Columns of sunlight fell from the hole above, heating the large cave, making for a mild, dry afternoon. The air smelled faintly sour, courtesy of the marimoss, whose tendrils clung to the edges of fissures and alcoves like dead fingers. But there were other scents, too. Withering flowers and sunbaked leaves tingled his nostrils, carried inside by the sparse winds sometimes descending from the mountain. A footfall here and there echoed shortly, besides which there was little noise but the distant buzzing of insects.

It took Tye a moment to notice the changes. A shutting of his eyes ago, the simpleton had still been climbing the walls, and the guards scouting by themselves; now, they were all gathered by the fireplace. The geezer was still in discussion with taterface, yet the brat had vanished. Tye sat up to scrutinize the progress of the sun’s light on the ground. Hardly any. He’d dozed off, that was it.

A mistake. That makes number two. He’d given the others an opportunity to congregate without him, worse, to see him sleep. Who knew what they could have heard him mutter, had he not woken. The deeper reaches of his sleep recently saw Tye being haunted by the worst of nightmares. Eternal darkness; beasts; voices luring him into madness; and pain, waves of pain, blows and falls and cuts so deep he’d feel them after waking up without finding any wounds.

Those were nothing but dreams, Tye knew, made himself know. The bones on his suit rattled as he stood up, and stretched, and nearly went back into unconsciousness from the odor let forth by his armpits. Conquering the giant’s stairs had taken its toll. His muscles felt like they’d been whipped, and his hands were chafed and crusted with blood from holding those damned ropes. Taterface had seen to it that the price for his freedom was higher than a good lie. Tye smirked that semi-confident smirk that suited Oiji so well, burning it into his muscle memory. He’s your ticket out. The sympathetic addict may prove his greatest creation ever; a frag and a nap ago, he had all but put the pieces in place for him to take to the stage for the grand finale.

And then, he had made his first mistake. A look and a word, that was it. Fear. The geezer had seen him get scared of something he should have been ignorant of. He had heard him whisper a command straight from his nightmares. Stop. As a result, Tye had to assume the worst; he had to change his tally.

For: 4 [ -1]

Against: 2 [+1]

Withstanding: 1

The simpleton who had introduced himself as Ibibiko (F1) had been the easiest to befriend. Met your father, kid. All doubt had died upon the mention of daddy Yairo yelling; an empty, obvious fact. If there were foreman that did not yell, Tye had not met them. He chuckled knowing that a lonely laugh here and there would only benefit his hermit’s guise. The trinity of guards had posed not much of a challenge, either. Their type he would encounter daily in Jaemeni, soldiers just transferred to the big city, with big eyes and expectations to match. Decent enough marks, especially if you hid your passing knowledge of their language. Like most men younger than him, they seemed to scream out their weaknesses for Tye to exploit. Buff private Dhav (F2) was shallow and hungry for compliments. Kysryn (F3), the radio guy, was a sucker for competition and a friend to anyone who’d let him win. Tye had only to imply a race for the shortest time climbing one of the giant steps, and both men basically threw their favor at him. Private Staen (F4) was the last to give in. ’You hurt?’ He had lapped up the hermit’s clumsily signed disbelief about his injury. A man too scarred by inadequacy, short, weak-chinned, and willing to grind away his teeth rather than admit the pain, Staen had even let Tye hold his crutch while he climbed.

A nod by the simpleton drew his attention to the fireplace. There, Ibibiko and the others sat around a small pile of ripped-up blankets near center stage, comparing stones and debating which one created the best spark. Tye nodded back, but let his feet stroll further along the walls. What hermit wouldn’t take a little me-time then and again? He couldn’t let himself act out of desperation. That’s what got you into prison in the first place. He had to play his part. He couldn’t just stroll—he had to stride, act like he owned the place. Instead of staring at the sky openly as was his desire, he had to let them catch him doing so. For in their mind, Oiji was still determined to stay underground in his beloved caves, and could only through their arguments be swayed to join the escape.

It would have all been a cakewalk if he hadn’t let the geezer (A2) slip through his fingers. A shameful mistake. What a remarkable mark that Rannek made. He rarely shut up, and when he did, the wheels in his head kept turning. Where they turned was very much open to suggestion. Tye only had to throw him a few scraps of good old hermit wisdom, and he would reevaluate the meaning of life and walk off a cliff in the meantime. Rannek could have been his pivotal ally in the finale, could have made an appeal to the fact that deep inside, Oiji still yearned for belonging, for community.

But Tye wasn’t the only one giving his wheels a spin. No, a force dark and sinister and worthy of the name ’nemesis’ had seized the opportunity created by his mistakes: commander taterface (A1). What an unpleasant man, both in appearance and spirit. Tye glanced over to the two of them standing not far from where the others sat, discussing. Whispering. They’re talking about you. Tye had learned from Ibibiko that the swollen face had been quite beautiful before the injury, yet he doubted handsome Wellan would have been more trusting. He knew that type, and that type knew him. A professional pessimist. Whatever he suspected Tye’s lie to be, it would hopefully occupy him for a while at least; his type loved being spot-on about their suspicions.

Four against two, those were his odds. They weren’t bad per se, yet the fact that his nemesis was the one in charge did not bode well. Even as he talked with the geezer, Wellan’s stare followed Tye around the cave. The cover of the boulder was thus a welcome backstage. Tye let out a soft sigh, and let his shoulders slump, and was just about to contemplate relieving himself when he noticed the brat (W1).

She sat by the skeleton with a pencil in hand, drawing the bones in a ledger lying in her lap. Tye slowly walked closer, notifying her of his presence by dragging his callused feet across the rock. She looked up shortly, then returned to her drawing. Tye took a peek over her shoulder. The bones looked drab on paper, and their shape poorly captured. “Looks good,“ he said.

“Far from a Luen,“ Pen said. “I’m not an artist.“

“Then how come you’re drawing?“

“… Dunno.“

He let her continue sketching in peace. Tye knew well to beware of the undecided, and it didn’t ease his mind that the skeptic of this ragtag team was a child, looking, asking, abusing the willingness of adults to let pass her pesky questions. The unimpressed face she put on couldn’t hide the truth from him. This girl fears the unexpected. A wholly different affliction than taterface’s, whose fears of betrayal were static and thus all too predictable. Little Pen may have held no suspicions about him at the moment. But that said nothing about the moment after.

It irked him that for whatever reason, she seemed drawn to the skeleton. There lay the demise of all his efforts, cast in bone. The broken jaw made it look almost taunting to him; a dead fool’s mouth hanging agape as if someone had made a pun, blissfully amused. He’d crafted Oiji and his tale of the mountain gods in the hopes of keeping this very fool a secret, back in the boneyard, when the outsiders had given him nothing but their hushed voices to go by. He’d thought himself quite clever for doing so, and with good reason. Even after twenty caves of following them, he had only gathered four solid facts about the troop of strangers:

1. Some were Gralinn soldiers, lead by a most unpleasant man.

2. They were being pursued.

3. There was tension.

4. A man with a Bitaabi accent was with them.

Yet it proved plenty enough to shape his new plan. (1) posed a problem. Not only did soldiers demand respect, they also distrusted those who gave it too eagerly. He had to let them tame him so he could gain their trust. His temple still throbbed now and then from the strike that taterface had delivered, but it had been worth the pain; the others had seen him become the victim. (2) and (3) worked in his favor—the pressure of pursuit kept their questions short and to the point, and the tension benefited his infiltration. In the end, it was (4) that forced him to get creative. Despite his simplicity, Ibibiko would have made him for a liar if he claimed to hail from Bitaab. The other inmates had talked about it often: the community was as close-knit as could get, an every-guy-knows-every-guy-kinda town. No, he had to go rogue. A cover was in order that would both elicit their mercy and convince them they needed his help more than he needed theirs.

That was when it occurred to Tye that the suit of armor he’d fashioned could serve a different purpose than defense against potential survivors of the boneyard. It could gift him a new identity. A hermit. A madman. One who seemed less suspicious than eccentric, who could tell them all they desired to know about these strange mountains. Most of all, though, one who could point them toward the exit. And he could. The movement in the air was faint, but he had felt it. Wind. If only he could get past the abyss, he knew, his escape would be inevitable. All he had to do was promise them a way up—if you were looking for stairs, stairs were what you’d find. Even grossly oversized ones.

While his sleep on the shores of the underground sea had been tormenting, his waking head had been ever so clear. He remembered what his cellmates had talked about during many nights of scheming. How smart they’d thought themselves educating him about the primary rule of making an underground escape: You have to cook the marimoss. Little did they know it made for more than food. It made for a guise. Some of his best scores had seen Tye don the restless eyes and the singular focus of the addict; there simply was no type more easily underestimated.

If only there hadn’t been this dead, taunting fool sitting before him. Mountain gods were an unknown, and unknowns made for a better scare than that which the Gralinn could classify. Which they could pretend to understand. Perhaps, the geezer hadn’t drawn the right conclusion, Tye pondered. Perhaps, he’d just judged it a peculiarly heavy skeleton.

No, he knows. Oiji’s gods were sure to be crushed between the relentless wheels rattling inside Rannek’s head. By now, he would have figured out what created these caves. And then, he would start wondering why that hermit hadn’t realized himself that his assumptions were flat-out wrong. There was never a precedent when it came to the Cursed.

“Bone man,“ Wellan called out.

Tye spied his lumpy head peeking out behind the boulder, waiving him to come. This can’t be good. He nodded at the brat, who in her artistic endeavor did not even notice him leaving. As he stepped around the boulder, Tye spotted the geezer standing by taterface’s side, well away from the fireplace and the others. A slanted spotlight of sun lit their torsos, twinkling off the old man’s glasses. This isn’t good. Mounting his defenses, Tye flashed Oiji’s mild smirk and added a skip to his step. Their faces hardly moved. “Yes,“ he said.

“We have questions.“ Again it was Wellan talking, not Rannek, who stood by idly with his fingers intertwined, wrestling one thumb with the other. This is bad. “You heard nothing?“

“Pardon?“ Oiji asked.

“When you went back with private Dhav. You didn’t hear anything?“

“… Not quite.“ They’re testing you. A stickler like Wellan would have already interviewed Dhav about every detail of their trip down to the abyss. “Heard some clacking behind us after we’d turned back. Mos’ likely some rocks falling the way of the tusk. Told your man as much.“

“Could be Liberation.“

“Could, indeed—we’re here though. Didn’t see any lights. Unless they find their own tusk, you should be fine.“ A grunt was Wellan’s response, yet it didn’t seem to be directed at him. He was worried about the Liberation. No test, Tye realized with relief. “Ask Dhav. Maybe he saw something and didn’t tell me. His Tahori’s fun, trust, but far from functioning.“

There was movement in the geezer’s face. A hidden smile. His appetite for flattery might just have exceeded Dhav’s, at least when it came to his knowledge of Tahori. Lacking any response from taterface, the old man opened his mouth at last. “He told us about the same. We’re trying to decide how fast we should move on.“

“Fast,“ Tye said. “The mountain doesn’t take well to intruders. The sooner you escape, the safer you’ll be.“

“You think it might collapse further?“ Rannek asked.

“Not sure. You shouldn’t take the chance, is what I’m saying.“

“… I agree.“ Those words sounded all kinds of wrong coming from the lips of Wellan. “Ibiko still has climb in him. He can do it.“

Rannek shook his head. “Ibiko says he can do it. And even if he speaks the truth, he’s not the only one who’s exhausted. Look at Oiji’s hands, Wellan, look at your own. You need to rest.“

“We need to get out. It will not get very better with…“ Wellan let out an annoyed sigh, and suddenly the two Gralinn were exchanging tense words in their own tongue. »It won’t be easier once the […] kicks in. […] that climbing, we’ll be […] to just sit upright when we wake up. We need to go now, while we still have the […].«—»We have […] and climbing for days, we’ll manage. Don’t you—«—» […] to say when you’re the one pulled, not the one pulling.«—»I’m the one […]ing you to rest, for Vohl’s sake!«

Tye acted deaf and dumb standing beside the two arguing men, and counted his blessings. They had not spent a thought on him. Their composure was fading, their tension palpable. They’re acting out a play of their own, unwittingly. One that seemed to play out to his advantage. By facing each other in the sun’s spotlight and speaking without restraint, they drew the attention of the others. Ibibiko and the guards turned their heads, and even Pen was observing, standing by the boulder. Crowd’s gathered, stage is all set. All he needed now was a way in. Oiji had to prove himself by taking another risk on behalf of their cause. Something that could mend their differences. Keep them safe. He’d gone down to the tusk already. There was nothing there, he was sure of it. What was another trip down the steps but a just price for his escape? A minor sacrifice?

Just when he thought to have felt an odd twitch of his toe, he noticed that the Gralinn actors had suddenly taken an interest in him again. “Tell him, Oiji,“ Rannek said.

“Tell what?“

“We’re safe but for the mountain’s wrath, you said so. The TLA cannot get to us.“

Wellan rolled his eyes. “If we can get here, so can they. We’re not safe. Are we safe, Oiji?“

Tye basked in the attention of his nemesis and the kywee he’d feared had strayed from his flock, both hanging on his lips. The words he spoke next had to be chosen carefully. Were it up to him, they would overwork the simpleton to beat the final climb before darkness hit, but Oiji had no personal stake in it. Don’t push your luck. Let ’em come to you. “I don’t see why you would disregard the mountain… But the Liberation you should not worry about. Soldiers always talk about high ground, don’t they? Post a man at the top step, we should be safe.“

“We also talk about ammunition,“ Wellan said. “And, the ceiling of stairs is not straight. We see only few steps.“

“If that’s so…“ Tye took a long pause, and wrinkled his forehead. “What about an outpost?“

The geezer’s interest was piqued. “On the stairs?“ he asked.

Tye nodded. “Eight, maybe ten steps. Send Dhav and me down there with a long rope, if anything below spooks us, we’ll pull. You pull, we come back up.“

The lumps on the commander’s face contracted as he considered the idea. Tye contained his excitement, keeping a calm posture, waiting patiently for the other man to come to a conclusion. Should he approve, Tye was in. He would have volunteered to keep them safe, and more than that, would be given a splendid reason to change his mind. The light up here, losing it again, I… I can’t describe it. He felt the words arrange themselves behind his lips. I don’t wanna go back down there ever again, my friends. These caves won’t last much longer, I’ve made up my mind. And yet, why… why is it so hard? And then he’d cry, and they’d get him out, and he’d slip away, shedding Oiji and the prison and the mountains and all that wasn’t his beloved Jaemeni.

“Good idea,“ Wellan said with almost a smile.

Fuck yes, Tye wanted to scream. “Great,“ Oiji said.

“I will tell the others.“ Rannek nodded and walked off to the fireplace, whose occupants pretended not to have heard the fight.

It was then, as the geezer left their side, that Wellan’s half-smile turned into a full one. “You said you wish to go back. When we pull, you may. No reason to waste time going up again.“ A heavy hand was laid on Tye’s shoulder. Oh, you sly pale potato-faced demon. “You have helped us well. Many thanks, Oiji.“

“The… the tusk’s gone, we saw to it,“ Tye blurted out. Calm, stay calm. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I should search for a better entrance from the outside.“

Wellan raised his brows. “You told us there were tunnels in the abyss. You told us you are a great climber.“

So he had listened. Tye rued boasting his supposed skill. There were tunnels down there, true; it had been them that he’d found first after days of climbing upward, away from the glowing sea. He could hide there. But his time hiding was over. This was his chance. There his crowd was, close-by yet out of reach, wrapt up in discussion with the geezer. Without them, he was powerless. Arguing on his own behalf would have betrayed his true motives. Oiji didn’t care, couldn’t care about the outside. Bested by a fucking vegetable.

No. The geezer may have had doubts, but he hadn’t disappointed Tye yet. Neither had the others; they trusted Oiji, he was sure of it. That doesn’t mean you can trust them. Yet what else was he supposed to do? It was either them, or darkness.

Tye mustered up his most carefree smirk and spoke just loud enough so that his voice would carry. “A sore climber, but fair enough. I should go back. These caves are too bright for a dead man, trust.“

A breath saw no reaction but the smile of Wellan slowly turning into a wicked grin. So much for trust. Then it happened. The head of the geezer started shaking with his back still turned. He stopped talking to the others, spun in a circle around his crutch, and came limping straight back toward the two of them, glasses almost flying off his shaking face. “No, no, no. Nobody’s going down there. We stay together, and we take him with us. It’s the right thing to do.“ He would have gotten a kiss from Tye in that moment if Oiji hadn’t been so unfazed. The hand on his shoulder was replaced by a lighter one as Rannek looked deep into his eyes. “We owe you our lives, so let us repay you in kind. We will pack as much marimoss as we can and take you to safety.“

Wellan’s grin was fading fast, yet he wouldn’t give up. “But Rannek, he said himself—“

“Should he wish to return after this is over, I won’t stop him.“ The geezer squeezed Tye’s shoulder. “Please, Oiji. It would ease all our minds.“

“Don’t go.“ Tye turned in surprise to find the brat standing beside him, showing him big, caring eyes.

For: 6 [+2]

Against: 1 [ -1]

Withstanding: 0 [ -1]

His tally had been wrong, after all. The geezer (F5) and the brat (F6), both coming to his rescue—it almost made him cry. Save those tears. Yes, he’d put them to good use alright. Tye was ready. He let Rannek’s hand drop off his shoulder, and stepped forward into the spotlight. The sun caressed his skin and blinded him, shining oh so brightly through the hole.

“I-I…“ He let his voice falter. “I don’t know if I can. Oiji’s dead, buried with Ueb and Tame, my brothers, my blood. I can’t just leave this place like I deserve to. What gives me the right to live when they can’t? The collapse should’ve…“ Cue the waterworks, and the aimless kicking at the dust. “It should’ve taken me, too.“ His performance drew the crowd closer. Ibibiko came first, followed by Dhav, soon Kysryn and Staen. Each looked touched even though the better part of them didn’t understand his words. Some nodded encouragingly. You’ve got them. Tye made his breath go short, and his voice quiver. “Besides, the mountain won’t let me. I can’t kick the moss, man, I’ve tried. What use is all the beauty in the world when I gotta turn back eventually? I’d rather take my chances in the dark.“

Rannek stepped up to him, and took Tye’s hand with both of his. “You may have tried, but there are experts out there. Toxicologists. Some study in Koeiji—they may well have a solution to your problem! Give it a chance, I swear to you, the world would be better for it.“

“You’re a g-good man,“ Ibibiko said.

Tye pulled his hand away. “I’m a doomed man. Only fools try to fight the fate the gods assign them.“ He noticed Rannek’s eyes searching his, but he played coy. Work for it, old man.

“Your gods may have put you down here, but they have also let us meet. What fool would deny the god-given chance to start anew?“

“Anew…“ Tye finally locked eyes with him, and squeezed out another gust of tears. “I do want that, yet why…“ Add a pinch of simpleton. “W-why is it s-s-so haaaah!!!“ He dove into Rannek’s embrace letting the tears seep into the dirty beige of the diplomat’s shirt. “Why is it so hard?“ he whispered once more.

Tye knew he had succeeded the instant Wellan walked off with a disdainful ’Hmph’. Now you’re the lonely one, (A1). Smiles of pity surrounding him, he remained in the embrace until his stench would have made the other man uncomfortable, and only then let go. Rannek smiled at him. It cost Tye all his strength not to laugh when he spotted the trace of a tear on the geezer’s stubbly cheek.

He let the moment linger a bit. He dried his face. He let his breath relax, closed his eyes, and brought his shoulders to a rest. He performed a magnificent sniff. Finally, Tye revived the smirk that served him so well, and opened his eyes again. “Show’s over, I’m all out of tears,“ he said.

And they all laughed, and patted his bones, and took him in. The simpleton handed him a scrap of soft blanket filling to wipe his tears, and they sat down by the fireplace. Kysryn, Staen and Dhav watched in awe as he lit the fire on his first try, showing great interest in his trusty pair of flintbones. Another play followed, a silent one, consisting of each of them miming the many forgotten pleasures awaiting Oiji in the outside world. Dhav’s mounting of a backpack drew coarse laughter, which swelled up a second time when he insisted that he was portraying the riding of a horse. The geezer chuckled, and the brat rolled her eyes.

It was a strange company he’d run into. There was something about the way they treated the two Tahori—like non-civilians. Especially the brat seemed to enjoy a free pass concerning her big mouth. Even Wellan wouldn’t raise his voice, much less his hand against her. And Tye was all but sure he’d figured out the reason why.

There was kinship in this group, and not just that between cousins. A bunch of lies they’d told him. The brat was no Bitaabi, as she utterly lacked the simpleton’s accent, and neither was she full Tahori. No, that girl had mixed blood. And the geezer was her father.

He had seen through Rannek soon as he spoke. Few Gralinn ever mastered Tahori that well, and none did so by accident. Old Rannek had fraternized. Had found himself a Tahori woman, young, sturdy, eager for the luxuries that became a well-connected man, ready to chain him to her through a litter of brats; Tye had seen it by the dozens in Jaemeni. And this man dripped with connections, albeit likely by birth rather than skill or smarts. One of the two families, yes, that’s it. What diplomat ever gained that office through competence? None that he’d met, not ever.

Which also explained the astonishing patience with which Wellan took the nagging and suggesting constantly spat out by the geezer’s ever-turning wheels. He likely fantasized about choking that incessant mope before going to sleep each night. Head of the Guard, they called him. The City Guard of Koeiji, maybe? That would put him under the prefect’s orders. Aishi had often talked about the successor of Elehi Rai.

The pale prefect. Of course. Rannek was a relative of his, he must have been. He certainly looked more like someone’s relative than a person of his own. Sucking at the teat of power, ducking any real responsibilities, fucking his way into a language… If only he’d met this man under different circumstances. How he’d charm him out of his valuables Tye could only imagine, but what he imagined was grand, oh boy.

That news however furthered his concerns about the brat. Unlike their useless parents, diplomats’ kids one oughta look out for. Educated, spoiled, most often unbound by rules and restrictions—the perfect soil for sociopaths to grow on. Her craving for attention was all too visible in the ways she flaunted her book smarts.

Bramu of Ultis, though? What a loser. Tye couldn’t remember even one story his mother had read to him that didn’t see the supposed hero give away all his hard-earned rewards at the end.

When the flames gathered height, they gathered warmth, and the men held out sticks wrapped in marimoss while talking about the first thing they’d do once back in civilization. After a couple of surprisingly mundane suggestions, taterface made a return. Tye pondered giving the silent brooding man his roasted moss as a peace offer. On second thought, he ate it himself. Him you won’t fool, don’t bother. It was slowly getting too warm and cozy for Tye, not just in terms of temperature. The finale had shot him full of victorious joy, which now slowly began to fade. He was grateful when the brat turned to him with quizzical eyes.

“Wanna collect more moss for the escape?“ she asked.

He nodded, and they left the fire’s warmth. Walking past the spotlight, he noticed that the columns had gotten thinner, and more slanted. Soon, the sun would leave them again; only for a night, though. His escape was imminent. Tye followed behind her trudging steps imagining all the things he’d do after slipping away into the jungle. Find good spirit. Get a girl. Write to Aishi. Steal some money, send that to moms. Who knew, perhaps he’d even get a hold of a decent shroomist.

The moss grew amply in the backstage since the sun didn’t visit there on its daily path through the cave. Scores of wispy blue fingers wound around the rock’s cracks and ledges growing out from the shadows. The brat found herself a long crack in the rock and started ripping chunks out of the reservoir of moss hidden inside, dropping them to the ground. Tye found another one like it close-by, tall as he was. Before long, a pile of blue had amassed between them, and their forearms were coated in sticky, sour moss juice.

“… How do you eat that stuff raw?“ She wrinkled her nose inspecting a long tendril hanging off her index finger. “It smells disgusting.“

How, indeed. “You get a taste for it. Ever eaten yafami cheese? Color’s not that far off, as I recall.“

Her head shuddered as it shook. Tye wasn’t too fond of the sour smell either. The others seemed to have taken him by his word about Oiji’s addiction, but he knew that taterface could still decide to test him on it. He eyed a scrap of moss stuck in the valley between his thumb and index finger. It had the consistency of over-floured golgoya puree. The cooked moss tasted horrendously to begin with, yet he feared it was nothing compared to the real, raw deal. He’d best prepare himself just in case; retching from his supposed favorite food for lack of preparation might shift the tally, after all.

Tye spat out the moss as soon as the brat wasn’t looking. The taste stayed. It was the worst thing he’d ever put in his mouth, including those times when he hadn’t been given a choice. Like moldy dung, but moist. How did anyone ever keep this down long enough to pick up a habit? He turned away from Pen trying to scrape the remains off his gums. Sticky fibers stuck to the spaces between his teeth, buried deep. He spat and still couldn’t get rid of the horrid taste.

“Are you okay?“

Tye kept his back to her and waited for a breath before intensifying his spitting, and coughing. When he turned, worry was written across her face. “… Something flew into my mouth,“ he said. “Insect. Chah… Forgotten how pesky those get up here.“

“Oh, yeah,“ she said, pitifully. “You gotta look out for cranny bugs. But keep an open mind, there’s plenty of things you’ll love to rediscover. Like ice cream.“

“Or riding horses.“ He smirked, and though she rolled her eyes again, Pen couldn’t but smile too.“You said you’d read.“

“For the rest of the season, at least.“ She sighed. “I definitely prefer reading Bramu over being Bramu.“

“Trust… by the way, what did he call those monkey-things again?“

He disregarded her surprised eyes, ripping out moss like they didn’t have enough of the bloody stuff already. “Ipes,” she said. “You read Bramu of Ultis?“

“Nah, my mom read it to me. Never cared much for books. But you do, don’t you?“

Pen got back to the moss smiling a practiced shy smile. “Not a lot of girl miners in Bitaab. I wanna study someday.“

“Study what, art?“

“… You’re making fun of me.“

“Not at all, I liked your drawing!“ Still, she looked incredulous. “Does a caveman’s taste count for nothing these days?“

She snickered shortly. The fun subsided, and she stood there beside him for a while just staring at the moss, not touching it. “I drew because I had to.“

“Why’s that?“

“I made another drawing a few days ago. Just before…“ An unseemly fold appeared in the space between her brows. She looked up and down the crack in the rock. “Just before something bad happened. The longer I didn’t look at it, the harder it would become. So I looked. Wasn’t so bad, not as bad as I expected. Drawing felt fine, too. It’s fun. Maybe I’ll do it more often.“

The moss dropped from his hand and onto the pile with a squelch. “You could have just torn it up and be done with it.“

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Some things you can’t just tear up.“

“Sure ’bout that?“ He noticed her skeptic look, and something even weirder. She’s making you feel like a fool. His fault for letting Oiji speak Tye’s mind. Moralizing brats needed to be kept at bay. Fortunately, he knew just the statement that’d give her peace of mind—she was a college brat in the making, after all. “Maybe you’re right. Never thought about it that way.“

Lo and behold, it worked. “Father says so. I shouldn’t act so sure, though. I’m still young. He could be wrong.“

Trouble brewin’ at the geezer’s dinner table, sounds like. He allowed himself to fantasize about a time long after his escape. It wouldn’t be that hard to come up with a good excuse for Oiji’s sudden disappearance after reaching the outside. When things calm down, he might lose his habit and make a trip to Koeiji to reconnect with these gullible folk. Regain their trust, make himself useful to them. There were plenty riches to be taken, he was sure of it.

His hand burrowed deeper into the crack pushing aside soft walls of blue. There, where the light couldn’t reach, it grew in droves dripping with juice. Judging by the exclusively blue flora of the cave, the hole in its ceiling was not old. The collapse could have been the culprit, seeing as the rubble heaped up against the wall underneath was far from settled; still, that did not curb his bafflement as he reached into ever-deeper regions of this crack, no, this hidden alcove of baffling size. Already, he’d stuck half his arm inside, yet there seemed to be no end to it.

He pulled back his hand. Something had touched him that wasn’t moss, nor was it rock, soft, but steady. Malleable. Oh no. Tye’s pulse started racing, sending new waves of sweat down his skin. It has found you. No, he tried telling himself, that wasn’t true. He’d dreamed. There were no monsters, no cannibal instincts, no powers, nothing but him and his surviving nature. Then what made those noises? Those noises were birds, nothing more, birds he’d caught and eaten. He had to stay calm. Couldn’t run. Nightmares, nightmares, that’s all the monsters were. Then what was that behind the moss? The fuck did he care? A lot. He could not stop thinking about the sensation. It hadn’t felt like feathers. Nor scales. It had felt familiar.

Something separated from the moss right then. A hollow metal rod grew into the room pointing straight at the spot between his eyes, growing longer, wider as it emerged. With it came parts of wood, and cloth, and hair, and that most frightening of materials his hand had touched: skin. The man shortly let go of his rifle with one hand to raise two fingers to his lips. Stay silent. No. The fingers weren’t signing to him, they were going inside his mouth. Parting.

A birdcall shot through the cave causing movement. Tye glanced to his side to see two men emerge from other moss-hidden cracks in the rock, one shutting the brat’s mouth just as she tried to scream out, holding her tight. Their skin was dark, their clothing the color of the jungle, and maroon scarves and bandanas were slung around their heads carrying traces of moss. Liberation. Tye stayed still as the first rebel soldier looked up and down his bony suit.

You won’t die first. That was all he could comfort himself with.

»Take cover!« Tye heard Wellan shout. Desperation rung in his voice. Tye knew better than to turn his head, so he just knelt down, expecting that every breath, gunfire would explode behind him and spook his own captor into contracting his trigger finger. The skin around the man’s eyes was soft and void of lines. He was young. Muscled. Like a Dark Dhav. That did not boost Tye’s confidence. He listened for the advent of his doom, but it didn’t come, not this moment, not the next.

Then, the rebel grabbed Tye by the bones of his shirt and effortlessly lifted him to his feet. Rough pushes sent him crashing against the boulder, next to Ibibiko. Together, they squirmed on the ground under Dark Dhav’s watch. His comrade joined him, threw Pen to the ground beside Ibibiko, and turned to help the others.

There were only five rebels that Tye could see, four of which now faced off with Wellan and the three privates. Shielding Rannek in a tight half-circle, the pale soldiers had been driven into a corner, yet still, they matched each threatening rifle with one of their own. “YIELD!“ Wellan screamed.

“Who knew the Empire could tell jokes,“ one of the rebels called out raucously. “It’s over, goja. One bullet and the girl dies.“

“You wouldn’t. She’s one of you.“

“My men are of me.“ When the rebel with the raspy voice took a step forward into the slanted light, the others followed suit, tightening the circle around the Gralinn. He’s your way out. “As long as they’re threatened, she’s forfeit. Lay down your weapons and I’ll spare her.“ He spat. “Now.“

When a moment passed without a single gun being lowered, the leader of the rebels gave a sign to Dark Dhav. The young rebel stepped forward and delivered a kick to the brat’s stomach. Ibibiko surged up in a fit of rage, but quickly returned to the ground after meeting the butt of the rebel’s rifle with his forehead. Blood gashed out on the floor, and both Tahori crawled back against the boulder in pain, holding each other. Their whimpering should have relieved Tye for not being kicked himself, yet he noticed with shock that it upset him quite a bit.

“Stop it!“ Rannek shouted. Tye spotted him clasping the muzzle of Wellan’s gun, holding it down. His eyes were fixed on his daughter. Old fool, they’re clearly bluffing! But Tye stayed silent. Four guns against four in an open space like this put each of their lives in danger. He slowly adjusted his footing so that just in case, he was ready to dive behind the boulder.

“Yield,“ the rebel leader said.

Wellan lifted his gun once more, trembling, before suddenly throwing it onto the ground. One by one, his men complied as well. A second rifle hit the rock, a third, until it was private Staen lowering his muzzle, slowly. Too slowly. Oh no, don’t you do it.

He did, and met his end at the gun of the leader. Three shots pierced the short private’s skull and trachea, spilling blood on the rock and killing him before his body had even collapsed to the floor. His gun remained in the air only a breath longer, flying off into the cave thrown by the interrupted yank of his arm. It landed, slid an ell or two, and rested, not having fired a single shot.

Wellan fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his taterface, and his mouth opened to vent the despair of a man at the end of his hope. All that came out was a hollow wail just before the leader struck him down.