Bridges are meant to be crossed, aren't they?

And yet, the bridge in the village where Sofia lived was never crossed, not by herself nor by anyone she knew. Bridges unite, yes, but first, there must be a division. In this case, the division ran so deep that the bridge might as well not have been there.

The land beyond the bridge was called Nihon, and this side of the bridge didn't have a name, because it was the world people lived in, and what is all around does not need to be named, it just is. The people in Nihon probably had a name for it. But on this side, people didn't find it necessary to know it.

Next to the bridge stood an old house. In fact, it was so close to the bridge that they even shared a few stone blocks, and the house was a part of the bridge to the point that, if the bridge would crumble, the house would surely perish, too. But the old bridge was sturdy and solid, and it had that timeless feeling that gives some people the creeps and some people solace.

This was where Sofia lived with her Aunt Sybil and Uncle Tomas. It was the only home she knew. At least, it was the only home that she could remember, and the routine of the house was ingrained in her like a kind of useless muscle memory.

Every morning at daybreak, Aunt Sybil climbed to the top floor of the house where she spent most of the day. She was the Guardian of the Bridge, and she took this duty as seriously as she took everything else. Sofia's aunt was a sharp and intelligent woman, which showed in her face that looked as if it had been carved from a particularly unyielding block of marble. Even her body was lean and angular as if a firm hug would be painful for the hugger and unwelcome for Aunt Sybil who preferred interactions to take place at a safe distance, at least one arm's length.

Sometimes, Sofia made attempts to interfere with her aunt's routine, or to become part of it, so far without success.

"Aunt Sybil," she would say in her most innocent voice. "I brought you a cup of coffee and a pastry."

Aunt Sybil would fix her with a piercing stare that Sofia was never able to return.

"Sofia, you know that I drink precisely one cup of coffee in the morning and that I simply abhor sugar. Go play outside."

All day long, Aunt Sybil would sit on a chair with a high back and wooden armrests that stood close to the window. There was a little pedestal for resting her feet, and a jug of water for when she was thirsty. Everything was ready for a day without events. On the windowsill lay a leather-bound ledger with a little lock, and every morning and every evening, she opened the book, turned to the page where she had previously left off and noted the time and date and the events of the day. A cast iron bell hung in the window. In case of sudden danger, it would fall to her to toll it as loudly as she could.

And every morning and every evening, she wrote with neat, small letters that nothing had happened. Not in as many generations as were still around to tell stories had anybody ever heard the toll of the bell which would announce that the bridge had been crossed.

There was a library to keep Aunt Sybil company, and each day, she chose another book to read, from science to astronomy to the fine arts, which was why she was so smart. When she came downstairs to join Sofia and Uncle Tomas for dinner, she was even better educated than she had been the day before. Sofia would ask her about it, but Aunt Sybil was usually too tired to pass on much of her newfound knowledge. Dinner would go by to the sounds of Uncle Tomas gulping down a liquid with a deceptively bland color that didn't fool anybody because its bitter smell hung in the room like a dusty cobweb, or maybe it had seeped into the walls.

It was unfathomable to Sofia when people told her that Aunt Sybil and Uncle Tomas had been very much in love when they had been young people. There could not be two people less suited for each other.

Uncle Tomas was a soft and chubby man, with a heart of gold and an incorrigible weakness for drinking, which meant that every good-natured promise he made was broken almost as soon as it was uttered. Most days, he slept until noon, then dragged his aching body to the kitchen where he woke his spirit with - well - spirits. Sofia loved her uncle for his tranquil smile and hated him for his cloudy eyes. Aunt Sybil seemed to only hate him by now, and he didn't appear much fonder of her.

Most days, Sofia roamed around outside without much supervision, hoping to discover something, anything, new. It didn't matter to her what it was, as long as it jolted some life into the village routine. The Border Village counted a mere few hundred people, and the strange thing, apart from the bridge and what lay beyond, was the fact that only three children were living there, and none of them knew their parents. There was Sofia, who was almost twelve years old, and twin boys of about the same age called Pip and Tin, who also lived with an aunt and uncle.

Pip and Tin only went places together and didn't like to talk to anybody but each other. They played enigmatic games, and when somebody passed them, they cast their eyes down, giggling at their private jokes. To Sofia, it often felt as if she was the only child in the village, and while she had become used to this, there are some things that are impossible to get used to.

When Sofia was sent outside to play, she often stayed in calling distance of her aunt's window, in the hope that, one day, Aunt Sybil would call her inside and finally start teaching her how to become Guardian of the Bridge. In Sofia's mind, she just had to be her aunt's successor. This was never mentioned, but she refused to waver in her conviction.

Beneath the pillars of the bridge, the lawn stretched all the way down to the water. The water was clear and smooth, with polished stones glinting on the ground. Sofia often flipped stones over the mirrored surface. She had perfected her technique, and the stones raced weightlessly over the waves with up to seven jumps.

There were a lot of strange things to be said about the bridge. There was its size, which seemed to change every day, or its pillars, rammed deep into the river's ground and yet changing in number. But the strangest thing was that nothing was ever said about the bridge as if the inhabitants of the village had forgotten its existence. People had unlearned to look its way, and, when mentioned in conversation, it sometimes took them a moment to understand what was being talked about.

The changeability of the bridge extended to the river as well, or maybe it was the other way around. The water was peaceful on this side of the shore, but when Sofia directed her eyes to the other side, the change could be drastic.

The water was crashing dark and wild against spiky rocks. The stream tore mercilessly downhill, its foam yellow and foul. When Sofia focused, she could hear the wind howling and hissing far away, and smell the rancid odor of the fish that had found their watery grave smashed against the rocks. Quickly, she turned her eyes back to this side of the shore, and all would be well again. A few ducks would swim towards her, and she greeted them like old friends, even though she could never be sure that they were the same ducks as the day before.

But no day went by that Sofia didn't lift her eyes towards the other side, at least for a little while. Some days, the shore was shrouded in fog, white and thick, and it was impossible to imagine anything behind it except the sky. On those days, Sofia quickly lost interest and went back to her solitary games. Other times, the shore stretched out hellishly towards the end of the horizon, an inhospitable wasteland, colored in black and grey and flashes of red as if fires were burning. This gruesome setting made Sofia hug her arms around herself and feel cold even on the hottest day.

But occasionally, the view took on a beautiful aquarelle quality, soft colors bleeding into each other, the sky blending with the tops of the trees. Butterflies and birds outdid each other in splendor, and a breeze wafted across the river like an invitation to come over and play. On these days, Sofia would have crossed the bridge and gone over, but it never occurred to her that it was possible to do so.

***

Sofia was sitting against the outer pillar of the bridge, immersed in her favorite game, Guardian of the Bridge. Her back straight, and her eyes fixed on the stone structure in front of her. She held a few pages of paper she had bound with a leather string from one of her uncle's shoes, and with a piece of coal, she noted the time and date.

She wrote, Uneventful, and out loud, she mimicked Aunt Sybil's stern tone of voice.

"But that does not mean we can be any less vigilant!"

She looked to her right as if there had been a question from an imaginary interlocutor, and clarified,

"Because it is a very important duty, and only few people are chosen to fulfill it."

She frowned at the imaginary answer that seemed to have contradicted her.

"I don't know," she said uncertainly. "Aunt Sybil will teach me. But," she added, her face lighting up again, "it is a big secret, and I won't be allowed to tell."

She rolled up the paper and hid it carefully between two stones. She got up to take a little stroll along the shore. Maybe she'd go and find Pip and Tin and see what they were up to. At least, she could interrupt their games if they wouldn't let her join in. She didn't much like the boys, but she wasn't exactly spoiled for choice. She had tried to be like an older sister to them, then like a younger sister, like a teacher, like a curious student. The boys seemed immune to her charms as well as her bullying.

She was thinking about a way to maybe play one against the other when she heard a strange choking noise. It was coming from the river.

Sofia looked its way, adjusting her eyes to the texture of the water, which always took some effort as if it didn't want to be seen.

There was nothing, except for a few bubbles rising.

Sofia turned away again, continuing in the direction she had been going. It was only after a few steps that she realized she had seen something beneath the waters. There had been an elongated shape in a light blue color, which had not been the color of the water, but of something else. She hadn't become aware of it at first as if her eyes had refused to see anything they weren't expecting to see.

Sofia went back to the shore. She stood very still as if every movement might distort the image. She glanced up towards her aunt's window, but it was too steep, and she could not see her. Which meant that Aunt Sybil couldn't see her either.

The bubbles had intensified, then lessened until they had almost vanished. Sofia took another step closer, the water lapping onto her shoes. Feeling the moisture, she took them off and stepped into the ice-cold water, carefully keeping her balance on the slippery stones. She leaned over, trying to get a better look.

It was - - - a body.

It was lean and slim, and a mass of silver hair surrounded its head like a crown. The limbs were long and light blue, and it was completely motionless, floating.

The bubbles ceased.

There was no more breath leaving the body.

Sofia opened her mouth to call for help. But she didn't, even though that would have been the most logical action. Instead, she waded into the water. It deepened infinitely after the first step as if she had entered into another space than the one that she had perceived before. But she didn't have time to question this.

She jumped in and dove towards the floating girl.