Pen shook, but it wasn’t just her. A body glued to hers was shaking up and down to the pulse of heavy crackling steps. She couldn’t move. Everything felt infinitely heavy. Clothes clung to her skin, dragging down, and her eyelids would never stay open for long before slamming shut with the inevitable force of a felled oldwood.

What she did see were flashes. Some of them couldn’t be real; Lya was gone, she knew that. Yet they blended with the earthy smell, the leaves caressing her skin. Her friend rushed through the underbrush little as they had been back then, laughing, shrieking, crouching to collect mushrooms, hiding with her smiling face poking out so far you’d always find her. That face… Pen tried to concentrate and capture it, but in vain. It was just as blurred as the one in her memories.

Buzzes and chirps sounded all around, swelling and fading like an orchestra as she went in and out of consciousness. There were men speaking in a different language. She could assign meaning to the words, yet their sounds seemed as strange as ever. So soft and harsh. So restless.

Their tone however was distinct: these men were afraid. Something bad had happened, they said. A crash. There was talk about the sea, no—a lake. Water. That was why her clothes were so clingy. But what lake was there in the woods of Koeiji? Why didn’t she know these voices? Where was father? Where was—

Glane.

»Sir, the girl’s awake!« one of the voices said. She blinked, but only saw his silhouette before he fell back. Something blue sat atop his head. They were guards, she realized, guards in the forest, with her. An uneasy feeling hit her stomach. Glane, she whispered, too tired even to feel guilty. Something told her she didn’t want his protection, but to see his stupid honest face, to make sure he was alright. Why she would ever want that, she couldn’t say. But there was that feeling. »… here, sir,« the voice from before said. »I’m sure I saw her blink. Maybe wait a—«

»Pen,« Wellan said. »Can you hear me?«

She recognized his voice and remembered who he was in an instant, and suddenly had a million questions for him. But her lips proved unruly, whispering her protector’s name a second time.

»Gone. But Vohl be praised, you’re…« He stopped, and drew a sharp breath. »You’re alright. That’s all that matters right now. Private Kirhonen would have said the same.«

He’d read her lips. What did ’gone’ mean, she asked, whispering—gone like father, or like mother, or like Lya? But he didn’t respond, forcing her to try and open her eyes. All she got was another flash. It scared her. A wicked smile on a face that wasn’t Wellan’s, couldn’t be. The chin was cleft like his, and she spotted his dancing braid, but the skin was completely wrong. It wasn’t pale at all, but furiously red, battered, cut deeply across his right temple and cheek. It looked like the most vile drawing one could make of him, and worse. She would have whispered him an imposter if it hadn’t been for those light gray eyes.

»You don’t— Poor thing, we crashed. Remember the Krissin?«

She did the instant he asked. That crash. But how?

»We don’t know exactly…« She blinked, and saw that his smile had gone. »TLA, is the short answer. They’re still after us, so nice private Mallaslyn here offered to be your legs for a while. Ask him if—« Sharp breathing again. »If you need anything. Are you in pain?«

Yes, was the short answer.

»We bandaged what we could. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to hold out a little longer until we’ve lost them. Can you do that?«

He was going to leave, she could hear it. No, she whispered. He didn’t say anything. Was he gone? Why wasn’t Rannek with him? Where was Rannek? She blinked again, only to see no Wellan, only trees, and moss, and a blurry smiling face poking out, and a beige shoulder pressed against her cheek forever shaking.

Stop shaking, Mallaslyn, Pen whispered. But there was no one to read her lips.

When she woke again, night had descended on the jungle. A circle of violet light kept the darkness at bay, sparing out a clearing of mosses and weeds encircled by ruler-straight teaks. There was no orchestra anymore, only twelve-legged soloists: cicadas, scores of them, some distant, some close, chirping and stopping and chirping at a whim. The smell of warm earth hung strongly in the air. Pen pushed away the blankets on top of her and sat up on trembling arms.

An oval sat at the center of the circle emitting the ore’s purple glow. The device was contained within smooth synthetic glass, resembling a grossly oversized pill that would choke any man foolish enough to swallow it. She put her hand atop the glass to feel a faint warmth enter her palm.

”How do you feel?” Rannek asked.

She turned her head too fast, straining her neck. There he was, slouched over crossed legs on the other side of the ore candle, purple-skinned in its light. His eyes looked older than ever. ”Like shit.”

For a moment, she hoped he’d dare correct her language. ”… Me, too,” he said instead. ”How much do you remember?”

Enough to not want to relive it. ”Glane’s dead, isn’t he?”

”I’m so, so sorry.”

”Not your fault.”

”I brought you, which in turn brought him. It all could have been avoided, and—”

”And you would have been shot down, and you would have died.” She taught of Glane’s resolute face, nodding at her, then disappearing. Rannek knew as well as she did how stubborn and obsessed with honor the man had been. Did he really want her absolution that bad? ”He chose to come. So did I. Blaming won’t bring him back.”

”… It’s not that simple.”

”What would you know,” Pen said, and saw the effect it had on him. He opened his lips to respond, but then closed them, remaining silent. She’d been harsh but true. When it came to losing people, she had found, those two tended to merge together.

Still, just like Rannek, she found herself thinking about her own mistakes. A guard guarded, at the cost of his life if must be. She had learned that lesson well before Glane had been assigned to her, yet had still fooled herself believing that his speed could spare him such a fate. She should have known better. In the end, the word her people used to describe his kind always proved true.

Cursed.

Oh, and how she knew he would relish her sitting here, now, years in the future, thinking these things. Knowing that he had saved her. Knowing that she had needed him. An end so full of valor it might have been one of the old Gralinn tales he secretly fancied. Part of her wished she hadn’t resented him for his ideals; yet another knew that what she’d known all along was true: his mind had never been set on her life as much as it had been on his death.

A crackle sounded not far from them, just outside the candle’s reach. Pen glimpsed a faint spot of purple where it had come from. There were shapes moving there, and when she cupped her ear, she heard soft restless voices between the cicadas, too.

”We’re safe here,” Rannek said, pointing to the spot. ”Only the guards, those lucky enough to have made it, anyhow. We had to leave in quite a hurry so they wouldn’t see us, I… I’m glad private Dhav carried me with him. Wellan wanted to do it himself, but seeing as my wounds will heal better than his, I felt bad.”

She noticed the bundle of sticks taped to his heel and calf as a stint. ”I should count myself lucky, I guess.”

”… I have to ask you something.” He acknowledged the stare that followed. ”I understand, but it is for your own good. Should we get captured, attacked, anything—you know what you have to do?”

”I’ll decide then.”

”No you won’t. You will get to the ground, lie down, and tell them loudly, and clearly, who you are. Don’t let them hear you speak one word of Gralinn. You tell them who you are, and who your—”

”You honestly think I don’t know?” Pen said, loudly, causing Rannek to put his fingertips to his lips. His eyes didn’t just dart to the forest, but the purple spot in particular where his men sat and whispered. Why would he ever fear his subordinates?

And then she realized—because he wasn’t supposed to tell her. The Empire wouldn’t condone him advising her to switch sides, even if it meant she could be killed. She had thought so for a while, but to see him react so frightfully still hurt. It couldn’t really be a crime to tell her to survive, could it?

A fear of her own suddenly entered Pen’s mind. ”You’re sure they’re Liberation?”

”We are not sure.”

”Who else?”

”That’s Wellan’s argument. Meanwhile, neither he or his men can recall a single instance when the TLA has ever acted this way. They—” He touched his shoulder, pain twisting his face. ”They don’t lay traps like this.”

”We’re not the first Krissin they’ve shot down, not by far.”

”But we would be the first one they didn’t know was coming. This is still the north, Pen. Even acquiring that kind of equipment around here is hard, let alone transporting it over the mountains. As soon as we get the radio up and running, they will receive a swift death, and lose all that precious Ore-powered weaponry. Ullston won’t tolerate them using it around our—”

”The radio’s dead?” That was unsettling. If they could launch multiple missiles at a time, their ground forces were sure to overwhelm the handful of guards Wellan had left. She felt her senses grow restless; why were they sitting here, while the enemy could well be gaining on them? Their situation began to look less like a game of hide-and-seek and more like a chase.

”The transmitter took water damage. I’m told that means we’ll have to dry it and check again tomorrow.”

”Tomorrow could be too late. We should go now.”

”We can’t.”

”Why?”

Instead of answering, Rannek pointed to a pile of blankets and backpacks. She squinted to spot a black head of hair, and a soft rise-and-fall of the blankets holding warm the body attached to it. That young man, the one at the landing platform. ”… Ibiko? He didn’t look that hard to carry.”

”Not just him.” Rannek pointed further, past the softly breathing pile. She saw round shapes, simple ones, laid out with rocks and pebbles on the dry soil between the dimly lit trees. Shallow domes of dug-up earth occupied the center of each shape. She was looking at graves, at least four of them.

”You… you carried your dead all this way?”

He nodded, gravely. ”None of them were dead when we started walking, but yes, we carried their bodies on after. The least we owed them was a proper burial. Your people feel the same, do they not?”

When they were allowed to, sure. But she was in no mood to discuss the Second War. ”… Is Wellan okay?”

”His injuries look bad, but his bleedings have stopped. He would not even let the medic put on bandages before nightfall. I think Glane’s death really affected him, although he hides it well.”

She remembered flashes from the fall, sunlight breaking off the shards spat across his cheek. The window had burst. She’d asked to sit by it. Stupid thoughts, yet they wouldn’t stop nagging at her just like the cicadas. He was a soldier, she told herself. What else would a soldier expect?

Only she knew how he talked about his parents. How he prided himself when his men got promoted, not for the rank, but for the people. He was more than a soldier—he was a a son, a brother, and a devoted husband. ”His wife seemed like a strong woman,” Pen blurted out.

”What?” Rannek looked up at her surprised, like she had woken him from slumber. He then smiled. ”You’ve met her, I forgot. Yes, that he doesn’t need to worry about, I think.”

That made her feel better, if only a little. “Come to think of it, she seemed to resent the attention he gets.”

“She resented how it swelled his chest. Told me she preferred him all to herself.” He sighed. “Lucky bastard.”

Was that him talking? She could hardly imagine him with a woman, let alone a family, even though it would be past time. Father had not pursued a second marriage, granted, but that was because of the first. Rannek had never married. No, Pen doubted that there even was such a thing as ‘off-duty’ to the pale prefect. ”Still, a shame,” she said. ”He was pretty handsome for one of you.”

Rannek chuckled. ”Was? He is. The women of Grale adore a man carrying scars of war. If anything, they’ll come for him harder than ever.”

”… I wouldn’t wish that on his poor wife.”

”I wouldn’t wish her on those poor women.”

Their snickering brought pain, and the pain made them wince in concert. Rannek kept his voice low peeking at the jungle. As much as she liked him more that moment, she also liked him less, and it was because of that very expression on his face. Guilt. As he slowed his breath and sat back, any trace of the smile they had just shared vanished, and he stayed silent. Pen couldn’t blame him, but she also couldn’t let his sentiment catch on.

Because to him, this was a tragic day, and it would stay that to eternity. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel joy tonight, or tomorrow, and likely not even on the anniversary. In his mind, there were times to be joyful, and times to be sad, and they rarely mingled. She on the other hand felt more certain than ever that tragedy, joy, sadness, all those distinctions were made up. There were only days, and times, both to be spent waiting for the inevitable.

Perhaps, she understood Glane quite well, she thought; perhaps, he had simply been tired of waiting.

Their escape continued before daybreak, leading them up the mountainside at a slow, cautious clip. The soldiers had fashioned a crutch for Rannek out of a branch and the butt of a rifle, yet the incline was steep, and he had to rely on private Mallaslyn’s shoulder to climb. The jungle thickened as they progressed, forcing the guards to employ their machetes throughout, hacking at the shrubs and vines and trees that stood in their way.

Still, she agreed with Wellan in choosing this path. Tedious as they were, the thickets also provided them with cover. Even standing atop the odd boulder, she couldn’t see farther than five, ten ells at most. The head of guard kept turning his half-inflamed face every few steps nonetheless, peering through the leaves and vines at an enemy that remained unseen.

Pen felt ashamed for not being able to look him straight in the eye. Something other than pain laid there, something unnerving that she did not want to face. It was written all across the faces of his men, too, who did a far worse job at covering it up. Some even jerked around at the noises of the jungle, myriads of whom seemed to swarm around them constantly, crackling, buzzing, cawing in ways she’d never heard before. It wasn’t long until the first bug bit her skin causing a dark blot to form.

As the sun rose ahead above the distant mountain peaks, she realized how poor a state the nine remaining guards were truly in. Pink blots were strewn across their arms and legs and necks, along with scratches, and bandages seeped with dried blood. Few men walked without a limp, and although the day had just begun, most were already panting. Exhaustion had claimed her just like them, but they had contented herself with the option of hopping on one of their backs, should her legs give out later on. That option had clearly expired.

None of the Gralinn resorted to whining, though, so neither did she. As the shreds of blue visible through the trees’ canopy grew brighter, Pen made sure to keep up with Mallaslyn and Rannek, who formed the center of the group. Here and there, she spotted plants she knew, bogoas, imbian farns, and even an abi tree. She tried climbing up to grab the high-hanging fruit, but all she got in return was a bump on her head and impatient glares from the guards.

When they came upon a creek, Wellan finally called a break. Four men spread out at his instructions to scout what laid ahead while the rest ate what little food they had left. Pen chewed on a loaf of bread and sat beside Rannek.

The water from the creek tasted clean, so they drank it. Rannek even let her help the medic in cleaning the wound on his leg, nursing, as he called it. She took it as a rare chance to feel useful. The medic explained that a rod had pierced his lower calf and scraped the bone. With the rod removed, it didn’t look too bad, but the fracture must have been painful; at her touch, Rannek’s hands clenched up so tight his fingers turned from pale into a pure white.

They moved on not long after. Morning turned into noon, and her pains turned into a numbness she could no longer locate on her body. Rannek refused to let her support him even though she offered to after Wellan left to spearhead their expedition. There, up ahead, he walked beside Ibiko for what seemed like an eternity, gesturing, pointing at trees and rocks and shifts in the terrain.

Rannek had told her about the day before, how the young Tahori hadn’t said a word to anyone, or looked at them, only stared at the ground mumbling. Having only that description, she was surprised to find Ibiko alert and engaging on this new day. If anything, he looked just the right amount of worried considering their circumstances.

When he took a short trip behind a bush, Pen walked up to where he’d disappeared and waited. He returned and almost jumped up at the sight of her. She cocked her head. ”You alright?”

”… Uhm, sure.” Ibiko clutched his chest, and sighed. ”Did prefect Lorne tell you to check on me?”

”He told me you didn’t speak yesterday.”

”I wouldn’t have helped. I g-get…” A spot of sunlight found his face through the dense trees. He was blushing. ”I get scared lately, since the collapse. I was a mess for days after that.”

”And your father still sent you off?”

”I asked to go. Would’ve been no help back there, constantly afraid. I feel bad as it is just being alive. Having seen that stuff, and knowing—” He stopped. ”There I go again, rambling. I’m sorry.”

A guard urged them to move on, so they did, falling in line behind Rannek and the ever-supportive private Mallaslyn. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ibiko walk and climb with more ease than any of them. The medic had explained that Rannek’s side of the Krissin had taken the brunt of the impact, not counting the cockpit, which had apparently been thoroughly crushed against a tree before they ever hit the water.

But Ibiko didn’t just look relatively unharmed. His feet were bare, and callused, and never slipped or wavered as he climbed, always there to catch her when she fell. This was his jungle, she realized. He had grown up with these strange plants and sounds. Wellan must have seen the same thing.

”You know the way?” Pen asked.

”… I should, soon. Pretty sure we’re moving in the right direction.”

”Pretty sure?”

He smiled, hesitantly. ”You do ask a lot of questions, Penroe.”

”Do I?” She punched his elbow in jest, but he jerked back. Not wholly unharmed, it seemed. ”Sorry.”

”It’s fine. The corporal asked the same thing. He’s actually been quite patient with me. Prefect Lorne was right, his Tahori’s not that bad!”

She remembered Glane’s horrific accent stumbling through the Guoboro. ”Wellan’s alright.”

”Can I ask you something? To balance things out.” He winced when she faked another jab at his elbow. ”… Are you friends with the prefect?”

”Beg your pardon?”

”Sorry, I worded that wrong, it’s just—I kinda heard you yesterday.” Had he now. Pen averted her eyes trying to recall every sentence spoken under the candle’s purple light; nothing that justified a claim as ludicrous as her and Rannek being friends, surely. ”You sound close, is what I’m saying. Nothing wrong with that in my eyes! Gods, if you’re offered an open ear by the Empire, I say, take it—long as they listen for once.”

”There’s a difference between the prefect’s office and the man filling it. Rannek isn’t the Empire.” Which wasn’t the only implication he’d made—but somehow she feared he wouldn’t react well to hearing that she didn’t consider herself a voice of their people, either. ”His authority’s smaller than you think.”

”It’s his authority that Bitaab is counting on. We wouldn’t be here but for him, would we?” He paused, and for once, almost slipped. ”Er… Not here, I mean. Trying to help us in these dark times. You know.”

”You’d be a fool to think he made that decision.”

”You’re saying he had to help us?”

”I’m saying he could have refused to send help, had he really wanted to. By law, he can act against the Empire’s interest. Only how long do you think a prefect remains prefect after doing so?”

”I’ve never heard of one b-being removed.”

”Happens all the time, just quietly. His case would be more difficult, seeing as he’s the first pale one, but they’d find the right opportunity—more often than not, the opportunity finds them.” Like an attack by riled up teenagers on the anniversary of father’s crime. ”Why interfere when it’s dealt with within the family?”

She wondered if he’d continue after that. He did not, and instead looked towards the ground with an abashed look on his face. She may have been too preachy. Watching him move effortlessly on through the undergrowth while she fought for every single step, it occurred to her that he’d asked not to make implications, but simply because he didn’t know. He had never chosen to grow up around the jungle. She had never chosen to be born into politics. If he was patient with her struggle out here, the least she could to was entertain his curiosity.

”I didn’t answer your question.”

”What question?”

”We’re far from friends, Rannek and I. It’s simply in both our interests to help one another. I taught him to speak our tongue, he taught me Gralinn in return. He keeps me safe and in Koeiji, I tell him when he’s being stupid. Our relationship is basically just that: favors.”

”And who does who the favor with this… trip?”

”Ask me again when it’s finished.” Pen tried a smile, but looking up, she found him staring off, seemingly unaware of her. ”Ibiko?”

He zoomed off into the bushes leaving her surprised and more than a little insulted. But then, she heard him call out. ”Over here! Penroe! Corporal!” The guards ceased their monotonous whacking, and tried to make out where the voice had come from. She locked eyes with Wellan. After pointing him to where their guide had disappeared to, she left their narrow trail and followed after Ibiko.

Needles and bugs bit into her skin as she navigated through the maze of greens. A root took her legs away from under her, and she bruised her wrist in the fall. She got up and fought on listening for his voice calling her name, not loudly, but clearly, over the jungle’s noise. Bright gray shone through the leaves ahead as she pushed them aside, opening her view to a steep face of rock. Ibiko had already climbed half of it, and sat perched upon a mossy ledge with a wide grin on his face. ”Feast your eyes on this!”

”You know this place?”

”Indeed so—my brothers and I used to play here when we were little. We’re heading in the right direction! I was right!”

”Commendable,” Wellan said. He emerged from a thicket followed by the others. ”Good work, young mister Yiro.”

”Do we need to get up there?” Pen asked.

Ibiko waved off her worries. ”At some point, but the ridge gets lower down east. We’ll get the prefect across, no problem.” He sent a salute to Rannek, who nodded graciously. ”Should be smooth sailing from here on out.”

The faces around her didn’t quite properly reflect the relief she felt, so she stepped atop a boulder and faced them. »Listen up, men,« she said, beating Wellan to the punch. »Our guide has picked up a trail, giving our magnanimous corporal reason to decree—a break, so that we may tackle the final stretch well rested!«

The men gave a restrained cheer clearly more for the news of the break than for her translation, one guard slumping down against a tree while two others threw their backpacks and blankets thudding to the ground. Wellan eyed the proceedings with a frown. »I said no such thing. This isn’t the place to rest.«

»All the more testament to your magnanimity,« Rannek said to him, patting his shoulder. »Now shut up and sit.« He let himself down by Mallaslyn’s hand, and joined a circle of chuckling guards. As rations and refilled bottles went around, Wellan assigned a squadron of scouts before joining them with a grunt.

Pen never took her eyes off Ibiko. He winked at her, then did a stunt that stole her breath away: a handstand, fingers clutching the edge of the ledge, slowly walking left and right. ”Stop that, please,” she said, yet couldn’t stop staring.

Finally, he lowered his body, and stood up on his feet. ”Gotta enjoy the good times, don’t you think?”

The times, she silently corrected him. ”True that.”

Ibiko bowed over the edge, squinting. She worried that he might consider jumping from such a height, but suddenly, he looked up, and his face became still, distant. Like just before, when he’d spotted the ridge. But what could he have seen from up there but the edge above?

Something, judging by his sudden jump. He jammed his hands into nooks she would have never been able to even locate, and climbed up the rock as quickly as a striped monkey. He shot over the edge and was gone. None of the men around her had even taken notice, and Pen suddenly found herself growing concerned. Hopeful or not, this was not the time to get reckless.

Ibiko did not look reckless, or hopeful, when he stepped back to the edge. His face was darkened against the sun shining through the tree tops, but his eyes she could see. She’d seen those eyes before—on the Krissin, during the fall.

”Ibiko?” Pen asked.

”Can you—can you hear that?” He asked, pointing up in the air.

Pen listened, but couldn’t keep apart the hundreds, thousands of noises interwoven in the warming air. A sudden movement made her flinch. Wellan walked past her, cupping his ear with one hand while signing his men to silence with the other. She still didn’t hear it.

When Wellan’s hand made a fist, all the guards jumped up from the ground and assumed formation facing the jungle. »Gunfire,« he said, tensely. Half a dozen muzzles darted out at the vegetation, flinching up and down, left and right, unsure where to expect the enemy. Now that she knew what to listen for, she thought she could hear it faintly: crackling, like the powder sticks children lit on fares. It sounded far away, but she knew better than to trust her own judgment; as little as she knew about the jungle, she knew less about combat.

”Can you see from up?” Wellan asked.

”You don’t understand,” Ibiko said, ”they’re not—”

”Can you see?”

”THEY’RE NOT DOWN THERE!” He’d screamed without regard for their safety, and turned away his face bathing it in sunlight. He was horrorstruck. A shaking started in his hands, his lips, making Pen doubly afraid as he suddenly didn’t look so safe anymore up on that ridge. ”It’s… It’s coming from ahead…” His voice was quivering. ”B-Bitaab is under attack!”