Barefoot on grass. Trees and bushes, leaves and flowers, somehow vivid and bright beneath the inky black night. The world breathes in and out, in and out. Pollen in the air, tiny sparks of purple, red and blue, carried on the lazy breeze. And a voice, a silent whisper. A pregnant pause.

Listen, it seems to say, and I’ll let you in on a secret.

Listen carefully. Hear everything. The rustle of leaves, squeak of a mouse, the pitter-patter of spiders leaving pinprick footprints in the dust… Flowers twinkling, showing their stigmata seductively. Smile, giggle. But no secrets.

Listen, listen.

And there, in the darkness where you can’t bring yourself to look. An inky black mote of secret knowledge. A terrible, blinding, searing secret.

***

She stayed in bed, not moving, eyes shut tightly. Trying to savour the flavour of it… That aftertaste of magic, that warm and bitter breeze. Just a dream, and yet…

“Yveen?”

That was Roland’s voice. She opened her eyes so that she could roll them. With litheness that surprised her, she sprang from her mattress and went to the window.

“Yveen.” Roland was sitting outside the door to her hut. He had been whittling; the pile of sharp and pointy sticks on the dirt beside him implied he had been at it for some time.

“You’re awake,” he said pointlessly. “We’re due before the Elders in an hour.”

Yveen sighed. She looked up at the sky, grey-white as always. Dark clouds in the distance. “I’ll be out in ten minutes,” she said, and left it at that. She pulled the shutters closed.

"Oh Yveen," her mother fussed as she thrust a simple breakfast in front of her. "I can't believe it's come round so fast, I can't believe…"

"Mum," Yveen sighed. "We did this last night. Is there really anything else to say?"

Her mother sat across from her and watched, sadly, helplessly, as Yveen wolfed down her toast.

They went by Koren’s house, just in case, but he had already left.

“Are you angry with me?” Roland said quietly, as they reached the woods.

Yveen sighed. “We’re doing this now?”

“I don’t want to start out on the wrong foot,” Roland said, earnestly enough.

“Well, do you understand why I’m angry?”

“So you are angry.” He made it an accusation.

“You went behind my back,” Yveen said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

“I know,” Roland said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” It sounded like he was forcing the words out. He wasn’t sorry, despite whatever he was planning on saying next.

“I just…” he started, before realising he was mumbling. “I wanted to protect you, that’s all. People die on the pilgrimage.”

“You think I’m stupid? I know it’s dangerous, Roland. It was my choice to make, not yours. Just because I’m promised to you, does not give you the right to…”

“It’s not that, Yveen. I care about you.”

Yveen was compiling a list in her head of “Things that sound like an apology but aren’t”.

“If you cared about me, you’d be okay with me doing this. It’s what I want, Roland. I want it more than I want to be safe, more than I want to grow old. I want it more than I want a child with you.”

Roland looked wounded, so she followed up quickly:

“But I do want a child with you, Roland. Honestly, I do. And I’m glad we’re going on this pilgrimage together.”

Roland gave her a small smile, then looked the other way for a moment, a gesture that seemed to draw a line under the whole exchange. Still no apology though.

“Just promise we’ll make it back,” he said.

“Promise you’ll keep me safe, then,” Yveen said, teasing.

They could see the castle’s spires now, ahead through the trees.

“Alright lovebirds?”

Yveen and Roland looked up. Koren was sitting on a branch above their heads, munching on an apple. He had a way of making almost any pose look comfortable, Yveen thought.

“Come on, Koren,” Roland said. “We’re running late as it is.”

“Relax, relax.” Koren dropped the apple core and it landed on Roland’s head. “It’s not like they’d start without us.”

He slipped from the branch and landed in a bush. “Besides,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “You do know the Mage is my grandfather, right?”

“He is? Blimey, that sounds like the sort of thing you would have mentioned,” Yveen said, punching Koren’s arm. “Like, a thousand times already.”

Koren shrugged. “Come on then, peasants. Let’s get this over with.”

***

The Grand Mage was waiting for them near the old dyke, patiently resting his weight on his staff. Across the narrow bridge was Crisper’s Castle, rising ominously above the sloshing water, its highest towers lost in clouds. On the plaza before the castle doors a pavilion had been erected, shielding the Elders from the localised rainstorm that raged above.

“Welcome, pilgrims,” said the Mage with a warm smile.

Yveen and Roland bowed their heads respectfully.

“Gramps,” acknowledged Koren.

“I hope you all slept well," the Mage said. "I can guarantee you won’t sleep tonight.” He bent over, carefully drew three pieces of maroon fabric from a backpack on the ground.

“Please,” he said, gesturing for them to kneel. They did so, and one by one he draped the ceremonial cloaks around their shoulders. The fabric was old and musty. Itchy. The Mage smiled softly at Yveen as he fastened her clasp. It dug into her neck and she grimaced.

“Don't worry,” he murmured. “You can take it off after the Binding.”

He led them in single file across the bridge. The wood beneath their feet creaked and protested. On one side of them a column of misty water tumbled into the sea, some kind of insane water feature pouring from an outcropping of the castle, high above the veil of cloud cover. The spray mingled with the rain as they passed into the storm’s radius, and by the time they reached the pavilion they were all thoroughly soaked.

The Elders, stern, severe, and dry, bowed their heads to acknowledge their arrival. On one side of the pavilion stood the Elders of the Council, and on the other side, the Coven.

One of the Councillors spoke first.

“Welcome,” she said. “Yveen, Roland, Koren. You are here because it is your wish to embark on the Pilgrimage. Here, before the eyes of the Coven and the Council, we will perform the Binding.”

An Elder of the Coven continued:

“We of the Council and Coven are tasked with upholding the peace that has lasted in the Space for the past fifty years. A peace that has persisted despite the dark threats that lie beyond our borders.”

The Council:

“It is into the midst of these threats that we now send you. To seek answers, to seek salvation.”

The Coven:

“To reach the 78th hold. And to find the Way Out, if such a way exists.”

The Council:

“But above all, the peace must endure.”

“The peace must endure.”

“Thus from the moment of Binding, until the moment of your return, your memories are forfeit. What you see and hear in the realm of the Enemy cannot be allowed to spoil the peace.”

“The Dark Lord’s lies have no place here.”

“Yveen, daughter of Kallum, son of Edward and Unatti; and Ada, daughter of Faisal and Claire: do you consent to the Binding?”

Yveen swallowed. She could see her grandmother, Unatti, stony-faced among the Council Elders. “I consent.”

“Koren, son of Kazuki, son of Otohiko and Yvette; and Rosa, daughter of Horace and Martina: do you consent to the Binding?”

No hesitation. “I consent.”

“Roland, son of Amhlaoibh, son of Stephen and Eva; and Megan, daughter of Crisper the Great (may his soul find peace) and Anne: do you consent to the Binding?”

“I consent.”

Grand Mage Otohiko thumped his staff into the rock, and for a moment, everything went black.

…a voice, a silent whisper… Listen.

When Yveen’s vision returned, she knew the Binding was complete. From this moment on she would remember nothing. When they returned from their pilgrimage — if they returned — it would be as though they had never left.

She reached for Roland’s hand, and held it tightly.

***

That evening the inhabitants of the Space gathered at Matt’s Wall; a party in honour of the pilgrims, a send-off for heroes.

After the obligatory speeches from members of the Council and Coven, the Grand Mage took the pilgrims aside.

“We’d better get you kitted out,” he said, gesturing towards Matt’s Temple. They followed him through the throng until they reached the stone enclosure that housed Matt, bestower of boons, custodian of the bloodlines. The God of the Space, their only point of contact with the Divine Source.

The Mage drew an old key from his cloak, and fitted it carefully into the rusty lock. Yveen realised that she was holding her breath. This was the first time she had been allowed an audience with Matt. Koren, she knew, had visited with his grandfather on more than one occasion.

The door swung inwards. Lights blossomed in sconces around the temple interior.

Silence. And then:

“Oh hi guys!”

Yveen felt Roland startle beside her. All three of them froze in their tracks.

“Oto, my man, good to see you!”

The Grand Mage lowered his head in greeting.

“Hello Matt. I present to you Koren, Roland, and Yveen. Our newest pilgrims.”

“Well, isn’t that just fab!” Matt enthused. Yveen could see him now. A white square of the Outer Wall, framed in stone. A picture of a face. No… an actual face, its eyes saccading around the room, sizing them up, judging them.

“Ah, you guys are gonna have a great time! Oh boy.”

Oto sighed with what might have been exasperation. He turned toward the pilgrims.

“There are many dangers, outside the walls of the Space,” he said. “The Dark One…” He paused, weighing his words. “The armies of the Dark Lord have taken the outer holds. You must find a way past them. Or face them in battle.”

Yveen saw the Mage’s grip on his staff tighten. He addressed the wall. “Matt, a full set of enchanted armour and weapons, please.”

“Coming right up!”

“Uh, Grand Mage…” Yveen said hesitantly.

“Please, Yveen. Call me Oto.”

“Um… Oto… Now that the Binding is complete, can we…”

“Speak freely, child,” the Mage said gravely. “It is vital you are prepared for what lies before you.”

“Is it true, what they say… About the dead?”

Oto sighed heavily. “The peace engineered by the Council and Coven rests upon an awful truth. The dead do not stay dead. Instead they are sent beyond the Outer Walls. To join the ranks of the Dark One.”

Yveen swallowed. She had known all along; everyone knew really. They just didn’t talk about it.

“Then we’ve been arming the enemy, all this time?” Roland said, his voice catching in his throat. “Filling his ranks with our dead?”

Oto met Roland’s gaze. “The Elders judged, all that time ago, that this was the price of peace.” His grip on his staff loosened slightly. “But do not be disheartened. We have one thing the dead do not have.” He gestured at the racks of glistening swords, bows, axes, and assault rifles that had materialised all around them. “We have Matt.”

Koren approached the weapon racks hesitantly, before picking out a short sword and a semi-automatic pistol.

“Well,” he said softly. “I, for one, don’t want to end up a zombie.”

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day, then,” Yveen said.

“Quite right.” Grand Mage Oto reached for a rifle. “And I’m coming with you.”

The three pilgrims stared at each other, stunned into silence.

“Woah, woah, gramps, back up. You’re what?”

The old man coughed into a handkerchief, grimaced, and showed them the blood. “Turns out I’m dying, Koren.”

Yveen realised then, just how old the Grand Mage looked.

“I made a promise,” Oto said, “to an old friend. That I would come and find her. I’ve already left it far too long.”

None of them knew quite what to say, still piecing together the scraps of truth they’d finally been handed.

“Feels like only yesterday…” The Mage said softly, apparently to himself. He stifled another cough. “The one they call the Dark One, well… we knew him as Crisper.”

He slung the rifle over his shoulder.

“May his soul find peace.”