-Down here, a small voice said. I’m down here.

Torv looked down from his bed, which was slung from two iron bolts near his ceiling. At his window was Daisy, moonlight bright on her face, smiling at him through the window.

He swung down from his bed and opened the window slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t squeak as it usually…

Both teenagers gritted their teeth and sat, still as stone waiting to hear Branford Mannold’s resounding steps coming towards them. The sound didn’t come; only cicadas purring and a soft breeze through the tall grass was heard through the open window.

-Come on, Daisy whispered. Let’s go for a walk.

-It’s the middle of the night.

-That’s the point. Full moon tonight. Look how bright it is. I thought we could go out on the pond and lie on our backs.

-Might tip the boat.

-Then we’ll lie on the ground, just come on, Torv.

He climbed out of the window and into the moonlight of youth.

-I’m down here, quickly boy!

The voice came from somewhere near Torv’s feet, and it seemed a miracle he heard it over the mechanical rumblings and squeakings of the massive machine bearing down on him. He looked and saw a door had opened up from the ground, and a bald man was beckoning him vigorously. Without further ado, Torv dropped to his belly, scrambled over the remaining few feet to the door in the tall grass, and climbed down. The door shut over him, grass growing on it, the space where the door was moments ago, utterly indistinguishable from the rest of the field being rapidly plowed up by an iron monster.

Torv found himself in a small room, lit by gas lamps, with bookshelves lining every inch of the space. His host was a short, bald man with a white mustache, wearing a vest with more pockets than strictly seemed possible, and yet there they all were.

-I’m…

-Yes, yes, very well. Obviously someone involved in The Rebellion if they sent one of those to mow you down. You may call me Lin.

-I’ve a friend, above. He’s an owl.

-The iron beasts do not fly yet that I’m aware of. He should be alright if he can take care of himself.

Torv knew that Icarus could certainly take care of himself, he only hoped he didn’t lose contact with the bird. There was a feeling of safety the owl gave him, perched on his staff, like a guard at the gates to a village. The small man busied himself around his guest, pulling various items from his pockets: tea leaves, teacups, matches, and spoons to name a few. He shooed Torv into a comfortable armchair with well-worn armrests. The chair fit into the shelves like a snail in a shell and it gave Torv a sense of being snugly tucked into a blanket by his mother. Once they were sitting across from each other, Lin spoke again.

-So, how did you get involved in The Rebellion?

The Wran leaned forward as he spoke with a scholar’s interest, as if Torv were about to expound upon a new theory of being.

-I…

-Hesitant? No need. I’m a Wran. We were the first, you remember. And I’ve already helped you escape so I’d be marked anyway. So, you see. You’re quite safe to speak with me.

-It’s not that. I just...I need to find The Rebellion. I need their protection. The Islands want to kill me. I didn’t even know there was a rebellion until recently, but now it seems they’re my only chance of staying alive.

The Wran rubbed a liver spot on his bald head and trained his startlingly green eyes on Torv’s own.

-You’re telling the truth, he said, taking a measured sip of his tea. Now isn’t that interesting. So, you say you have no idea why The Islands mean you harm?

Strictly speaking, Torv had not said such a thing, but he nodded anyway, taking his own sip of Tea. It was a good, strong blend that meshed perfectly with the cozy surroundings of the burrow.

-The Rebellion is in many places, my boy. It is much like the branches of a tree, though guards are frequently hacking at the roots with their idiotic blunt instruments.

-Is there a taproot? Torv asked, following the metaphor.

-Ah...very good. Very good. There is such a place, many leagues south of here. I’ve never been, myself. I’m one of the few Wran never to have been very close to The Islands at all. Lin is a solitary soul, he said, speaking of himself in third person casually.

-Can you...take me there?

-There are Wran transportation tunnels and crossroads all the way through The Mainland, and they can certainly be used to get to The Taproot.

Torv stood up from his chair in excitement and knocked his head hard against the shelves. Tubers and Turmeric: A Practical Guide fell into his lap, open to page three hundred and twenty seven.

-Excellent book, that, Lin said.

-So you can take me then? Through the tunnels.

-Oh...well, no.

-What do you mean?

-Well, as I said. I’ve never formally been a part of the Wran community. I’ve not the slightest idea how to access the tunnels or how they work. Supposed to be marvelous, though.

Torv was having a hard time reconciling Lin’s merry tone with the words coming out of his mouth.

-So you can’t help me.

-Well, I don’t know about all that. I am terribly interested in owls. Did you say you have an owl? I read in a book that they can turn their heads all the way around. Can you imagine?

The hunted boy was beginning to understand, the more Lin spoke, just exactly how solitary Lin had been in his life. It did not seem like he had spent much time outside of his burrow at all.

-Could you lead me to The Taproot, Torv ventured cautiously. Above ground?

The Wran’s face went ghostly white and his teacup began to shake in his hand. He moved to set it down on his tray and it clattered noisily before coming to a rest. He fumbled through multiple pockets of his vest, searching desperately for something...anything...until it came to hand, what he was looking for. It looked like a chocolate covered berry of some sort.

-Just a moment then, Lin said cheerily, eyes blazingly open as a panicked deer the moment before death.

He popped the berry into his mouth and promptly passed out, face-forward onto the table between them.