldn't sustain it. The pride she'd shown only a minute ago was drowned in the tears glinting above her eyelids. "I've done things, Aaron," she told the space between them. "I've ... murdered, so many ...."

Alexandra brought her fingertips to her forehead and exhaled a frustrated breath. The hand was trembling.

There was no way she was serious. Aaron leaned forward, repositioned his legs and knelt in front of her. "Alex." He put both hands on her shoulders and spoke the ugly truth within his soul.

"Alex, listen to me. There's nothing you could have done that would change the way I feel about you. For goodness' sake, I was so afraid that you might not even remember me anymore. I've been so afraid that I'd never see you again. I was willing to do anything to get to you, anything at all, you don't even want to know. I would never let you go—you could have destroyed half the Universe for all I care."

She huffed a short laugh, then sniffled. He leaned his forehead against hers, and got a jolt of bittersweet relief on contact as if it was a shock of static electricity.

"I might have done just that," she said.

"I'm sure they deserved it."

"Some did. Most."

"Good enough."

She shook her head while still in contact with his, then buried her face in the cradle of his neck.

"Stop lying to me, Aaron."

He smiled. "You are worth lying for."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm dead serious."

She pulled away so she could give him an exasperated look.

Aaron looked straight back into her eyes, dead serious. "I don't care, Alex. You did what you must. I don't care."

She kept staring, as if expecting him to crack up at any moment. Her features relaxed slightly when he didn't, and the strange tension that had built up between them seemed to dissipate all at once. He pulled her into the embrace she owed him from earlier, and she let him, slumping forward as if completely spent after a particularly tense ordeal.

Somehow they ended up lying down on the checkered blanket. They had adopted their standard position without even thinking about it; Aaron on his back, one arm under his head, one arm around her shoulders. Alexandra on her side, head resting on his shoulder, hand resting on his abdomen.

The minutes passed by in the quiet murmur of a Seattle evening spent by Green Lake. Aaron was fascinated to hear the distant din of traffic, a motorboat somewhere in the water, a dog barking. He barely noticed the roar of the airplane cruising overhead, on its way to the airport. It all mingled with the wonderful little things brought by her proximity,treasured memories become reality: the pressure of her body against his as she took deep, steady breaths; the smell of her hair, tight curls tickling his nostrils; her bare big toe grazing his shin; the sound of skin on skin as her hand lazily traveled from chest to stomach and back. He felt himself transported into a dream-like state, where the rest of existence was washed away and all that remained were his thoughts and the warmth of the woman resting at his side.

He exhaled a long sigh of contentment.

"So," he said at the end of it. The moment felt just right for the asking. "How did you get here, O Mighty Unbound?"

Alexandra stirred and looked up, leaning her chin on his chest. It was mildly uncomfortable.

"Why, that's an awful long story, Mr. Gretchen. Are you sure you'll have time to listen to it?"

And there it was, that look of hers that could make him feel light-headed. She'd perfected it to an art form.

"Why, so considerate of you to ask, Mrs. Gretchen." Aaron brought his arm up so he could look at the nonexistent watch wrapped around his wrist. After consulting it thoroughly, he nodded sagely and put the arm back down.

"Well," he said, "it appears that time is all I've got."

∞

I thought I would find you, eventually. There could only be so many places to look, so many people to meet. You had to be one of them, you had to. How else could our story end? You brought me into a fairytale, only to have our time on Earth cut short. We should be together now. It's the way it should have been, what was supposed to happen.

∞

End of Book I