Kultakutjuru was a remote community that sat in a ditch in between two red rocky hills. Its name was an oddity even for the folk who now lived there, having been called as such by the indigenous people who had first slept under its dreamless stars and since been driven away long ago. Therefore modern settlers took it upon themselves to give a name that was easier to pronounce: Red Rockies. The community was very much put in a desert, with red sands and scarce wildlife and few waterholes hidden around in spiky arid groves. Red Rockies was so far away from any other person that you could walk for weeks and the most intelligent thing you’d meet was a thorny lizard. Only a few hundred folk lived here and they all had sun-tanned, flaky skin and dry matted hair from the winds that blew dirt around. Food consisted mainly of potatoes that were grown in a small fertile field. They sometimes ate grubs found in hollows of oaks as well. The folk were quite content with the way they lived, and were glad to welcome Travellers.

It happened to be an uncomfortably hot night once. A new mother had laboured for many hours in a dingy shed, then died without a moment to name her child. The mother had recently arrived in Red Rockies, having travelled long leagues by her lonesome. No one could get her to say how she managed the journey with naught but the unborn child. Suspicions began. “She wields black magic,” one had said. “No! She is a messenger sent by the Goddess!” said a nutty hag who everyone could scarcely wait to draw her last breath. In any case, the mother died and she casted no magics and she told no prophecies. The folk dug a hole for her and buried her beneath the red sands to be Forgotten about.

Years passed. The child had been named “Erica” and she was a lot alike the other children – skinny and frail looking, save for the red hair that the nutty hag cursed about and said, “It is the devil reincarnated!” No one believed the hag. After all, they lived in a desert in which all Gods had forsaken.

Erica could be described as a rascal. In fact, all the children could be described this way. She played pranks on the elders, like stealing their frond-woven hats and putting them on top of a wasp nest or sneaking into the potato field for a snack. And she was one of the better behaved children. The nastiest children ignored every warning that had ever come out an elder’s mouth. They battled centipedes and often got terrible bites, then they came crying as if they had not been cautioned of the dangerous insects. Erica was a tad bit smarter, and more cunning. To put a hat on a wasp’s nest, she had used a long stick that Gavin had become mighty fond of and whom Tommy was awfully jealous of. Then she slipped the stick into Tommy’s secret stash (which wasn’t all that secret). When Gavin found where his stick had gone, he became upset at the befuddled Tommy.

More queer than Erica’s red hair were the new neighbours that came in the years since her birth. They nested in the hills, on the other side of Red Rockies. The folk went to greet them but were told, “Mind your own business.”

“I very much do not like the new neighbours,” said one folk, “Rarely do we get visitors, let alone new neighbours! They do not greet us and they are much unfriendly. And their clothes! Oh, as black as the sun when the Goddess closes her left eye! I should soon think they will come for our potatoes when they find that the land is unbearing, and when such a time comes, I think we should be wary and not so quickly give them our potatoes! They should first give us a firm shake of the hand and then sing us a merry song that tells us where they’re from.”

The other folk had nodded in agreement and that was years ago. The new neighbours did not once come to beg for potatoes, and the elders were concerned so they left a bowl of fresh-dug potatoes and a map of waterholes drawn on a leaf of bark at the foot of their hill. They had done what they could to be hospitable and none of their gratitude was returned. Instead, wagons drawn by camels showed up every now and then. They were clad in thick cloth that hid the goods. Folk conspired and guessed that these wagons contained food; the neighbours were rarely seen leaving their nest.

“They are so very rude!” complained an elder one night. “If they have many foods, then they should share. Why, look at my arms. There is no flab! All I have is skin. And what are they doing on the other side of our beautiful red rocks? Sometimes I think I feel the earth tremor and the sands quiver and the winds have certainly howled louder and harsher since they came. There is something funny about those black men, I am sure! We should not concern ourselves with them any more.”

The other folk nodded in agreement, but not the children who had conspiracies of their own. Gavin gathered his friends round a shed one day and said:

“We will ambush the next wagon that comes by! We’ll take their food and we’ll see how they like it when we’re the ones who are rude.”

“Ambush? In a desert?” said Tommy. “The ground is as flat as Neri’s chest! I can spot a coming ambush from as far away as a kite spots a bilby. Your gimmick is known to Travellers all over. It will not work, and besides, what will we ambush with? Sharp sticks?”

Neri scowled. She didn’t take kindly to the analogy.

Gavin tutted his tongue. “We’ll take fronds from the waterhole and use them as cover. No one will think twice of a bush weed. We will indeed use sharp sticks, spears rather. It might be good to have centipedes to throw as well.”

“Why don’t we wear hats?” said Jonny who was not the brightest of the bunch. “That will cover us from the sun and the camels might not eat us.”

“Because, you dunce,” answered Gavin, “we are not hiding from only camels. We’re hiding from the man who drives the camel.”

“I don’t know about that. I have not seen a man drive any camel,” said Jonny, and Erica was inclined to agree.

“And a camel drives itself, does it?” replied Gavin, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t like this,” Erica put in. “The elders told us to keep away. They talked about things in the dirt and the winds making more noise, and though I haven’t felt those, I know I saw a strange light over the ridge some nights ago.”

Gavin perked up. “That is why you need to grow a pair of balls and investigate, Erica! These men cloaked in black have no need to gather and hunt. They stay in their hole and you say they make strange lights that scare us and I say we bite back and take their good food. Think of it! You’ve turned seven this year and you still look like a sickly numbat.”

In any case, the plot was put on them by Gavin and the children went round a waterhole to decide their fronds. The plants did not like being picked at and they poked back with their serrated eaves. The children tried every which way they could think to pull away at the fronds and found that the plant was submissive when struck with a good smack of a hatchet. Their next task proved to be just as troublesome. They wanted the spikes removed so they could hide in it without itching. After a bit of experimenting, the spikes were beat off with hatchets. It was Gavin’s idea and he proclaimed, “I am a genius!” And Erica doubted his proclamation because the fronds now looked very unlike fronds. Carrying their fronds (or not-fronds) and piling them in a heap, the children rewarded themselves with a swim.

And that was the beginning of a ploy that I never imagined could turn so disastrously stupid. If I could wind back time; to some time before my mother abandoned me. I think I’d kill them all twice over, if only to be free of these torments.

It would be a while until the next wagon drove by. In the meantime, it rained for the first time in a long time. Water gushed down the hills and into the waiting arms of the joyful folk of Red Rockies. The red sands turned to mud and Jonny thought it to be great to build a mud mountain. He was chided for wasting his time on mundane things when the fronds were getting wet and losing their good form. By the time the children got to the pile, it was already a soggy mess and the colour was faded too. Feeling somewhat dejected, they joined in on Jonny’s fun and together was built a very large mud mountain. When the rain stopped and the Sun came out from behind the grey drifts, the children found themselves caked in red mud.

“This is just what we needed!” cried Gavin, inspecting his dried muddy hands. “We can’t be spotted if we blend with the ground. The driver will be so shocked at our appearance he might even abandon his wagon altogether.”

Erica could only sigh at his short-sightedness. There was sure to be no way anyone should miss a queer lump on the ground. If anything, she thought they would stick out like a sore thumb.

Regardless, Gavin could not be stopped and he dragged his friends to hunt and capture centipedes. The children moaned and groaned about the awful bites of a centipede. “Think of the bites they’d give to the driver!” said he. “Think of the bites they’d give to us!” said they. And they squabbled for a fair while until it was decided that throwing centipedes was indeed a poor idea. They settled for simple sticks instead.

Several days later and finally news of a coming wagon reached their ears. They scrambled to make new mud, to do what little they could to hide between the dried and dead fronds. Quickly they scurried over to the path the wagons always took and there they laid in wait atop the hot sands and rocks. The wagon began as a dot on the horizon. The children lied with bated breath and the wagon crawled closer. Until it was close enough for Erica to make out the feet of the camel, and there indeed protruding through the thick curtains could she find a hand grasping reins. There was a driver. Closer the wagon trundled. Erica made out the wood frame and wheels which were wrapped in dirty metal. It didn’t seem to notice their presence, for it was now upon them.

With a roar, Gavin sprang and the others followed.

“You are being robbed! Now, give us your goods!” shouted Gavin.

The camel was reined in and the wagon stopped. Erica didn’t think the wagon would ever halt, especially for children who appeared to be naught but scamps. Then the hand drew back behind the dirty white curtain and something dull and metal with a hole pointed out after. A clap and a net shot forth. It tangled with Gavin. Jonny was the first to turn tail, but a few clicks, a clap and he too was tangled. The driver parted the curtains, jumping out, firing off another net that caught Neri. Tommy threw his stick, it made a thunk against the driver’s black shoulder, who fumbled his waist. A click, a clap, Tommy tangled. The driver swirled and aimed at his final mark. Erica leapt to a side, a clap and the net missed. Fumbling his waist again, Erica thought she saw a twinge of annoyance in his eyes behind the black mask, then a final clap and Erica was caught.

“Dear me. Aren’t you the kids from that village? Whatever. Maybe I’ll get a nice bonus from the boss,” said he, voice muffled by the mask.

Writhing and wriggling, the children tried to fight the nets off. With haste, the driver loaded each child onto the wagon and it was moving again. Inside was dark and Erica smelled something toasty; a little like nuts. The children called to one another and found each other well, albeit unable to move for the net had been tightened. Worming around and tapping things with their heads and feet, they could not find an avenue to freedom. Wailing and shouting did no good either. Then they bickered about how terrible a plot it had all been.

“What a terrible mess we’re in!” cried Tommy. “How will we find our way home from this? What if we’re eaten for supper!”

“We won’t be eaten,” said Erica, “I can smell nuts of some kind. We needn’t worry about becoming supper. We should apologise when the chance comes, and if they’re kind enough they will see us go.”

“I smell the nuts too!” said Neri, “Do you think we can be fortunate to be given some? I’m very hungry.”

“Are you as daft as Jonny?” put in Gavin, “We were trying to rob them! It would be a miracle if our bowl of potatoes were ever returned. We’re going to be disciplined for this or else we wouldn’t be trapped.”

Jonny grunted loudly. “This twine is strong! My arms and teeth can’t tear it apart. How can the driver ever get us out of this tangle?”

An assault of reprimands were put upon Jonny for his simple-mindedness.

The wagon came to a stop and the children quietened. A pair of feet struck hard rock, then came an echoing knock. Something grating slid against what sounded like stone, and a creak went after.

“Supplies, Master Henderson!” the driver said.

“Surprise indeed, Al,” a man’s voice replied, “I assume you were delayed by the Arcstorm?”

“Yup. I nearly went out, too. The bloody Seers told me it was a regular storm. I’d be dead if I hadn’t overslept.”

A grunt. “Every Seer is a hack. It’s all propaganda from Central, but it keeps the peasants from freaking out. I’ll give you a tip, Al, all Arcs can be tracked with an Anima Meter.”

“Aren’t those hard to get? And how did the Seer get the weather wrong if he has a tool?”

“Simple to get if you know where to look. Arcs occur spontaneously, but rarely inside a storm. Think of it as like getting struck by lightning, you know what I mean?”

“I guess I need one of them Meters, then. I think I’ve some presents you might like.”

The curtain was drawn and a flickering flame illuminated the children. Henderson peered. He had a gaunt face with sunken eyes that seemed as if they had seen the last of all joys. His hair was greyed and wiry and in need of a comb. Black robes lined with red shrouded what could only be a frail body. He raised a gangly finger, pointing.

“What are these?” Henderson asked.

“Kids from the village, I think,” Al said. “The boss said to leave them alone unless they bothered us, right? Well, they attacked me. Or tried to anyway.”

Henderson furrowed his brows. “Take them to a holding cell. Keep them separated from the others.”

“Yes, sir, Master, sir,” Al answered.

“Wait!” Erica began, “We’re sorry we tried to rob you. Please let us go and we won’t try it again.”

Henderson didn’t seem to hear. He grabbed the wagon’s cloth and unfastened the straps, revealing a dark cavern whose walls were unnatural. Waving a torch, sniffing a crate, he recoiled.

“Are those nuts I smell?” he said.

“Yes, sir. Smells good, don’t they?”

“I told you I’m allergic,” Henderson said, scowling.

“It was ordered, sir, so I had to pick it up.”

Scoffing, Henderson ruffled through a different crate. The men went about unloading the wagon, disregarding the childrens’ pleas for release. A cart was brought and the goods and children were put on that. Along they were pushed, out the cavern and through a black stone door, into a gloomy corridor. Flaming torches hung on the walls, and they seemed to go on forever, with twists and turns leading into more darkness. The rolling cart squeaked under its weight, the sounds reverberating eerily off the stone that were a shade far beyond red. Down they went past slopes and winds, then they stopped at a flat door that had barely gaps along its sides. Fingering inside his robe, Henderson brought forth a large silver ring and on it hung keys. He fitted several into the keyhole before the right one clicked, and the children were untangled and thrown into the room without a wisp of acknowledgement from their captors.

Inside was a pitch blacker than the corridors. Quiet, cold and barren, the children found it to be. They felt around, called out, frigid silence replied and they became hopeless.

“How can it be so chill in here, yet so hot outside?” came Erica’s disembodied voice.

“At least it’s better to be held here rather than under the scorching sun,” replied Neri.

They had naught to do except wait. Darkness played with the children and they wondered how long it had been since they were put in the room. They counted aloud in tens for each child, until Jonny insisted that eighty came before seventy and they lost the count. It wasn’t long before Erica was lulled into a sleep.

When next she woke, she found her calls unanswered. She sat alone and scared. Finally, the door made a creak and firelight shone through. Al came in, with his black mask as smooth as the underside of a bowl and perfect discs to see through. Bits of dirty blond stuck out from beneath his hood, and he squatted afore Erica.

“You’re the lucky last one to meet the boss,” he said. “Come on.”

And he whisked her by the arm and into the tunnelled corridors once more. Together they walked for a while, up stairs, on metal grates, then to a platform which lurched downward. They came to a big room. Four bureaus stood on either side and there were many shelves along the walls, filled with assorted papers. No flames here, instead a bright white light danced from the far end where a tall black man stood facing it.

“I’m packed and ready, Al,” Henderson said, coming from a side.

“Good timing. I was just about to come look for you after I dropped the last kid off for the boss,” Al said.

The two men abandoned the room, shutting the wall behind Erica. She was left with the man on the far end. Apprehensive, she made forward.

“Hello,” she called, “Have you seen my friends? We’d like to leave and go home.”

“Come,” he said softly, “Look into the Light of Dawn with me.”

Erica crept closer. He wore a long leather trench coat, his hands tucked behind and on the cuffs were buttons printed with eagles. Light shone through the glass, from a white rod no bigger than a branch. He appeared content for his face held thin curled lips. His eyes gleamed brown with intellect and sharpness; his fair hair groomed with precision.

“A hundred souls. Magnificent, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Yet we’re still no closer to truth. An age will pass, and I will be dead, left to rely on my Children to carry forth my work whom I doubt may never see the beauty I see now. For all my labour I am well rewarded, yet I feel none belongs to me. I desire eternity. Why then is Fate so cruel, I wonder? Should we not be let to seek out our Dreams without consequence? Must I rise to a God as well, to stretch a Thousand Arms across infinite Fates? Or shall I be felled as the Dead Gods did?” He turned, looking at her deeply. “I am Moriarty, Erica.”