The Myth of Jouna
     By Jason Wilder Konschak


     Perched in the treetop, an eagle eager to strike, the boy was rough and wild, rags of 
leather  hanging from him like vines from the old Androsogogin trees. A crackle below and 
an arrow was silently and instantly strung in his hands.
      His loyal dog’s eyes met his and Kro, the wolf-like animal, silenced himself. The prey 
clicked in the wood again. The creaking tension in the Androsogogin bow’s wood echoed in 
the forest, reverberating out over the Ragged Face Lake. And the prey’s eyes of black pearl 
looked upward at the stalker looking downward.
     The prey was a Troll, a green and gray murky creature with lanky arms with six or seven 
joints. Long bony legs with scrawny knobby knees rustled. A flat face with no nose but a long 
lower jaw filled with prickly fish teeth looked at him with eyes like tar pools.
     The hunter was a Baennun, a tanned beige and brown haired creature with muscular 
round arms with but one bending joint. Legs like logs with thick hides on their feet creaked 
on the limb. A curved face with a large, slanting, fleshy nose and small flat toothed jaw 
looked down on him with gold flecked aqua eyes.
     The arrow twanged. The air whistled. The prey screeched. So did the hunter. “Gett’im Kro! 
Gett’im!” And the white wolf in the wood arched through the thick humidity, its powerful 
mammal jaw latching onto the amphibious monstrosity. The Baennun, hooting like the lower 
mammals from which he proudly came, still vicious and keen and superior, flung himself 
from the treetop, bow and arrow in nimble, powerful fingers.
     The Troll, fish-like and ancient, sorry and beaten, flashed its carved claws of black bone 
and reached its slithering snake of an arm into the air, brandishing before it struck the loyal 
dog. But the mammals struck faster.
     Two more arrows appeared in the frog monster’s neck, blood splurting, and the dog 
backed away, preparing to pounce. But the other warm-blood, the Baennun, went first. Wild, 
he leapt onto the Troll’s back, crowing and screaming in controlled rage and joy. Kro lurched 
at the ankles and the frog tumbled over, bone or cartilage crackling.
     A knife of fashioned stone in the leathery brown hands of the Baennun, stabbing at the 
rubbery green hide of the wet Troll, a new cry rose over the land. Kro yelped, dropping back 
and huddling. The Baennun, confused but calm, his warm foot planted on the cold neck of 
the Troll, looked up to the sky with wonder. There, flashing over the clouds like an arrow, was 
the shape of a bird combined with a fish, blue fire sputtering behind it as it swam in a flash 
from South to North. It roared and thumped, the sound following far behind the craft, and 
soon it disappeared over the Rezone Mountains just as the roar was overhead. Then all sign 
passed away to the north.
     Kro barked. The groaning Troll spun itself out from under the pondering Baennun’s foot 
and started to push itself to its feet. Almost as an after thought, the Baennun turned and 
jabbed the knife through the back of the frog creature’s skull, into the brain stem It died 
instantly, dropping into a rubbery ball.
     “Come on Kro, back to the house . . .” 
     The man slung the monster over his shoulder and headed off, away from the woods and 
the mysterious thunderbird, back to his lonely cabin at the edge of the Kolkien River. For 
days the mysterious sight would plague him with curiosity.
     
     
     
     The candlelight gave the room a mysterious glow, even to its resident of so many years. 
Daezra Daynn, the boy in the woods with his dog, shifted in his bed, hearing a shuffling 
outside his small log cabin. Kro, the dog, slept soundly beside him. And foot falls. Not 
thundering crashing through the denseness of the forest hugging the little house on the hill, 
on the bank of the Kolkien River, the river that wrapped uselessly away from the Ragged 
Face Lake to only crash back again, but a rustling like a dragging of wide, clumsy feet. The 
feet of a killer-bred-killer on the stalk of a life long prey, a family tradition was this prey in 
this house, but a killer-bred-killer whose stupidity--or maybe blind confidence--had turned 
him clumsy. And so his left foot dragged across a thatch as it pulled the creature, the green, 
horrible, Troll, closer to the window. 
     Then, as silence grew louder then it should, the slimy amphibian face slammed against 
the glass, hissing and gurgling. Daezra was out of his bed and lightly kicking his dog into 
consciousness before the horrible ash black fingernails squealed across the glass, splitting 
to pane as if it were soft cloth. 
     “Confident tonight . . .I don’t like it.” Daezra said aloud, stringing his bow. The Troll stuck 
its scarred, quick, pug face in through the window and snarled through its nostrils, 
splattering drool and dripping swarm mud. The arrow sprung into its tiny eye socket, and the 
Troll fell back out, its long snake-like arms flailing in the night air. 
     Scratching on the thatch roof.
     “They’re all around Kro--I think some brains have showed up, let’s bail.” The dog growled 
affirmative, and Daezra kicked open the door and jumped out into the thick, cold air. There 
was no warning. The Troll was on him. Others chanted on the roof, throwing things down. 
“You slimy bastard!” Daezra screamed as it flipped him onto his back and began to wrap its 
snake-like arms around him. He gripped the arrow still in the eye and jerked it to the left and 
right, slamming it from bony edge to bony edge, shredding the flesh and releasing thick, tar-
like blood. The Troll did not react. 
     “Well then . . .” Pushing off with his left leg, three times the length of the Troll’s stubs, 
Daezra flipped them over again, rolling them to the crest of the hill top. “Let’s roll.” Leaving 
his arrows, his dog, and his every possession behind, he slammed himself into a roll.
     The Troll screeched and pawed at Daezra with his sharpened diamond-like claws and 
Daezra tore the arrow out of the creature’s eye. “Want more?” Then his side slammed into a 
huge stone formation growing from the hillside and the glided through the air, leaving swirls 
of black and red blood splattering together behind them. They came down through layers of 
briers and small evergreens, sticking and spiking them and pushing them further down the 
hill. Toward the swampy, rocky edge of the shallow, slow Kolkien River.
     Still rolling. Pain. The Troll was getting his bearings. It was setting to attack. Daezra, move 
first. Holding the bloody arrow in his hand, he punched. The dull point dove into the Troll’s 
other eye, but Daezra drove it deeper, into the brain somewhere far behind. The Troll 
screeched and snapped his head backward in pain just as the rocky earth came round. The 
harsh earth and the rubbery flesh of the Troll met violently, snapping the neck with a highly 
audible snapping of vertebrae. 
     But the roll continued.
     Now with the dead weight of the dead Troll upon him, Daezra threw his arms and legs 
out, but they were beaten back in. He came around again; leaving the Troll tumbling behind, 
and tried to stop once more, but again was brutally and painfully denied control. For a 
second the world blurred, his head slamming against the earth again and again. Then, for a 
second, nothing but chilly air holding him up. Then, finally, freezing, murky water. 
     Daezra thrashed at the water around him, wrenching himself upward. He stood, but only 
in time for the Troll, the Troll whom he had thought was dead, to leap on him. Daezra 
buckled backward under the creature’s weight. He fought to keep the writhing and twisting 
arms away from him, to beat the snakes off. The Troll was beating him back, but it more 
fueled Daezra’s fire with anger. Another thrash to the face. The Baennun crumbled into the 
water. The Troll came down on him.
     The water crashed in around him. The Troll was holding his head beneath the water. 
Drowning him. Daezra pushed with his limbs, lodging his foot somewhere in the Trolls 
stomach, grasping the creature’s shoulder with his fist. The monster held him under, 
denying him oxygen. Daezra pushed upward, straining his neck, tearing at his back and 
shoulders, and soon he bulldozed his face above the filthy surface. He gasped for air and 
looked up. Glaring back at him were dripping black soot eyes, ones he had stabbed out. 
Some of the syrupy blood splattered on Daezra’s already wet and filthy black face. Then, the 
Troll did something Daezra had never imagined. It spoke.
     "Now . . .planeh-smasssshhhherrrrr . . .. Diehhhhh.” Its voice was cold and quiet, wispy 
like its vocal cords were wounded. A sigh or whistling of cold wind combined with the 
chattering of hard, barkless cedar twigs being rubbed harshly together. Daezra had battled 
with the native monsters all his life, but never before had they spoken. . .never had they 
shown such intelligence.
     “By Azyr . . .” Then Daezra ignored it. Bracing himself, he pushed off with the foot that 
was planted on the creature's belly. The Troll hissed unfamiliarly as is sailed through the air 
and slammed into the hazy river water like a boulder. The Baennun was on top of the 
Amphibian in less then less then a second. He planted that same right foot in the monsters 
already wounded neck and pushed deep into the mud covered floor of the near still river, 
and he did not let go. The Trolls were Amphibians, but they weren’t fish; it too would drown. 
Bubbles rose and Daezra lifted his foot. Then he stamped with it again, like he was trying to 
split a log laid across two stumps, and a final dulled cracking sound bubbled to the surface.
     Soaking, freezing, bloody and bruised, Daezra stood and spun his head about. He was at 
the bottom of the hill. The Troll was dead in the Kolkien River’s water beside him. Above, 
almost out of sight now, was his little log cabin with its thatch roof. Kro came jumping down 
the hill, barking furiously, confused and furious. Daezra felt much the same. 
     Reluctantly, his feet ripped out of the river’s marshy bottom and drove him up the hill. Kro 
pulled in beside him just as the brief flash of light caught the upper edge of his vision and 
focused his view on the top of the roof, where the Trolls held flaming torches proudly above 
their heads. Daezra watched, hardly thinking or breathing and certainly not believing, as the 
Trolls laughed in their whispered voices and cast the fire on his house. You’d be amazed 
how fast dried plant life burns. “Sons of a Troll . . .” he said bitterly, gritting his teeth. “How 
did they get fire? Who in Reighk Rom’s heart showed them fire?” Then the oil for his lamps 
exploded inside, splattering fireworks into the once cold night. Daezra felt the fire warming 
him even from that distance, and it was heat enough to boil his blood.
     He held back. But the Trolls didn’t. Charred survivors with spears, hand-made weapons 
he had never seen them hold before, thundered down the hill. He could swear he heard 
them speaking words, bitter and evil words in Tulunayn, the same kind of words that he 
spoke to them, but he shook them off as he slowly away. “Come on, Kro. Let’s go.”
     Daezra faced toward that new born, burning bright star that cast its lighten image against 
the dark waters and forest, and he looked back at his burning house for one last time, then 
dove, with his dog and his bow, into the shadowed woods, never to see his home the same 
again.
     
     
     
     
     
     The sun was warm, even as it filtered through the trees of the Smallpatch woods. Kro 
pushed forward ahead of Daezra, sniffing the land carefully, being sure that nothing would 
sneak up and attack his master. The light was patchwork in the forest, and he moved 
deeper and deeper in, following the path that was only suitable for one man in width. Daezra 
moved along beside the Kolkien River, and after camping and traveling an another entire 
day, the river had never been more then a hundred feet to his left.
     A light breeze blew that evening, and the time was nearly six o'clock. Daezra had moved 
without trouble, since he had had a little food in his pouch, though the bits of smoked fish--
his favorite doubtlessly--were nearly gone. He had resorted to eating dried bread. He moved 
all through that day, crossing over other paths, making quick decisions on the direction that 
would take him to the Lily Bay Bridge.
     The Lily Bay Bridge was not a new construction, and it was called Lily Bay Bridge for a 
reason. The bridge was constructed of ancient stones, which had molded and crumbled and 
repaired over a million millennia by whom ever had once lived on Jouna in the Years Before 
Record. It had become like one huge, solid stone bridge. Starting with lichen, the rock was 
broken down to gravel atop bedrock, and plants grew. Mostly, the Bridge--like the area 
surrounding its river--was covered with white lilies. Daezra had only seen the bridge once in 
his life, for strange creatures inhabited all the woods. 
     Mystical, old and ancient creatures.
     Like Trolls.
     When the sun finally fell behind the Daezra Mountains the Smallpatch forest grew dark, 
and cold, for no light and no warm winds could make their way through the thick trees. All 
that could be seen was a vertical shaft of blue light here and there, thin as a thread, where--
by some design--no tree had blocked the view of the outside world. The canopy was dark. No 
stars, not even the moon, were able to push through the thick branches.
     It was then that Daezra sat down. He pulled out his things, but the fire refused to start. 
Daezra wished he had had time to prepare, but he thanked Azyr that he had had food and 
weapons and warm clothing on him when he was driven away by the suddenly intelligent 
Trolls. It was cold; silent. The trees seemed not to allow any new air into them, so it smelled 
old and moldy and breathing was difficult. It felt airless. No trees rustled. No wind whistled. 
No bough creaked. It was soundless. Not an animal moved across the ground or through the 
canopy above. No crickets whistled and not a bird called. Lifeless.
     Airless. Soundless. Lifeless.
     Daezra wondered if he'd ever find such a horrible place again. Kro came up beside him 
and laid down against his leg. Daezra listened into the void, hearing only the still world in his 
ears. Then he found sound as he heard the Kolkien River gently lapping behind him, 
perhaps fifty feet away. Then an animal, perhaps on a gentle stream flowing from the 
Kolkien, perhaps far away on the Ragged Face Lake, called out in a lonely call.
     It was like the sad moan of a clarinet, or such reed instrument. It started low, then went 
high, and then stopped in silence. Daezra had heard this bird before, and still he thought 
that it was the loneliest sound he had ever heard. It did not call again. Daezra Daynn and his 
dog Kro fell asleep to the sound of the mumbling Kolkien River.
     
     
     
     
     
     The Lily Bay Bridge looked like nothing more then a huge flowery hill. Daezra ran forward, 
Kro barking behind, and he burst out of the remaining woods. There the Lily Bay Bridge 
climbed into the white cloud filled afternoon sky. All around his feet and all up the bridge 
was a carpet of white lilies, turning and falling in the winds, moving in perfect time. 
     Daezra ran down the hillside that led to the bridge, but suddenly, to his and his dog's 
surprise, he stopped. His feet slipped on the wet lilies and his feet flew forward with a jerk. 
He landed hard on his tailbone and skidded forward. He struggled to catch himself, but he 
spun into the base of the bridge. Lilies tickled his nose.
     "Curses!" he mumbled to himself as he pushed to his feet. He wiped the crushed lilies 
away from his clothing, feeling the sticky sap from the pedals. Behind him was a curving 
path of flattened lilies starting where he had slid. Kro watched him, tilting his face in 
confusion. "That's right Kro. I fell. Got a problem with that?"
     The dog whimpered a 'no' and came forward. The two companion turned toward the 
bridge before them. Daezra rested his hands on his hips and scratched his nose; Kro sat 
back on his haunches. "I don't know about this, old boy," said Daezra, almost to himself. 
"You'd think all these flowers would make it seem a pretty place, but, for some reason, and I 
can't be sure why, this place seems dismal. It has an evil air to it, and I don't like it. Pretty 
flowers or not." Kro barked.
     "You're right. We'd better keep moving." Daezra and his dog headed up the steep incline, 
trudging over thousands of lilies. As he came to the crest walking became more difficult, like 
the lilies were grasping his bare feet. Kro whimpered and ran forward. "KRO!" Daezra called 
forward, struggling to pull his foot up. The dog turned back to look, peering over his 
shoulder. "Kro. . .get back here you little chicken." The bark barked once. "Get back here you 
little chicken! KRO! Ouch! " 
     Daezra looked down at his bare feet, and saw blood. "Damn old rocks--push right through 
the lil- OUCH!" Daezra looked down again, and pulled his foot out of the shin-deep lilies with 
a grunt. There he saw a lily dangling from his bloody foot. He took it away from his skin with 
a groan of pain, and inspected the plant. It was covered with thin blood.
     Kro barked wildly now, hopping up and down, pulling away from the lilies at his feet. 
There were great thorns on the lily, but the bud on this one had closed and shriveled. It was 
a smaller one, like the those that grew where he had fallen. Daezra turned back to see 
behind him, and, in the path he had pushed out, was a thick coating of bright red blood. His 
heart pounding, Daezra watched the lilies move in the wind again. His feet were being 
attacked.
     Daezra licked his finger and placed it in the air, feeling for wind. For minutes he waited. 
No wind blew. The flowers moved. Daezra reached down an picked a lily from in front of him. 
Red blood dripped from the stem. The bud opened and the flower screeched, and Daezra 
saw inside. He saw teeth. Kro was covered in blood, his and the flower's.
     Daezra started running, struggling with all his might, but the lilies were wrapping around 
his feet. He pulled up, tearing the lilies apart, their stems exploding in blood. His feet 
screamed in pain, for the lilies were grabbing with their thorns, holding even in death with 
their little, bone-like teeth. Kro was running too, pushing his face into the lilies and biting 
them, shaking them back and forth. His snout was covered in blood.
     Kro had fought his way back to Daezra's side, and he snarled as he shook the dead 
flowers in his mouth, the buds closing and shriveling. Daezra tripped and stumbled, the lilies 
wrapping far up his legs. Dead flowers hung as high as his waist, live ones grabbed at his 
arms. Kro fought to free him, but Daezra was falling under.
     Daezra leapt from the bridge. The water was icy cold. The flowers did not die in the water. 
The ones that had shriveled returned to life as the water gave them nourishment. Daezra's 
and the lilies' blood polluted the clear water. Suddenly huge, gray-green fish scuttled close. 
Their mouths, too, were filled with little, prickling teeth. Daezra inhaled water that had come 
from the Ragged Face Lake, trying to pull the lilies off his skin. 
     One fish ventured close, and its five-foot long body came close to Daezra's face. He 
punched the fish; it swam away. Daezra realized that the lilies, like when they were on land, 
were growing, reaching for the bottom and dragging him down. They worked in perfect 
cooperation. The lilies grew new buds and reproduced in the water, covering and biting and 
piercing Daezra's skin. Things were grim. He was going to die.
     Then the fish attacked.
     Daezra could do little to fight them off. The iron strong lilies that had started to suck at 
his blood like leaches restricted his movement. The fish opened their wide mouths and 
darted forward. They pulled away with mouths full of bloody flesh. 
     Daezra could move again.
     With a skip of his heart he realized why, despite the perfect conditions, no lilies grew in 
the river. The fish ate them! The fish quickly picked Daezra of most of the lilies, and he 
groped toward the water's sparking surface. Feeling the last fish grab at a few lilies on his 
foot, Daezra pushed his face above the water. He breathed deeply. Kro pulled himself to 
shore in front of him. 
     Daezra pulled himself onto the shore and found that the lilies did not grow near the 
water. Then he watched a gray-green fish leap out of the water to grab a lily that had crawled 
off Daezra, and he knew why. Kro whimpered, but the blood had been washed off in the 
water, and most of it had proved to be the flowers'. 
     "Leach Lilies," Daezra uttered to himself. "I shall call these Leach Lilies, and Savior Fish." 
Daezra turned over and faced the sun, allowing himself to dry. There, streaking like a comet, 
leaving streaming behind it cloud-like tails, was the same shape he had seen the before. The 
rumbling followed behind it as it pulled higher and higher and soon vanished, and the sight 
made Daezra want to push on to what ever destiny awaited him.
     The journey had just begun.
     
     
     
     
     
     The two's way wound along the thin depression of a hill-valley, and to the base of another 
gigantic hill and into a deeper and broader hallow, then around another unsure path and 
another unsure turn, to the top of new untouched hills and the depths of new untouched 
valleys. There was no sign of trees anywhere, but the Ragged Faced Lake itself was perhaps 
a half-a-mile to their left, through a patch of more lilies, a place where Daezra would not go 
again. They had made it to this hilly land by burning the lilies that had blocked their path on 
the shore, and it had been slow and difficult work that Daezra and Kro did not look forward 
to repeating. 
     The grass they walked on was sharp and stiff, and atop every incline was a patch of loose 
black stones, but every so often a patch of softy, springy, purple and yellow flowered weeds 
appeared, easing Daezra's feet. The sun dragged itself high into the sky and the stuffy, 
windless hallows were like ovens. Daezra would stop to cool himself in the cool breeze at the 
crest of the higher hills, but he would have to move quickly away because every top was 
coated with sharp, sun cooked and foot burning black stones.
     About mid-day Daezra found a higher peak, and discovered that no burning rubble was on 
its crest. There he stood, feeling the cool breeze drying his sweat. Kro panted beside him. 
From that high hilltop Daezra got a view of all the land around him for miles. 
     To the west, his left, was the gigantic blue vastness of the Ragged Face Lake. So large 
was it that the other side was invisible except for a single cluster of mountains. The Center 
Mountain, it was said, was perfectly flat across the top, like a tabletop, and it was miles in 
size. It was a sort of plateau with quickly dropping sides, always horizontal save when they 
slanted inward.
     The plateau, known as Gara' R' Sari (or Stone Table), had a semi-circle of mountains 
protecting its backside. The tallest--Mt. N'essdee--was directly behind and the other peaks, 
which grew shorter toward either direction, covered the rear. Toward the front of the Stone 
Table--that which faced the lake--was a semi-circle formed by towering dikes that finished off 
the plateau's ring of protection. It was said, in legend, that the place had but one entrance in 
the all the whole, and that was a huge silver and gold gate that hung in an arch of the dike. 
Mystic elven people lived on Gara' R' Sari, and Daezra had always wondered what they were 
like, but from across the many leagues of the Ragged Face Lake he could not guess. That 
was all he could see to the West, his left.
     Toward the South was the dark silhouette of the Lily Bay Bridge. Daezra did not wish to 
look back, for that only brought thoughts of home, and that only brought thoughts of turning 
back. Perhaps, he thought, it is better that the leach lilies block my return, for, as I guess, I 
should wish to run back when I realize that this destiny stuff was nothing more then a bad 
piece of meat. "Right, boy?" Daezra asked. Kro barked a yes. "Of course I am. I'm always 
right." Daezra mumbled, peering toward the east. There he saw nothing but trees, and saw a 
little peak of the Watery Lily Bay. 
     He looked North, his destination, and saw that soon the old South Outlet Road would be 
able to be followed because the leach lilies no longer covered it. The Outlet road would take 
him over this hilly area quickly, then, if it still existed there, through the Red Wisp Forest, to a 
place called G' V' god (or Crystal Town). Then, as his father had told him, the road became 
the Mountain Trail, and that would take him through the black, volcanic peaks of the R' zona 
mountains. 
     Petting Kro's soft white hair again, Daezra made sure he had his bow still over his 
shoulder and headed off, feeling hungry for the first time since he left.
     
     
     
     
     
     Daezra leaned his back against one of the steeper hills, allowing himself to look toward 
the stars. He laid there for hours, feeling the fire burn down. He had eaten well, as he had, 
using only a single arrow, killed a large black bird that had the misfortune of flying above his 
head on that tall hill that now lay a thousand or so yards behind.
     After resting for merely a half an hour in the darkness, with his dog snoozing beside his 
leg, and before he had ever gotten to sleep, he heard a cry from the east. It was that sad call 
again, like the one he had heard in the Smallpatch woods. The long, sorrow-filled cry made 
him feel very alone, and very insignificant. He looked into the darkness beyond the stars, at 
the many millions of many billions of miles that they represented, and he wondered what 
importance he was. A small life among a thousand billion others in just his little corner of the 
world. He had no family left, and no friends. He didn't ever know anyone other then his dog. 
He felt very alone, and unimportant. He had no meaning, and following this silly destiny 
seemed like nothing but a way to spend lonely time. Daezra wondered if he was to ever find 
a girl that would accept him and wed him. He if he would ever find anyone what so ever.
     Then, thinking these dismal thoughts, Daezra slipped into sleep. It was an uncomfortable 
half-sleep on top of those stiff blades of dry, sharp grass. He tried to rest his head on his 
arm, but it fell asleep. He moved about so much in his sleep he scared off Kro. The fire 
smoldered low, and stopped giving off much light or much heat. It grew cold. Daezra's feet 
wanted for warm shoes, which he had only owned once. But, despite his discomfort, his 
stomach full of warm food, Daezra slipped into deep sleep, no longer taking notice to the 
world around him.
     He dreamed. His mind was full of a woman with the leather outfit. He saw her walking, 
and as she walked time passed. She crossed a river, and now she had an arrow in her 
shoulder. The arrow vanished, and a jacket appeared. Then she was on a flat, brown land 
with beige sand. Then her face grew longer, growing more and more, her skin shifting green, 
and he heard a voice,
     The Asp is a snake.
     And wrath is but its slave.
     Uncover not the sword.
     Believe Azyr; forever brave. 
     The ever beating heart.
     Set upon the broad chest.
     The might of chill reborn.
     The Key to be possessed.
     To strike down the cold.
     A virgin chaste.
     A mind a pure as magic.
     Will deal the last.
     The heart of Azyr.
     The mask of Rom.
     Strike down the cold.
     The warmth has come.
     
     He awoke. 
     His feet had suddenly felt warmth, and he had, subconsciously, guessed that morning 
had arrived. He opened his eyes slowly, hating the thought of getting off the now warm and 
comfortably crushed grass. He looked toward his feet and saw the fire burning high; the 
night still dark as blindness. Daezra sprang up. 
     There, sitting beside him, legs bent up with arms wrapped around, chin resting on the 
knees, was a female. She looked over and smiled. Daezra was entranced; he could not look 
away. He inspected every part of her body with charmed eyes, unable to stop. 
     She straightened her legs out. She was dressed in dull black and brown leather. It was a 
strange outfit, like none he had ever seen. It was tight to her body, as if held by magic, or 
like another skin. A strange metal line with silvery teeth ran down its center. Silver and gold 
hitches and snaps were all about it, but like him, she was bare foot. Daezra had never seen 
anything like her clothing, in fact, he had never seen anything like her.
     Her face was soft, her eyes were large. They captured him. They were purple. Not a dark 
purple, but a bright glowing lavender of aqua blue and magenta red. They were round and 
shining, and circled by thick lashes. Daezra never knew purple eyes existed. Her hair was 
golden. Not a rich blond, but pure golden with brown streaks. It was lively and full, falling 
puffy in a circle around her head and her long thin pointed elf-like ears, then at the base of 
the neck it was pulled into a metal and stone adornment. From there the hair flowed loose 
down her bare back. The adornment, like the necklace and earrings she wore, showed a 
black stone eye with a strangely shaped splatter of a bluish stone behind it. And her body, 
her body was perfect in all shapes. Full, firm, strong and curvy. Soft and light. Beautiful 
beyond any he had seen. Indeed, this stranger had a beauty greater then any Baennun, 
Tulunayn, Aeyelon, or other in all the Outspace. Daezra was not the only who had seen none 
more beautiful. None had seen any more beautiful with lovely pure magnificence.
     "Fine night, my friend." she calmly said with a voice of sweet velvet. It calmed his worries 
on the spot. He did not move; remained frozen, gazing at her from top to bottom. "Come 
now, speak. Speak!" She fingered the small hilt of a knife beside her hips. "What’s your 
name, love?"
     "Daezra Daynn" he uttered, careful not to slip his secret.
     "Well, love, with a name as such I'd guess you twas a man of the land, and a handsome 
one you be, my sweet. But lovely blue eyes. Oh, I like your hair, my dearest, yet like silk, eh?. 
Tell me, Daezra--oh, a name like music and harmony, don't you think--what are you doing 
'ere, out 'ere in the no-where."
     "In the middle of it, no less." Daezra said flatly. The stranger laughed gently, her face 
smiling. Again her beauty captivated him.
     "Middle of no-where! I see you 'ave a silver tongue on you! It’s a skilled mouth, you bear. 
Brings joy in my breast to hear one with a humor in a time as this. I shall name you Daezra 
the Silvertongue." She pulled her knees back up again, resting her head on them. "But you 
'ave yet to answer my query. What brings you to the middle of the no-where?"
     "Destiny I suppose, destiny and a burning house." Suddenly Daezra realized he had seen 
this girl in one of his dreams, but the memory was fading. What had she meant? He could 
not recall. Perhaps she had not been in a dream after all.
     "Ohhh! Daezra. . ." The girl paused for a long while, then continued, acting like she had 
known Daezra all her life. "Tell me about yourself Daezra. Tell all you know important to tell, 
for I need to know. Then we can speak more calmly. Tis important, and you will know where 
tah begin, dear, and when to end."
     Daezra looked at her face long, the charm wearing off a bit. It all seemed so strange, and 
he almost considered pulling his knife or his bow. Then he realized that she had moved 
them far out of his reach, and she kept fingering a knife. It seemed he was forced to comply, 
though he would have anyway. "As I said before, my name is Daezra Daynn-"
     "The Silvertongue. Ohh, puts me all to shivers to think about it," her mind seemed to drift.
     "Daezra Daynn the Silvertongue-"
     “Go on, go on.”
     "My name." he sighed. "Forget my name. I was the son of a man who called himself Mara 
Kin Daynne. I never knew my mother at all, but my father said she was a beautiful foreigner. 
She was killed by a Troll."
     "Troll, precious?"
     "That was what my father called them. I don't know what they really are. They are tall and 
lanky and green beasts that lived in the caves on this side of the Ragged Lake. He said that 
all evil lived on this side, and all good existed on that side. There, with the Stone Table 
plateau."
     "The other side? Love, the Stone Table is not on the otherside, handsome, tis an island in 
the center. You donna realize how very big this lake really is, love. It is, I 'ave seen, as big as 
small oceans. That Stone Table tis in the middle. But your father told true, great things live 
there. However, evil does'na just dwell on this side, but on all sides. The rim of the lake is 
plagued. This side, the west bank, is the safest by far. That is because of Choria. But we 
needn't get into such things, sweetheart. I 'ave heard enough. Now--we can talk as we wish." 
     Suddenly the spell wore away. His wits returned to him. Daezra dove headfirst onto the 
stranger, struggling to rip her hand away from the blade. He pushed and pulled, like 
wrestling a bear, but she was as slippery as a fish, till he had his hands on her wrists and his 
feet on her ankles. There he pinned her, his chest holding hers down; his hands holding hers 
spread above her head; his legs holding hers spread and straight. She stopped struggling, 
and smiled gently at him.
     "If you wanted to 'ave me so bad, you could 'ave just asked." She smiled a teasing smile. 
Her accent melted away. "I would have kindly obliged the future king, Daezra.” 
     Daezra jerked away.
     
     
     
     
     
     "Start talking."
     "About what, gracious?" she asked, leaning back slightly, still holding her knees tight 
against her chest, and she started rocking cheerfully. Daezra pulled the arrow back another 
half a centimeter, the string tightening a bit more with a creaking of wood. He aimed it at her 
heart.
     "Your name, to start."
     "Oh my, I'm gett'n some bad emotions off this one. Listen, handsome, I aint 'ere to do you 
any harm." She stopped rocking.
     "I'll shoot you through the heart." Daezra said flatly. Though it seemed beyond Baennun 
strength, he pulled the arrow tighter.
     "What are the chances of that arrow go'n straight through my knee an' into my heart, 
courageous?" She asked happily, pulling her legs as tight as she could against her chest.
     "Pretty damn good, as far as chance goes." Daezra replied, his normally emotional voice 
murmuring like a machine.
     "Oh! Bless me, it flew right from my pretty little head, it did! You've got the Androsogogin 
bow of Daezra! By the Well Keeper in all his infinite wisdom, I almost got my perfect little self 
a new opening in me, I did. Right through one of my best features, too and also!" She 
laughed, putting her legs out straight. She then placed her hands over her heart 
dramatically.
     Daezra peered at her in curiosity and saw how her features glimmered and flickered in 
the fire's light. She seemed so beautiful, yet mysterious and dark. Her accent was one he 
had never heard, and she had been able to talk with his only moments ago. Now she spoke 
of him and his possessions like a distant legend that his father had forgotten to tell. The 
Androsogogin Bow of Daezra? 
     "Your name, love." He said bitterly.
     "My oh my, the Silvertongue turns to poison! Impersonating my ways you are, handsome. 
Though the phrase sexy would have suited me finer than love." she said cheerfully. Daezra 
wondered if she spoke this way to throw off his concentration. He pulled the bow tighter 
again. She tilted her head, smiling at the expectable death.
     "Name?" Daezra asked, trying not to pay any attention to the things she spoke of, but he 
wondered how much more he could take before at least blushing.
     "Ah, manly, you 'ave the might in that arm to silence my mouth, and then you'd not 'ave to 
worry about my distractions. Still, I see you're fixed on making my shirt a bit more drafty if I 
don't tell you my name, though I donna see why you'd want the name of a common--though 
strikingly well endowed--peasant like the likes of myself. So, I'll tell you if you lower that point 
from my heart. " Daezra sighed, frustrated. He lowered the bow slowly, then let the arrow 
come back even more cautiously. "That is good, Silvertongue! Now I 'ave one less worry on 
my back! Now--onto the business at hand: the name of the poor commoner before your 
kingly eyes. My name is M'ellie Ruthven. Aeyelon in base, they are, like yours, my lord, but 
not as fun on my lips as Daezra. You like it?"
     "What?" Daezra found it hard to believe that she continued the act even after the danger 
had subsided. Finally he realized that it might not be an act.
     "My name, dear, do you like it."
     "Yes. Very much, M'ellie. I like it fine."
     "Very good!" She announced standing quickly. Daezra reached for his bow, ready to knock 
her to the floor. She looked down at this, and with a grunt of pain, the arrow flew away from 
his reach and lodged itself in the hillside. She collapsed into his lap. After a second her 
breathing calmed and she opened her eyes; Daezra looked at her with one eyebrow 
struggling up. "Not very good at that, are we love. Can't quite get it up, can ya?"
     "What?"
     "Your eyebrow, precious, you can't get it to stay up by itself. I can. See." Daezra couldn't 
help smiling at the stranger whom he had threatened repeated and now showed off her 
eyebrow skills. "Oi, oi ,oi, bazoi! Don't do those again, big guy, I can't handle that too much. 
You were ready to put me to the floor, you were. Luckily I know a bit of magic, but it takes a 
bunch out'a me, love."
     "Makes you faint, I see."
     "Nah!" she announced sitting up. "I just wanted to fall into the arms of the king. Used to 
wish I could, and now I 'ave! Well--not really to 'is arms, but it'll 'ave to suit," said she 
standing slowly. "Oui, but, well, with a more grown tall look at it, per-say-haps this is better 
after all!" She chuckled to herself, dusting off her knees.
     "M'ellie, the dark sorceress, I would guess would be you. I hope you don't plan on killing 
me with that little arrow trick, 'cause I could have pulled another as quick as. . .this!" Daezra 
jumped to his feet and threw his arm back into his quiver, drawing an arrow faster then 
thought. Though he had no magic, he moved so fast that it seemed so. The bow flew to his 
hands and the arrow appeared to draw itself. M'ellie found the arrow pointing at her heart 
again.
     "No no sir! Bless me no! Dark!? Sorceress!? No, love, not me! I'd never lay a hand--less 
you'd like me too--on your body! Would never plan to kill my master! I am born only tah serve 
you! I'd fall down on my knees to clean the tiles beneath your feet, if that twas my lot in life, 
but it isn't. I 'ave to take you to Stone Table. You must come with me to seek the sender of 
your vision!" She said, falling to his feet, hugging his ankles.
     "Look, stranger, I have--vision sender? You know about my dream! Get up! This is what I 
wanted to know! Tell me more about you and your mission!" She pulled away, releasing his 
legs, but staying on all fours. She had not expected him to take any interest in her of any 
kind. He sat down in front of her, his eyes meeting hers. M'ellie looked at him in 
mystification, then finally shook the hair out of her face and returned to her self.
     "I caught ya that time!" she announced, coming off her hands and beating the dirt and 
wood chunks away. "You were looking down my top, you were, love. You was fix'n to 'ave a 
look!" Daezra shook his head in disappointment. "You're not going to get off the subject now. 
Tell all."
     "Start'n with what, my ever so handsome and intelligent lord?"
     Daezra rubbed his chin, then looked the stranger over again. She seemed to glow in the 
darkness, beaming despite his first impressions of evil. Though all she said seemed 
unbelievable, Daezra could not force himself to doubt her. He looked long into her eyes, and 
noticed again the glowing bright purple with its pale blue flecks; the smoothly pointed ears. 
What manner of creature was she? He asked, "What manner of creature are you, M'ellie?"
     "Oho, I love that!"
     "What now?"
     "Yah said my name!" Then, as an after thought, she added, "Though you didn't take me, 
like I 'ad though you was gonna back there."
     "M'ellie!"
     "ooooooh!" She laughed and clenched her fists with excitement.
     "Stranger, tell me what manner of creature you are." he insisted. She did not answer, still 
too excited. "What in the heart of Reighk Rom are you, girl!" he screamed. M'ellie flashed a 
heated look at him. He felt his stomach turn.
     "Curses! You speak evil names, Silvertongue. Say not the name of Reighk" she paused, 
cringing. "Say not the name of the traitor assistant of Azyr! This is no land to say his name, 
for it brings evil upon you! Evil!" He accent had fallen away again.
     "I apologize."
     "You? Apologize to me? The Well Keeper blesses me blessed on this night! I only want for 
one last honor, though I'd expect no time 'ere! Oh, yes, you 'ad asked a question! You 'ave 
given me a place to start, and you'll find me a place to end, too. Let me see." She laid onto 
her back, looking at the stars. "My make, you ask. Well, the people in the parts about us call 
our kind, when they get a view of us, well, they call us Elves. It aint very accurate to 
Baennun's legends, but we might resemble'em in ways. Still, we got differences. But, that 
aint important; you don't wan'na hear what these fools call us. We call ourselves, and Azyr 
named us--by some blessed honor he used his own tongue to call us--he named us Nimf."
     "Nimf?"
     "Tis the word we use, for we'd never dream tah take our great Azyr named name away 
from ourselves! But, I can'na tell you too much more, for I am only a low one, and I am here 
to bring you back. I am a servant, love, and we know not the plannings of the higher ones, 
but we do as we are told, for it is best for the wishes of Azyr. I know not what end they'll use 
you for, Daezra my love, and before I laid eyes on your loveliness I didn't even know I was 
coming to get the man of legend! You are to be crowned a king, and, if you wish me, I could 
be one of your loyal court harems, if I could have the honor of the deed." said she excitedly. 
Daezra frowned and inhaled deeply, not knowing how to handle someone like her. "Sorry, 
me lord, sir, handsome, my love, I meant not to make you uncomfortable in any such way. I 
just deliver messages and people, I dare-per-say, though I've never delivered such a golden 
message to such a diamond man!"
     "Message? You have a message for me? How did they even know I existed?! And what is 
all this stuff about kings?"
     "Oh, sexy, I know not the orders and powers of the higher ones. I am no king, queen, or 
prince. I tell you, I am no king queen or prince, so I don't know their ways. No I don't They 
said you'd be here, and they said I's be attracted to you, but I had even laid some doubt. 
Then you were here, and I did my deal. Turns out your the hero of my favorite bed-time story! 
You are the king, It said, you're Daezra, and the stories read that you should take the heart 
of a girl and they shall have many children and rule the Nimf kindly. I know you've taken the 
heart o'this girl, but I can doubt against doubt that you'd 'ave any children with a common 
one like myself. See, I 'ave a message straight from the higher ones. They say to me, bring 
this letter to a man who will be asleep on the one hundredth hill, then bring him here. The 
message sender will be pleased, as will the higher one--the king and queen and all--and they 
will give you a fine husband with a fine house for you to look after. Then they said goodbye 
and I came here, with this." 
     M'ellie reached into her shirt and pulled out a sliver of folded paper. It seemed to glitter. 
"I kept it close to my heart, love. I 'ad hoped that you would 'ave found it yourself, but the 
hopes of a commoner aint like the hopes of a king or queen or prince. I aint no king or 
queen or prince." Her accent had strengthened as her excitement had risen. She handed the 
paper to him.
     Daezra, only looking up at her one last time, unfolded the paper and found that it was 
actually very finely beaten gold. He looked up at M'ellie, and, for some reason, a very strange 
thing he found himself saying: "Thank you, M'ellie. You did very well bringing this letter to me 
undamaged. You're reward will be a fine one indeed."
     "I thank you, love." She said, smiling. Daezra wondered at what he said for a few long 
seconds, then he looked down at the writing on the page. It was written in Nimfian. He could 
not make out a single word.
     "I can't read this!" He handed back to her, "You read it to me."
     "Sorry, sir, my love, I cannot read. I know only a few words, and no words of the higher 
ones. Like I said, I'm no king-"
     "Or queen or prince. You told me." Daezra carefully folded the gold leaf back up, then 
started to hand it to her. Then, wondering what would be what she expected of a Nimfian 
hero, he snatched it back. "M'ellie. I want you to keep this safe till I take it back, love." He 
smiled, then he carefully replaced it where she had got it. 
     M'ellie grinned wildly, holding her chest where the warm letter rested. "Till you come back 
for it, my lord." 
     
     
     
     
     In the morning Kro brought back a dead rodent from the woods and Daezra cooked it on 
the still crackling fire. M'ellie still slept, curled up on the hill side, where her back had been 
pressed against Daezra's. Through the night they had talked more, late into hours he did not 
know. He couldn't tell how long he had slept--though he knew it was short--but he knew it 
was the most refreshing he had had in many days. The visions had left him alone. Then, as 
the sun climbed higher in the sky, M'ellie awoke and they headed out.
     For another five miles the territory was more of the stone-topped hills, more hot weather 
and motionless airs. The sky was bright blue, and the ground a dull green. Daezra felt glad to 
have company on this trip as M'ellie wandered silently before him. They spoke little. Daezra 
moved quietly and tired, and soon M'ellie was far ahead and Kro was urging him on. 
Perhaps, he thought, my sleep was thinner than I had hoped at Red Sun up. They continued 
on a thousand thousand more strides in this order, climbing to hilltop, rushing through hill 
valley. 
     About noon the South Outlet road appeared before them and, as Daezra had hoped 
earlier, no leach lilies showed their evil buds on the path. M'ellie led the way boldly down the 
road, and it cut cleanly around hills and over hills, making the trip much easier to handle. 
Still, Daezra fell further behind, and M'ellie actually had to stop more then once to wait for 
him. His mind was plagued with the thoughts of the vision, the vision that seemed to be 
quickly fading. When he had the visions he had thought he could never forget them, and 
now that he wanted to remember them, they slipped away like the autumn winds.
     They camped on the road that night, and the had little conversation. M'ellie stayed watch, 
and Daezra for some reason trusted her completely. He fell into sleep at the early hour of 
eight o'clock, and when he woke on the following afternoon all memories of his vision were 
gone. When he looked to the four points of the compass all he saw was hills, the lake, the 
road, and the horizon. No visions lay in them. He only slightly recalled a vision in which 
M'ellie had been seen, but even that he was unsure of. He felt powerless. Still, they walked 
all that day and at night Daezra killed a rabbit which they cooked and eat, and he realized 
that all the dried rations he had brought along were gone. They would have to live off the 
land. Kro did not eat that night. Daezra and M'ellie slept with their back together that night 
for it was extremely cold, especially for a place so near the Ragged Face Lake. Then the 
headed out at breakfast.
     The Outlet road will take us over this hilly area quickly, then, if it still exists there, through 
the Red Wisp Forest, to a place called Crystal Town. Then, as my father had told me, the 
road became the Mountain Trail, and that would take us through the black, volcanic peaks 
of the R'zona mountains. Daezra kept thinking to himself, reminding that the path was not 
very long. That afternoon they left the hills behind. 
     There, standing like a wall of solid black shadow before them, was the Red Wisp Forest. It 
was said that in the winter the leaves turned red and fell to the ground creating a soft red 
fluff, or wisp. It was said to be a beautiful sight to see, that soft red carpet before you, but in 
the late summer moving quickly toward early fall the forest was dark and melancholy. 
Daezra shrugged off his backpack and dropped himself onto a pile of soft gravel on the 
South Outlet Road. Kro came over to be petted; M'ellie looked down on him in 
disappointment.
     "Get up, my lord, we 'aven't finish today's trip."
     Though he had though better of it, Daezra did as she said (because she had already 
come all this way to find him) and pulled his light pack on. "Well," he said, pausing long 
before continuing. "What should we expect, M'ellie?"
     "Well, love, I'd say we should expect what you wouldn't think to expect. Handsome, I 'ave 
only come through these woods once in my life, and I find them a strange place. 'owever, we 
need only to travel through it for an hour or more per-dare-I-say, and we 'ave to hope that we 
don't have too much trouble. After such an hour or what be we will come to G' V' god. There 
we should make stay at the Koroh Inn, and we'll 'ave to share a small room for I aint got 
much pure doorite, and that tis the money they accept. I expect we'll 'ave to share a bed." 
She looked over to him with a broad smile, "Makes me all goose pimpled just thinking 'bout 
it."
     "Me too." He sighed, "The forest that is. I don't like the looks of it."
"Well, my all exalted lord and kind, I'll 'ave hope that we make it through without event, for 
the Koroh Inn itself will be an adventure for the likes of a Baennun king and his ever-so-
willing slave. They donna take kindly to the kingly among the Baennun, 'specially one with 
such an attractive little helper, if you get mah notion, love. You'll 'ave to keep that bow pulled 
tighter then my clothing." 
     "I can pull it tight enough, M'ellie."
     "Said my name," she said, stepping forward into the woods. Daezra followed her wearily, 
wondering how anyone could think so much of such a no one.
     "M'ellie," he said proudly.
     "Ohhh.... say't again!"
     "M'ellie!"
     "Again!"
     "M'ellie, love!"
     "Yes! Hahaha! Yes! Yes! Again!"
     And, mumbling such, the two slipped into the darkness of the woods.
     
     
     
     
     How far and how long those woods went on was impossible to tell for all you could see 
was what was to either side, or to ten feet before or behind you. Daezra had tried to figure 
how long they'd traveled through that dense darkness, but it was impossible to know hours 
when the sun is unseen and the day is nothing but a walk and you have nothing forward to 
look to but more darkness and more walking. Kro and Daezra fell behind and M'ellie tried to 
keep them moving, but it was difficult to keep any hope alive in such desolation. Only she 
knew how long this trip would prove, though she would only tell them that it was just at the 
end of this high way, love. As they went on Daezra lost hope little by little, and hope was their 
only food for not even insects had heart enough to cross through the Red Wisp in summer. 
All he could remember was walking in the dark, and when he thought about the future all he 
could see was walking in the dark. He felt as if he'd been walking blind since birth and he'd 
be walking blind when he died. And, perhaps, he was correct, from a certain point of view.
     The path was springy beneath his feet but, even with his souls of thick hide, sharpened 
branches and needle like leaves stung him with every step. Nothing was left to drive him on 
save M'ellie's sweet voice calling from ahead. He wondered if he'd ever have the time or the 
sanity to thank her if they ever got away from the void. It was so lightless; so soundless; so 
very lifeless. He wanted never to see a place like this again, though he doubted such evil 
could be equaled in all the worlds of existence. Could Azyr have been so cruel?
     "Come on, beloved, we are almost there. No use for you stragglin'. If we make some quick 
steps, we'll reach it quicker then you'll 'ave guessed." M'ellie said, coming back for him. She 
grabbed him by the arm, and he looked up, unsurely.
     "I can't." 
     "Come now, sweet'eart, handsome, I know you can do it! Look, dear'eart, you've got a 
beautiful woman try'n to make you quicken to the Inn, and you're wait'n your way behind. 
Less your fix'n to look at my backside, I'd say there's something wrong in the head."
     "Please, M'ellie. Stop. There is something wrong with me, it's this wood! I can't take this 
darkness any longer! All hope has been pulled-sucked-" he made drastic sucking sounds, 
"right out of me! I need to see hope, or I'll start walking in circles."
     "Circles, love?" she smiled at him, chuckling lightly. "Come now, tisn't so bad. The wood is 
a sight of beauty in the winter, when the carpet o'red covers the floor, soften'n your every 
step. I tell you, my lord, it is a sight you'd pay a pretty sheckle to see!" she said, resting her 
head on his shoulder, looking around the wood like she could see the redness then.
     Daezra sighed, walking forward, "Let's go." He went about four paces by himself, then 
came around the bend. There, burning his eyes and skin, was a bright light he could have 
never imagined. "My lord, M'ellie, we've reached paradise within the pits of hell!" he 
screamed, running back to her. She leapt into his arms, but he wasn't ready, and they 
tumbled backward together. Kro leapt in circles, barking madly.
     M'ellie softly placed happy kisses all over his face, and he tried little to push them away. 
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he stood, the two going together to the edge of 
the woods. There they stood, their feet resting on a wide gravel road. The village, as usual, 
was flooded with the smell of a fruitful warm spring day and the sound of sweet commotion. 
Gleaming buildings encased in pure crystal lined the moss-covered road, flashing blindingly 
into their eyes and making it sweetly difficult to see. At the end of the street stood the proud 
and tall center of town, the Way Fair, or Koroh, Inn. Daezra stumbled forward, feeling like all 
events in his life lead up to this moment.
     He staggered past the General Store on his left. He stopped to stair at the first building 
on his right, and the door's heavy crystal plating swung silently open on its silvery hinges. On 
the floor was a statue strangely resembling an older Daezra, a crystal on his forehead. He 
moved on. The second building on the left's door swung open just as mystically, and there 
sat a short Ogray who leapt out of his chair and screamed in a strange language. M'ellie 
hugged him tighter. He walked on, every step becoming lighter and stranger. The second 
door on the right swung open also, and an older, funny and friendly looking man stepped out 
and began to speak Daezra's language with a strange accent. 
     "Hello! I was expecting you to return soon! You are the woman who passed through here 
many days ago, are you not? I am. . ." but his sad little voice drifted off behind them. Daezra 
kept walking, his constitution returning. M'ellie was arm against him and he could feel her 
breath, but she seemed weightless, like she belonged in his arms. Daezra paused at the 
third house on the left. It was an old Baennun House of Owe. The windows were boarded 
and dark and the door had a heavy boulder in front of it. It filled him with a strange sadness, 
like this was a reminder of a happier time. He could not tell why he felt this way, nor could 
he figure out why they would leave an old rotting wooden church in the middle of such a 
beautiful place.
     He marched onward, coming to the doors of the Way Fair Inn. Daezra Daynn kicked the 
door open and took a single broad step over the thresh-hold, carrying M'ellie like a wife into 
a new house. That thought lingered long in his mind, then he set M'ellie back down. The door 
closed on a spring behind him. 
     The room was filled with the smell of good whine and Ogray ale, and a strong undertone 
of gasoline. Ogray drinks. A commotion was gathered around a scantly dressed Ogray female 
on the center stage runway. Daezra watched for a second, captivated by her song. He could 
not help but to listen, feeling the same strange sadness he had when looking at the church.
     Taken by the sky, to the stars beyond
     Taken by the sky, Taken by the sky
     Gone went the hope, the eternal bond
     Beyond touch, beyond reach of our arm
     Taken by the sky, Taken by the sky
     Ever we let our king come to harm
     Taken by the sky, to where we not know
     Taken by the sky, taken by the sky
     In the forest, in the wood, darkness grows
     Our king is lost, our land in waste
     Taken by the sky, Taken by the sky
     But never, never will we forget the face
     Or the name
     till he will claim
     Doro Dyanne
     Taken by the sky, Taken by the sky.
     
Daezra glanced over at M'ellie, wondering what that strange melody had meant, and 
wondering who Doro Daynne was and what he had to do with Crystal Town, but there was no 
time to ask. More pressing things, like exhaustion, were on his mind as he walked over 
toward the check-in counter. Behind it sat a burly looking Ogray with a long black beard and 
an unusual steel helmet. 
     "I'd like a pair of rooms." Daezra said calmly.
     "Sorry, sir Ogray, love 'ere means he'd like one room for a pair. Get mah drift, black 
beard?" she smiled sweetly at him. The Ogray looked at her with a strange curiosity in his 
eyes, then suddenly he shook his head like he was shaking off a nap.
     "No no, you, not again, stranger. You laid such a spell on me with your beauty and 
straight-forward and dirty ways last time you passed tru my doors! You may tink you're pretty 
keen wit tem pretty eyes in tat pretty face, but it won't not work on me a second time, no it 
won't." The Ogray looked at her angrily, and Daezra realized that she had tried the same 
enchantment on this man that she had on him. The Ogray looked over toward Daezra. "Ah! A 
man, toh his face is familiar to my eyes, I cannot let either of you to have a room. We don't 
sell to such weak Baennun, nor half-mills!" said he. Then he laid his hand on a bell and 
clanged it repeatedly in a strange display to emphasize his words, then he turned and 
plopped himself down in a chair.
     Someone tugged at the base of Daezra's shirt, "Hey, stranger, you weak little snot. Tis is 
te place of Ogray, not fer your types, you hear, you stink'n fool?" said a ratty looking 
townsmen. His breath smelled of gasoline. "You hear?!"
     "Yeah." said Daezra with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.
     "Don't cha roll your eyes at me, boy! It boggles me to not know why such Baennun pusses 
come and bodder our town! We're good people here, but no, you god'da bodder us--and lods 
too!" The half-sized Ogray threw himself on Daezra, but he caught the Ogray under the arms 
and held him up like a foul smelling baby. The Ogray was extremely heavy and sturdy built. 
Daezra felt a crack across his jaw as the drunk Ogray head butted him.
     "Hit him love! Kill the little drunker!" M'ellie cheered, but he dropped the Ogray in 
confusion. The Ogray screamed, and it grew a crowd. The Ogray, reacting with wild Ogray 
emotions, burst out in tears from a busted pride. Not sure what to do, Daezra looked up in 
the crowd with a worried look, then frowned at the drunker and punched him across the 
face. The little alien collapsed, throwing up on himself. "That's it, my lord! Manly punch! 
Manly punch!" cheered M'ellie. Daezra hadn't finished rubbing away the pain in his fist 
before more drunken Ogray had charged forward. 
     Daezra collapsed under their weight, feeling heavy hands pounding on him, and he 
wondered how much more he could take. His strength was dwindling. Then he felt fire in his 
side, and when he looked he saw a little knife, the size of a ring finger, twisted in his torso. 
"First blood, love! They made first blood, law says you can kill'em--or sort of! Well, I say you 
can kill'em! Hit'em love! Go Daezra!" but he could not fight the pain. So proud he had felt, 
walking down that street with M'ellie in his arms, and now he was loosing a bar fight with a 
bunch of drunken aliens. In rage he stood, and the Ogray on his back was thrown onto the 
counter, the bell fell to the floor in a clatter.
     In a breath an arrow was pulled, placed upon the string and drawn. An Ogray screeched 
in pain, clutching an arrow in his shin. The air whistled. A fat one took two in an arm. A well 
placed kick landed in the gut of another, and he fell over, vomiting on himself. Another pair 
of screams, another as his palm was stabbed with an arrow shaft to the floor. In the end 
Daezra had lost seven arrows and eight Ogray were defeated, but none dead. He stood 
among the cries of pain and the gasps of awe, holding the Androsogogin bow in his left and 
four faidder shaft arrows in his right. The room, even M'ellie, held there breath in tension. 
Finally Daezra spoke, his voice dry and joking, "If you don't mind, boys, I'd like those arrows 
delivered to my room in the morning."
     The people cheered and some ran forward to help their fallen companions. M'ellie ran 
happily forward and hugged him tightly. "AH, love, puts me all to shivers!" she said, kissing 
his dramatically on the lips. She stepped back, her arms still around his neck, and looked 
down at herself. "Look, I'm covered from head tah toe with goose pimples!" she hugged him, 
resting her head on his shoulder.
     "Come on, M'ellie, let's go to bed. It's been a long day."
     "That's what I was gonna say, love!" she said smiling. Then he walked forward and threw a 
bag of coins onto the table, then found his way to whatever room he wished. 
     No complaint was heard.
     
     
     
     
     
     Morning came quickly. Daezra awoke on the floor, and was half relieved and half 
disappointed that M'ellie had stayed in her bed all night long. It was a strange thing for 
Daezra Daynne to wake up before someone else, especially when it seemed so early. The 
time on the wall read nine o'clock. For a few moments he watched her breathing, watched 
the sun shimmering on her, and had a strange thought that she had died. . .that he hadn’t 
been able to save them. He shook it off.
     Daezra sat up, and M'ellie was not asleep as he had thought. She was laying on the bed, 
a peaceful smile on her face, simply bathing in the sunlight, her arms and legs spread.
     "Morning, love. I 'ad been wondering when you'd be waking up. So I thought to myself 
M'ellie, a pretty gal like yourself should 'ave a proper suntan, I said. So girl, you should put 
yourself right down here and lay in the sun. I 'ad considered tak'n ma cloths off for it, but I 
figured that the occasion weren't special enough yet. So, lord, say we should head out?" She 
said in a quick line, sitting up calmly, her soft pink lips still in a gentle smirk.
     "I don’t think taking your cloths off would have hurt. . .but, yes, we’ll leave.” Daezra stood, 
then walked over to the door, lifting up his bag. Kro barked outside. "Kro'll need some feed, 
I'll guess, but we can we find ourselves a butcher who'll make him some food. Then we'll 
purchase some more supplies, some dried fish perhaps."
     "No. Sorry, my oh so manly lord, we can'na afford the time you'd need to do such things. 
Kro will 'ave to get himself some meal on the road. M'lord, you 'ave shown me last night that 
you are the legend that I came for." She spun herself on the bed toward him, seeming 
suddenly serious. "You showed skill using that bow and those arrows, and you lived when I 
had doubt. Your wound, have a look at it. It is gone, just like the leach lily bights you had told 
me about. You were born of the lake and live of the lake, and if I'm to make right on my 
swear, we must reach the lake sooner then the soonest wind. I have had a feeling in the 
night, a perception of pending doom. . ."
     "So, I guess we don't have time to get a hair cut."
     M'ellie smiled again. "No, lord, we 'aven't the time for such things. Sadly we 'aven't the 
time for my wishes too-so. Still, as I 'ave said, we 'ave to reach the Stone Table sooner then 
the soonest wind or all I said should prove lies and bunkess-whatnot."
     "So when you say sooner then the soonest wind you mean, maybe, now or something?" 
Daezra chuckled, walking over to the door.
     "Silvertongue, love." M'ellie said standing up with a bounce. Daezra pulled open the heavy 
door, listening to it creak as it glided on old metal hinges. There, laying in a pile on the floor 
with a fine ribbon wrapped around them, were the cleaned and sharpened arrows he had 
fired the night before. He picked them up, grinning in amazement. He counted quickly and 
found that his were not the only there, for there were twenty arrows: his seven with faidder 
shaft and stone point, thirteen with wood shaft and crystal point.
     "A gift." Daezra sighed to himself. "Fear is a horrid tool."
     "I knew you'd be one to say that, love. That's why you'll be king."
     
     
     
     
     It was overcast in Crystal Town when they left. The two solemn figures with their dog, 
talking quietly, slipped unnoticed out of the town, falling out of the thousand times reflected 
clearing and into the blackness of the Red Wisp Forest. There they traveled for two days in 
the darkness. The path was the same, but the endless feeling of despair they had somehow 
left behind in the Crystal City.
     They traveled on, resting when they felt the need, eating the what they could afford, then 
heading off again when time started to bother M'ellie's conscience. Still, it was dark and 
dismal for those two days leaving endless hours for talking about whatever they wished. 
Daezra spoke mostly of his childhood: of his father teaching him skills that seemed strange, 
of his father's mysterious past, and of his equally mysterious mother. 
     On one of the days, on one of the hours, whether day or night they could not say, the 
conversation wound itself and settled on the subject of Nimf. Though Daezra understood 
little of what she spoke, and remembered the smell of her hair and the sound of her voice 
better then the meaning of her words, but by this time he had picked up a few facts that to 
him seemed useful. He took it that the Nimf all existed on the Stone Table, though he found 
out very little about their history. They seemed a strange race in all ways, very strict in some 
while very loose in others. Shifting the balance to extremes but still keeping the balance.
     The society lived in closed in cities of great wealth, and every city--for a reason she would 
not explain--overlooked the Ragged Faced Lake with grand defenses. The cities were built 
with great stones and encrusted with a arrays of jewels and precious metals, glimmering in 
the sun that held directly above on noon. Most buildings were high towers with interiors like 
apartments. M'ellie spoke of grand open and exposed bridges that stretched from building 
to building, high above the cobble gold-stone streets. 
     There were living quarters and community centers and great towers for science and for 
command, and--though peace loving--they were armed to the teeth with weaponry and 
citadel of the finest construction and most dangerous design. M'ellie made little indication 
what they were protecting or whom they were protecting it from, but Daezra construed that it 
was a broad enemy and a mighty prize.
However, this was one of the less strange aspects of the Nimfian culture, for, as Daezra had 
seen in M'ellie, they had much wilder ways that he could little understand. There was a 
strange sacredness to the Naked Skin, or Gia'Vot as M'ellie called it, which Daezra had a 
hard time even talking about. As she had put it, to Daezra's tight-laced Baennun upbringing 
Nimf were extremely open, and sometimes considered perverted in their ways. She 
explained that Nimf were very comfortable with little clothing, and if it weren't for outside 
influences, no dress would be known or needed. However, as M'ellie sternly put it, there is 
nothing "perverted" or "insane and filthy" about them. Beyond this, as far as dating, kissing, 
or male and female relations of any type, they are actually far stricter then any Baennun 
civilization he had ever learned of. In fact, the genders always lived divided.
     Males and females lived in separate, sacred and protected quarters. Males and females 
never were to meet in private. They were not allowed to date, and even walking on the same 
street was looked down upon. Child bearing was arranged by the government, and the 
couples never knew who the partner would be until the time of conception. The child is then 
raised by the wealthiest of the couple, which in many cases is the female. A professional 
father or wet-nurse would be paid for.
     That night they camped, and looking upon her, Daezra wondered what the others looked 
like. M'ellie had a sort of Tulunayn look to her, but there were definite differences. She was 
shorter, much shorter: perhaps five foot eleven. Her eyes were extremely large and round, 
the bright lavender-aqua color glowing strangely. With her hair down it was long and lovely, 
well cared for and probably washed in the wondrous waters of the Ragged Face Lake. Her 
skin was a soft, a mild light brown tan, and she had said that this skin shade had nothing to 
do with time in the sun (sunlight does not effect their skin in any way) but it was the color 
she was born with. She had extremely long legs, like a full Aeyelon.
     Like a Tulunayn she stored energy in a different way then fat. Tulunayns simply did not 
store energy for they had a whole other organ for storing energy, and their body simply had a 
substance called fibrose that padded their body parts. However, M'ellie had explained that 
all fatty substances in the Nimfian body were of a stiffer stuff, resembling the consistency of 
relaxed muscle. There for, all their body parts are very firm. There were the four fingers and 
the one thumb on each side, which he had hardly noticed before, and there were the 
pointed ears. They were not slightly pointed small ears like a Kauin or Aeyelon. They were 
long, slim, pointed ears that came elegantly from her soft hair. M'ellie had explained that the 
Nimf were born with long drooping ears, but their were cropped to this shape in child-hood. 
Some ears would stand tall and stiff and long lengths and others had to be cut shorter, and 
M'ellie had pride in her three and a half inch points.
     Then, in the morning, they continued on. Kro marched happily along behind, wagging his 
tail. M'ellie bounced along, still talking. And so they continued for a number of days. Then, 
six days after leaving Crystal City in the behind, they reached the entrance to the Mountain 
Trail.
It consisted simply of two rows of ruffled chiseled bluish stone pillars lining the sides of the 
South Outlet Road. To the sides of them was the scattered stones and ash covered surfaces 
of the R'zona mountains, before them was the vertical faces and slanting peaks and level 
ledges of the long silent, yet still ash covered, R'zona range. It was a small range, and, as far 
as M'ellie knew, it had erupted last one hundred and thirteen years ago, and it was not 
expected to blow again for another three hundred. They continued forward, and came to the 
official end of the South Outlet Road. There was a square pillar of stone laid across, and 
carved into it was the words Nora P'la, meaning--roughly translated--the Mountain Trail. 
Better known as Black Ash Path. 
     "Well, gracious, 'ere we are, and 'ere we'll stay till you give the words to move out." M'ellie 
said, rubbing the hilt to her blade, looking toward the mountains in a strange daydream. 
     "What do you suggest?"
     "I had to come through here, lord, but I wouldn'na wish to do it twice, if it weren't for the 
urgency and all of this. The Higher Ones said for. So I go, over the mountains, back through 
Nora P'la. "
     Daezra looked down at Kro, who had taken a seat at his ankles. Kro looked up and 
whimpered, not panting. In fact, the heat had subsided, for a cold wind blew off the 
mountains. Daezra inspected the faint trail that wound off around a rock cluster ahead. He 
wondered what dwelled in those hidden corners and unturned stones. "Do you think the 
North Entrance is still intact? I have been told that the last part of this trail delves 
underground for a very short time, and if that has collapsed then we have very little chance 
of escaping this mountain."
     "I agree, but the Ash Tunnel was still there when I passed through. I can'na be sure what 
'as happened to it since, sir. Still, there dwell worse things then rocks and lava in those 
mountains. I fear them, I do. The people name them Trolls, and so do we for it is fitting with 
all aspects. They are awful creatures, monsters that only could have developed through the 
workings of the dark one."
     "Reighk Rom?"
     M'ellie snapped her head up, her large eyes flaring. "Do NOT speak his name in this land. 
You'll have all the evil of the universe down on us. You are near more resources of his might 
then you realize, wish for evil and evil may appear. Now, fall silent, for your words have 
meaning." M'ellie marched forward, dramatically tearing the blade from her belt. Daezra 
hoped along behind, followed by Kro.
     "I guess that means we're going in?" Daezra said, coming to her side.
     "Did we ever 'ave the choice, my handsome lord?"
     
     
     
     
     The road was impossibly hard. Unbelievably difficult each step became as they climbed 
ever upward. Stride after stride was a struggle against natural forces of wind and stone and 
gravity, and the muscle of Baennun and Nimf seemed to be failing as they continued. 
Summer was quickly diving into Autumn, and as they went higher and higher it grew colder 
and colder. There were no snowy peaks in the R'zona mountains, but things already seemed 
very different from old fact, so hope for avoiding ice seemed slim. Things around the Ragged 
Face Lake had been changing quickly for many many years, and all that was impossible 
suddenly seemed possible. An energy was swelling, and not Daezra or M'ellie or any of her 
Higher Ones understood from the low seat they sat at. 
     The Higher Ones figured the first inflow began almost exactly five hundred and fifty four 
years ago, and this was surely a magic sign. M'ellie explained that the Nimf call themselves 
the fifth creation upon the fifth planet possessing the five life forms naturally, and the next 
year of inflow would be year 555.
     "Five life forms?" Daezra asked, stumbling over a rock, pulling himself up a steeper 
incline. "There are more then five life forms living on Jouna."
     "No no." M'ellie said, dusting the ash off her leather clothing. "See, love, only five are the 
original creations of Azyr. Look, gracious lord, first he made himself the Aeyelon. Full with the 
strand of the god were they, most like him in all ways. They only had a might ounce of 
mortality in their fiber. Then he made Baennun, they were number one, since Aeyelon 
weren’t yet a race. Baennun was a tinge bit weaker with his strand, but he was like Azyr in 
his own ways." She scrambled up a piece of loose stones, then rested her grip on a large 
outcrop of black lava stone. "The Carron were made cause he was experimenting with the 
things that life could come from. See, Carron came from rodents. Then, though Baennun 
have problems with this, he created the ice blood Kauin. Then the Montain to watch over his 
spells, to make sure no one could access the Well through the Three Bridges. They guard the 
Talisman, the key to the Bridges."
     "This is all a little beyond me." Daezra said, pulling himself up beside her on the stony 
face.
     "Doesn't matter. Anyway, Nimf were the last. We was made fifth, and we was to guard and 
watch over the Well itself."
     "What about the other aliens?"
     "Oh, they was made by Reighk Rom. See, Reighk Rom was Azyr's assistant, his very first 
creation, the first Aeyelon. Powerful he was. Reighk Rom stole the power though, and he 
created his own races. First he made himself into a race, Aeyelon, then he made Tulunayn, 
and they were much like him. Then he made the Gion. Then he made the Ogray, stealing the 
idea of Carron in a way. Then he made Spprahgue, an evil ice blood version of the Kauin. All 
in all, the order went as such: Aeyelon, Tulunayn, Baennun, Gion, Carron, Ogray, Kauin, 
Spprahgue, Montain, and Nimf."
     "But there are more."
     "They came later. Reighk Rom and Azyr battled across the Outspace universe, setting 
their races against each other. Meanwhile, to keep the armies filled, their assistants each 
created new races. Azyr's new assistant, Illidor, and Reighk Rom's assistant, Karakor Rom, 
created all the others. In the end, Azyr and Reighk Rom destroyed each other minutes after 
Illidor and Karakor Rom destroyed each other. So, here we are left with the legacy of Reighk 
Rom. The responsibility of the Well.
     "Azyrians, evil in their ways, learned to use the spells, just like Reighk Rom. Without 
responsibility or training they sucked up the Well for thousands upon thousands of 
thousands of years. It was near bottoming out, the universe of Outspace ever so near being 
destroyed. Then, about 555 years ago the Well reversed its decline. It rose and rose, then 
about one hundred and fifty years ago it filled, and has been growing since, over flowing." 
M'ellie finished, and pulled herself up onto the outcrop and had a seat. She rubbed her 
hands together, getting the gritty ash off. Daezra pulled himself up beside her. The path had 
become steep, almost like stairs, but with no steps.
     "You speak of the Well like it was a physical thing, not just an idea. My father taught me 
that the Well was all around us, in the air, and we breathed it and lived in it at all times. But 
all that you say gives the idea that the Well was something that could be touched. You talk 
of it rising, you talk of watching it, and you talk of Montain guarding the keys to access it. 
This is not what has been taught to me."
     "I know. The entire Outspace 'as been taught wrong. It was done purposely. The Well is a 
well, a real one in a way, though we know’n’t where it is. We watch over it at all times, 
though it is not seeable to our eyes. We taught it all wrong so that the want for the Well 
would’na is born into any hearts. For endless and countless time no one has known the Well 
as a physical and real thing, but something 'as changed. Somehow a single race figured it all 
out. They are the Gion. They had begun a quest, and their leader had built an army. Luckily 
they fell for Azyr's red herring, and all their plans went wrong. Now they have nothing."
     "I don't understand."
     "You will. It will be clear in time, but we must hurry now. The story is far too long for this 
time, and making it clear is beyond my skills. I am merely a messenger, I am no king or 
queen or prince. Only the Higher Ones can tell this tale as it should be told, so I will let them 
tell it. Come, time is wasting, love." Daezra watched her accent and old ways slowly flow 
back to her as she turned and headed off up the path.
     The sun reached noon then fell back toward the earth faster then Daezra could have 
imagined possible. They continued on, finding stairs carved into the rocks. They pushed 
onward till the path leveled out, and came into an area of trees.
     There, an area where the path was well could be seen in the loose gravel. The path was 
soft, but the rocky sides came up to knee level, hard and black and covered in ash. Ahead 
the sides grew higher, like pillars, making a sort of doorway that the path dove into. The 
walls were riddles and gnarled, dark faces forming in the shadows. At the higher section 
trees grew, reaching their thick arms across the other side, their fingers interlacing, creating 
a dome of patchwork darkness. Here, before the dark doorway, they camped. Twilight was 
growing dimmer.
     Kro appeared with food later that night, and Daezra had been impressed with his dog's 
skill in finding a way up the steep mountainside. It was a joyous occasion when they were 
reunited, yet M'ellie showed no happiness. She seemed preoccupied, peering wordlessly 
into the dark entrance behind her back.
     Perhaps it was the hard traveling and the stomach full of food, but whatever it was 
Daezra and M'ellie--and even Kro--fell quickly into a deep sleep. Daezra dreamed a strange 
thing. He kept seeing a dark face, a face he recognized--perhaps from visions--and the face 
was friendly. A voice kept telling him to trust this face, but it was not the voice he had heard 
before. This was not the rushed, angry voice that had told him to make his path here, it was 
not the voice of the Nimfian magician who had sent him on this quest. This voice was 
calmer, deeper and lovely, a caring man's voice, and this one did not speak in such riddles. 
It simply said: Daezra Daynn, you must trust this face. It will lead you to destiny. Trust this 
face. Then he was awake.
     It felt like he had been asleep for a year, but the fire was still burning, and the last light of 
twilight was still hanging on. Directly above him the sky was black, but at the edges was a 
grayness, and strange stormy looking border. Crack. A sound echoed through the mountain's 
silence. Daezra froze, listening intently, wondering if the sound was true. 
     A wind was blowing, and it was cold against his skin. He laid there so long that the fire 
began to die away, and he figured that the sound was his imagination. For many more 
minutes he listened to nothing but his and his friends' slow breathing, and no sound came. 
Before closing his eye Daezra made sure his bow was at his left side, and made sure his 
arrows were at his other. Then he fell into sleep.
     
     
     
     "Get up!" A harsh voice called in the darkness. Daezra's eyes shot open and his bow was 
already in his hand. Standing above him, leaning over with a blaster pointed ineptly, was a 
hideous face that his imagination could never have guessed. It was wide and drawn out, a 
mouth full of prickly little teeth, drooling and licking its scaly lips. The nose was a huge pig 
nose and the eyes were dark with huge fangs sticking above them. It was hairless and 
sharp, many scaled spikes and multi-colored wrinkles smiling back at him. "Well, boy, get 
up."
     Kro growled.
     Three arrows shot through the creature's head.
     M'ellie was on her feet.
     Daezra quickly reloaded, unsure how he had ever managed to string and pull and fire so 
many arrows in such a short time. They were running, the three of them, the steep rocky 
sides with its grim faces rushing by with a high pitched whipping of wind. M'ellie was 
outrunning Kro, and Daezra was being left far behind. Trolls. 
     Two more arrows cut through the air, and two more gruff calls reached to the base and 
the tip of the mountains. That was five. Save arrows, save arrows. The temperature began to 
soar. An intense burning heat had conquered the cold. Calls were heard behind, but the 
Trolls seemed more surprised by the events then Daezra had been. Still, they were growing 
angrier by the moment. He strung another arrow, a crystal one this time. He pulled it back, 
stretching against ninety pounds of resistance. The arrow sung. Thud. Another Trolls fell 
from the pursuit. Another Crystal Arrow, another released. They sung beautifully. Not a 
simple whistle, but rising and falling melodies like a bird's song. Then the resounding thud of 
it crushing the breastbone of a Troll.
     The sides were growing steeper and steeper, and M'ellie was growing farther and farther 
away. Daezra felt intense pain in his side, and when he looked down he saw an arrow had 
pierced his leg. He did not see how he continued to run, but as he did the strange, lonely 
bird he had heard before called out. Some how Daezra found the rage to pick up speed. 
     Blood was running down his side. Two more arrows were pulled back, only one Troll fell. 
They were hooting in the background. Their anger had boiled over. M'ellie had vanished. Kro 
barked in the distance. The bird called again. He ran faster. The sides began to fall away. 
The Trolls fell into the distance. Daezra pulled his three last Androsogogin arrows from his 
quiver, and he strung them all at once. He pulled them back. The walls fell totally away in the 
distance, the exit to the tree and rock tunnel. M'ellie could not be seen. He pulled the arrows 
tighter. The bird called. A figure appeared before him.
     Daezra threw his feet down, skittering in the dirt.. The bird called. The figure raised his 
hand. The arrows flew. The bird called.
     Daezra stumbled and fell.
     The night grew dark once again.
     The bird called.
     
     
     "Ouch." Jerress gasped. "Now why did he go and do that?" Jerress sat up, pulling his head 
off the soft gravel floor. "Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH!" Kyl ripped the arrows back through his 
torso, then looked over toward the young man who had fired them, gathering himself at the 
entrance of the Grim Face Path. They were fine arrows, and shot with a skill he had never 
before witnessed. This was the one he was looking for.
     "Now what?" Ashlia asked peeking out from the trees where she sat. 
     “Shush. . .” And Daezra came forward, and calmly stood before Jerress.
     “You. . .” Daezra said, quietly, “You’re the one the dream said to trust. Who are you?”
“I am Jerress Kyl, and this is Ashlia, my assistant.” Ashlia, looking better, nodded to him, 
then let go of M’ellie’s and Kro’s mouths. “Sorry to frighten you. . .why are you running. . .and 
the arrows. . .”
     Then they heard it. Rising over the mountains in an army. . .
     “Trolls.” 
     
     
     
     "Get down!" Jerress screamed, his arms wrapped around M'ellie's shoulders, her down 
and screaming. An explosion rang out behind. Rock rained down. 
     "What the 'ell 'appened!?" M'ellie screamed, tripping over a stone in her path. 
     "We teleported. . . magically went from--" Another explosion erupted behind. More 
spraying rock. A Troll's arm slammed down before them, spraying blood in its wake as it fell. 
"One place to another. . .just escaped the mountain's explosion. Keep running." They leapt 
over a stone in the path, coming toward the opening in the Mountain Trail’s entrance. 
     "Jerress! The path has recollapsed!" Ashlia screamed from behind, the unconscious 
Daezra across her arms. "Take-" Another burst. The armies were upon them. Rock sprayed 
like hail in a dusty storm. It smelled of rain. 
     They stood before the collapsed entrance, the crumbled archway, which had once been 
the way to the Mountain Trail. They had cleared it in hours before, but their thin path had 
refallen, and they had only moments before the evil was upon them. Thundering roars. 
Ashlia set Daezra lightly on the ash-covered earth. The was sky black, the edges of sight red 
with fire, explosions and screams ringing out, sand and shrapnel raining down from the 
mountain top, and Ashlia threw her robotic hands onto a stone and hurled it aside.
     "What's 'appening!?" M'ellie demanded. She had been awoken in the night to the Troll 
attack, then the capture. The mountaintop had exploded around them, fire and hate 
whipping up like pure water of the Well, but they had suddenly been elsewhere, farther 
down, out of the furry. Them, the strangers and their slaves, began running. Running from 
the bursting of blinding light and the shower of stone and ash and dust, and running from an 
unknown army of great power that had burst up from the mountains opposing side, out of 
the sea. "Tell me what's go'n on!"
     "The armies of evil are upon us. . ." he uttered, "Long have they been brewing, but the 
dam has broken, and from the midst of good comes the hearts of evil. I feel a chilled magic 
in the air. . .a feeling I haven't felt since-"
     "Jerress! They are upon us!" Ashlia announced, digging madly through the wall of black, 
ash covered stone.
     "By Azyr. . ." M'ellie mumbled, and she saw the hordes crash down the mountain.
     "You mean, by Reighk Rom, for it is by Reighk Rom that they come." Jerress said, throwing 
his cape behind him, lifting his left hand, and M'ellie saw that he had no right. Bravely, in a 
bravery M'ellie hadn't, he stepped toward them as quickly and as quietly as he spoke.
     "From how. . . "
     "Ms. M'ellie, I have shown these forces to us. . .again my faults are shown. As is, 
Maseterou are no gods. . .merely men. . .a disturbed cry has rung across all existence. . 
.Reighk Rom second coming is come, and I will have taken part in both."
     "By Azyr, speak Tulunayn!" she screamed, not understanding what he spoke of, only 
understanding the black clump of screaming enemy that slowly grew clear faces.
     "I haven't time. . .for your Trolls are not your obnoxious pests any longer, they are their 
parents. They are the Gion." Then he lifted both arms, for one was composed of pure energy, 
and a dome formed around them. The enemy grew ever closer. They were hideous 
amphibious looking creatures with long lanky arms. They were wretched and twisted, eyes 
glowing yellow and bright, over hanging bottom jaws full of teeth, their faces flat. . 
.something like frogs. Their long limbs dragged them forward, faster then any normal Trolls, 
speeding over the land in a stampede of evil. 
     "Kyl, the path is clear! Let's make haste!" and Ashlia took Daezra over her shoulder and 
leapt over the small remaining barrier, running madly away. An explosion burst on the mystic 
wall, and Jerress lifted M'ellie and she had no time to refuse. Before she could see what had 
taken her, they were over the wall and heading toward Pierce in the distance.
     
     
     
     
     The town of Pierce, in its foolish and constant curiosity, had gathered at its entrance, the 
one that faces the distant R'zona mountains. None would ever be sure who was first to fall 
to a red blast or to a barbed black arrow, but many in that first line of innocent town’s folk 
fell. Ashlia came crashing down the road, running at speeds unimaginable by man, leaping 
with gears lighter then air and quick as wind. She came to that front line before the first one 
fell, long before the enemy showed their hideous faces over the collapsed archway to the 
south.
     “Get me help!” she screamed, crashing into the crowd. Confused murmurs. “Come come 
now! We don’t have time! Step forward or I will choose!” 
     “I’ll help.” And McRand said, pushing bravely and confidently through the crowd. 
     “Well boy, take this man and put him in the old Pierce Manor, and be quick, or all will be 
lost.” She gently eased Daezra over And’s shoulder. He cringed under the weight, but held 
sure. “Now go! GO!” she screamed, and And McRand was off. He headed across the town, 
around the curve leading past the House Of Owe, and vanished toward the towering 
Armageddon. “Everyone else, in your house-- By Azyr. . .”
     Jerress and M’ellie thundered down the hill, their feet barely touching the ground as they 
leapt, their bodies struggling to catch up with their feet. Behind them, pouring over the 
collapsed archway like thick black tar, came the enemy. Arrows and blasts nipped at their 
backs. The war had begun.
     “Ashlia. . .”
     “Kyl! Jerress, Jerress. . .what do I do? What will we all do? They are on us. . .” Ashlia cried, 
taking Jerress aside, but the crowd was screaming, panicking. The more fight minded of the 
men ran to grab their weapons.
     “Ashlia. . .the sword. . that is why.” said the Maseterou, almost to himself. 
     “Yes!” the a gruff voice from the crowd called. “Why? What curse have you brought upon 
us??” 
     “Silence Pelik!”
     “No,” Jerress said, turning toward them, “This is truly a dark curse, but it is not I who have 
brought it upon you. . .it is Reighk Rom himself, or at least one of his minions.”
“Gion. . .” Ashlia murmured, remembering all too well being strapped to the learning chair, 
being taught to be the rebirth of Reighk Rom. . .remembering the memories of Jerress’ that 
had become her own.
     “But why?”
     “The sword. . .”
     “Sword--stranger, please, what are you talking about?” M’ellie asked, worry taking her. 
She could see the blackness growing closer.
     “Nevermind that now. The Sword is with me and we must take it from here. . instantly!” 
Jerress said, placing his hand on M’ellie and beginning to run. 
     “But Jerress. . .these people!” Ashlia cried.
     He paused, turning back for a second, his hand still on M’ellie’s back, his body still turned 
toward the Armageddon. “I must flee, Ashlia--I hate to do it but I must. You were nearly 
yourself again, my other me, my closest sister. Now, take the stout of heart and the resolute 
of cause. . .lead them to protect their home.”
     “Weapons? What will we use?”
     “Warren’s stolen store of weapons is still here. Take them from the carts and put them to 
use for good.”
     “We haven’t a cha-” Ashlia called to him, a stranger falling dead at her feet. The enemy 
within blaster range. The first had fallen. Arrows began to sail.
     “Mind not the futility of it, mind the meaning of it.” Then Jerress was off. 
     Ashlia looked down on herself, on the body she had just regained, and she prayed she 
had her--or his--Azyr powers again. Then she felt a blast strike her arm. She gazed up, saw 
the horde pouring in around her. With a frown she reached down and unsnapped the holster 
hung from her flowery dress. She drew the blaster. She fired.
     “Follow me, people of Pierce! Follow me in the name of Azyr!” 
     Never again did Ashlia lay eyes on the body of Jerress Kyl.
     
     
     
     
     “In, in. Let’s go!” Jerress screamed, rushing up the entry ramp to the ancient Mill Runner 
Warship Armageddon, watching to see that M’ellie made it safely. “Get Daezra into the 
cockpit, let’s go!” Jerress rushed through the upside down halls of the ship and came to the 
same blast doorway the Warren had weeks before. He rushed through, flipped cautiously 
upside-down with the reversed gravity, and pulled himself into the pilot’s seat. “Now, let’s 
get out of here.” 
     Outside, the assault had begun. At the end of the road Ashlia was handing out piles of 
deadly weapons to the town as the Gion violently tortured and killed the town’s people. But 
at this end, the end at the base of Martus Manor’s hill, outside Tand McRand’s leather shop, 
And McRand watched with a horrified curiosity.
     The rumble started in the earth, a deep, subsurface belch of stones, and the feeling 
shook through his bones, then, the storing pressure exploded out. The engine pilots burst to 
blue life with a thunderclap like Pierce hadn’t heard since she crashed on that hilltop. The 
second rumble was broader, a static in the air, a feeling of power in the air, and suddenly 
the build up ended.
     The first flash was blinding. 
     The hill side and the stable, filled with horses, burst like match houses, splintering into 
ashes and shattering into dust, rock and burning vegetable life flung high into the sky with 
smoke tails twirling behind them as the fiery blue energy from the huge engine tubes 
exploded outward in a heartless ball of white-hot destruction. Then the land trembled and 
buckled as the ship tore forward, dragging apart almost two centuries worth of growth and 
rot and erosion, ripping at the land, buckling a wave into the hilly lands, and the 
Armageddon slid and twisted toward him, toward the town. 
     The second flash was deafening.
     He could feel the explosion in his chest, in his lungs, in his stomach, and the land shook 
like the entire earth quaking. White-yellow light flashed like wild fire, enveloping all sight for 
a split second, and the second flaming ball of power erupted from the aft of the ancient 
ship. It devoured the remaining hill, shattered the shacks and buildings and sent a rain of 
red cinder down on the fighting races in the streets. And McRand slowly put his hand out, 
and a piece of something, flesh or wood, or maybe earth, fluttered down onto his hand, 
burning and melting away his skin as it flapped its burning, bird-like wings. Then he was 
gone.
     The Armageddon lived up to its name as it tore forward. It doubled back a wave of suction 
and fire and radiation, ripping the buildings apart toward the hill, then sucking them it the 
ship’s burning wake as it shot down the road. Each building beneath it exploded into flames, 
and even the House of Owe tore apart and blew away in the suction. Then, hovering for only 
a second, a painful pause for breath, the Armageddon's afterburners fired, and all that was 
behind it was gone, perhaps better off. 
     Then, more then a little like a bat out of hell, the Armageddon shot off over the Ragged 
Faced lake, toward heaven.
     
     
     
     
     
     "Explain yourself stranger." Daezra, the sword given to him across his lap, said as the 
gigantic Ragged Face Lake filled all sight below, rushing by in a dark blue and shimmering 
silver blur. Jerress looked slowly over, his stomach twisting, for some reason not able to tell 
exactly what was happening so far away in the Outspace, not able to tell exactly what had 
turned all existence on its axis. He wondered if Kela had had such difficulties in her 
greatness.
     "You ask at a good time, Daezra Daynn, for I have just realized the full extent of these 
things myself. I will admit, our enemy has put together a grand scheme, and I am struggling 
to fill in the spaces in my knowledge with pure speculation. However, I will give you all I know 
as it has come to me," the Azyrian said calmly, talking quickly and quietly. M'ellie peeked in 
the doorway, listening intently, for she knew much of what he was to say. "As you yourself 
has doubtlessly concluded by this late time, I am a wizard. I master magic, and it compels 
me to be challenged with such interesting little games of the mind which magic has no 
assistance. It keeps you young and sharp. And this mystery is one of great event, and it 
began long ago with a mistake brought about by a premature move."
     "You are speaking to yourself." said M'ellie.
     "On the contrary, M'ellie. I speak to you, but I can only do it in certain ways. It is hard to 
explain, this complex matter, and I fear I may bore you with such long tales. It is simple this 
way. An unknown evil force has been long searching for the actual Well of Power, for he 
apparently hold the firm Well Keeper Religion’s belief, like yourself, that it is a physical and 
not mental thing, as those, like myself and my family, who believe the Azyrian Religion do. 
The enemy is entrapped, unable to do certain things, but able to do others, perhaps 
magically. I know little of this situation, but I know he has a servant of some kind doing work 
for him. They had figured in error that Terra was the Well's place of existence, but now they 
know that it is most likely Jouna. The force is trying to defeat their only few threats and to 
come into possession of the Key to the Well. We must defend the access," Jerress paused, 
breathing deeply and silently through his nose, almost listening to the sound of Daezra and 
M'ellie considering his words. Daezra shifted in his seat. M'ellie leaned against the door jam, 
crossing her arms; listening carefully.
     "Ahh, Mr. Todd Kyl, I think you skipped over some things. I don't know if M'ellie caught 
just how you figured this stuff out or what the hell you’re talking about, but you went right 
over my head," Daezra finally said.
     "You are correct, Daezra Daynn. I am quick to leave out parts. I am talking to you as if you 
could possibly have the access to information, which I have worked hard for one and fifty 
years to gain. I will start at the beginning, if you can bare the tale's length. Here are the facts 
that bring me to this ends:" Jerress took a deep breath, then began talking with carefully 
placed pauses in his quick speech. His voice was enthralling.
     "The Gion, in the year 246 by Thousand Galaxies records, took me as their prisoner and 
had me, through a mystic and mechanical methods I still little understand, learn the skills of 
an Azyr Undring. Things did not totally go as they planned. I gave them the Soul Power, for 
they played games with my mind that I still have scars from, and they gave me my skills as a 
magician second class, and I used it to destroy their Mother Ship. Then they made an 
unwarned and grand attack on Terra, not just an attack, but an invasion with a invasion 
force large enough to occupy three planets. Kela, a Maseterou, magician first class, found 
that stopping the Gion was worth using immense amounts of power, so she destroyed all 
buildings and life on their planet. At this point the left over Gion leaders moved to Terra to 
rebuild--not to Gaalor--but to Terra, a place they had tried to destroy. It doesn't make sense 
to worry about a strange planet's rebuilding before their own, but they did, and the first thing 
they did was build a gigantic tower, much like the towers in the Jouna cities of Choria, Drid, 
Nesolus, and Lonza. Then the planet was overtaken by unbelievable evil and even the Gion 
leaders left. At the same time, those on Aerowohl, the Tulunayn world, started showing an 
unexplained interest in Jouna.
     "For a great time by Baennun measure there was quiet," the wizard paused, breathing 
deeply in, thinking about things that Daezra could not imagine. Abruptly he continued, "Then, 
the last piece of a two sided jig-saw puzzle, I was in Pierce when I had a sudden need to fly. I 
wanted desperately to flee, an irrefutable urge to get out at any cost. I felt an evil power in 
the air I had not felt for a long time. Soul Power. In guilt and anger and rage and sorrow I 
made my decisions quickly and cleanly. I grabbed you two, left Ashlia to fight and maybe 
speak of it later, and we pulled away just before an unseen and magical army attacked the 
useless little town of Pierce. Also, to place in the end, I have an old saying, which I suddenly 
find of great importance: Ragged is the face of the well. Which is meant to mean, that water, 
or good things, come in dirty packages, or things aren't what they seem." Jerress breathed 
again.
     "I don't see how you got that other thing from those random pieces," Daezra said calmly, 
almost under his breath.
     "I do." M'ellie said, a strange air of respect in her voice, her accent gone still. She 
sounded noticeably like the stranger.
     "That is because you know of legends and you have information that I did not even have. 
However, with a mind that can find small connection and rule out silly red herrings like, say, 
the Gion shield technology or the destruction of their Mother Ship, I filled in the gaps in my 
knowledge. I will tell you the story as I see it, if you can bare it.
     "At some point in the past an evil force developed. I can say that he was some how 
trapped or handicapped, because he was forced to use others to do things a free man could 
easier do himself, especially one of the power this enemy must possess. He decided on the 
Gion, the most evil of Reighk Rom's races. He picked them because he figured, being a sick 
copy of the Aeyelon, that they could learn magic. They needed someone to teach them 
magic, so they got a Tulunayn that was easy to access: me, at the nearby Spprahgue 
Observation Satellite, and used a machine of magical make to teach me the powers that 
they could not learn. They wanted me to possess this villain, they wanted me to steal the 
Well, and even then I realized that Terra was wrong. Jouna was right. Sadly, my memories of 
that time are faded and healed. I will never remember anymore. Once I was taught I gave 
them the skill of Soul, showing them for the first time how to access the Well, and they then 
would be able to use the machine to teach themselves the other branches. However, I 
smashed that machine. I killed all that had the Soul Power. 
     "This is when I destroyed their Mother Ship. They cared little, except for the uninformed 
master's busted pride, and they listened to their religious leaders, striking Terra since I had 
fled with the information which I had found that showed Jouna was the correct target. Why 
do I figure religious? Because there is nothing else that would make an entire population put 
their lives on the line. There is not enough money for such great numbers, and the Gion care 
little for glory. So, religion. When Terra and Gaalor had been destroyed the leaders--religious 
I guess--not the soldiers, the leaders, decided to rebuild on Terra. Do you know what the first 
thing they built on Terra was?"
     "The tower?"
     "Right. Why? To get the Well. The story they had heard. Their leader must have told them 
to strike at the home of every race, but they had not thought about Lette and others 
because they didn't know about them. Terra was a mistake. Once they got in contact with 
their master through the tower he became enraged at their stupidity, and he turned all his 
power against Terra, turning it into the hell of Tartarus it is now. He then, I guess, waited for 
Jouna, then showed the Gion. However, they were moving too slow. He needed someone to 
bring the Key to the Well to him, the Sword to him. So he sent the Gion, these true Gion, not 
the unevolved children that you called Trolls, to take it from me. But why send Gion when he 
could have easily taken it himself? He had overpowered my mind before. He had taken my 
body and became a mighty foe, why didn’t he simply do it again? Why send Gion?
     "This is when my guessing becomes strong. I admit, this is guessing, but if our enemy has 
no physical form yet, then this would explain why he is forced to talk through people and why 
he use slaves. So, he is trapped, trapped as a force with no body. Why not just take any old 
body and keep it? He must need a certain type, one hard to find, or maybe he simply can't. 
Are you with me?" said he.
"Barely," said Daezra.
     "Good. For my guessing is greater here, and you may find understanding immensely 
difficult. I will make it as simplistic as I can manage. If this villain knows so much, why wait 
till I had it to come after it? I got it easy enough, why didn’t he? Simply, I didn’t get it easy 
enough. There was a safety mechanism that destroyed half the universe when I pulled that 
sword, half the universe that this enemy wishes to control. I know it is hard to conceive. 
However, the question is not if it happened, but why it happened. Why?" he paused, either 
considering the answer or considering how to put it. "I will tell you my figuring. It was a safety 
mechanism, as I said. I only turned it off my forcing my Azyr magic into the blade, by using as 
Azyr did. If a darker soul, or a weaker soul, a non-Maseterou, not fluent in every branch of 
the Magic, then the universe would be vaporized. No Well, nothing. Why is destroying the 
Well so bad to a villain? The Gion, and therefore the enemy, is searching for the Well and the 
Key to truly open it, and it is here, not Terra, here where all races live.
     "The force guiding them must be a mighty enough wizard to access the waters of the 
Well, making him as mighty as Azyr himself! However, our enemy has an enemy, so we have 
a friend. Someone guided us together, someone pushed those needed back to life, and 
someone gave us all our visions! We have a clash of good and evil: a battle for the Well!!"
     "Unbelievable. . ."
     "And what about the attack on Pierce, you called them magical." 
     "You are right, M'ellie. Somehow the Gion have learned to use magic, and they are 
masters of the Soul Power, so even a normal Maseterou cannot defeat their wizards. Only I 
can. I curse myself for creating, or perhaps uncovering, the damned thing. I had thought I 
defeated the Soul Power, but I have made a mistake somehow. . .I cannot figure this part 
out. Somewhere someone got away. . .It hurts my heart to think that I can bring about such 
destruction, but I am responsible. The Gion were attacking to get the Key, and to get you 
two, but we have escaped, and we will learn more later. Traveling at this slow speed as to 
save the engines, we should reach the island of the Lette in ten minutes. More questions 
can be answered then."
     M'ellie came into the room, looking calmly around for a chair. She pulled one out of a 
cubbyhole, knowing where it had been hidden, and took a seat beside Daezra. Uncommonly 
for he, Daezra remained calm.
     "Hello, love." whispered M'ellie quietly.
     "Hello, M'ellie." he said calmly.
     The Azyrian glanced quietly over, wondering at the love he could see in the girl's eyes, the 
strange, respectful love, but the boy seemed so emotionless. Daezra just looked content, a 
little happy, but very quiet and very thoughtful. M'ellie Ruthven was extremely attractive, as 
she should be, as the Lette were the essence of all that was beautiful. Jerress breathed in 
deeply, smelling her fragrant skin and hair. They were said to have been specially created by 
Azyr, carefully crafted to be the most elegantly beautiful creatures in all the Outspace. Azyr 
had wanted something beautiful to guard his Well when he was gone. Something beautiful 
and kind and ageless. That was the Lette, or the Nimf as they adopted to hide their true title. 
Lette, in simplistic terms, meant angels.
     Angels. M'ellie Ruthven was an angel in looks and in true personality, thought she put on 
a harsher face for the general public' sake. Her hair was like silk, thick and smooth, her eyes 
were large and gleaming, like polished Blue Azurite gems. The skin was smooth, almost 
looking like it was coated with a thin powder, but the Lette knew nothing of make-up. It 
came to Jerress' mind that Daezra might have a difficult reaction to the population of naked 
Lette. They were, both male and female, the perfect examples of beauty and compassion, 
and some Baennun had problems handling it. However, Daezra seemed calm enough with 
the beautiful M'ellie sitting beside him. She did not possess a sexual beauty, like the Trobi or 
some Tulunayn; it was a magical, pure loveliness that glowed around her like an aura. It was 
magic. It was the breeding and blessing of Azyr.
     Daezra did not even pay it mind. He just sat, rubbing his growing beard, squinting his 
eyes and giving an overall look of dead and pressing thought. He did not look at the Lette 
with the same affection that she looked at him. 
     "There it is!" M'ellie suddenly said, pointed out the window excitedly. "My home! The 
Letton Plateau!"
     "My god." Daezra whispered to himself, opening his eyes wider to take in all the sight.
     The outside was in sight, and it was growing larger and larger quickly. The mountains 
were not black and lifeless like the ash covered R'zona mountains. They were like nothing 
Daezra had ever seen or ever imagined. The majestic peaks were steep, green edges, 
almost as if drawn with a ruler at creation. Trees thrived at all lower points, thick and 
beautiful, every shade of green vibrant in the light. Visible steams and white water falls 
surrounded with birds and deer, Daezra could guess, meandered from the top, draining into 
the lake below. The lake waves crashed on the wide bases, exploding in white shoots of 
bubbles and foam. A swirling white cloud ring cut the lower tree covered section from the 
top, snowy area. The snow was pure white, more a perfect white then he had ever thought 
could exist in such a filthy world. It seemed to radiate cleanness and pureness. 
     Like said by the tales, the mountains formed a perfect ring. The ones in the rear were 
taller, the most center the tallest, and growing shorter as it went around. In the front center 
there was no mountain, only a gigantic golden gate. It burned in the sunlight, shooting off 
beams of white and yellow and gold reflection, dazzling in the waters below and reflecting 
back, making it ripple with a magical look. It reminded Jerress much of the light within a 
blast tunnel. Leading up to the lustrous gates was a set of stairs, equally golden and silver, 
equally dazzling and enchanted. The stairs were immense, each as tall as a Tulunayn at 
seven foot five inches. The golden steeps led down to the lake's level, but did not dive into 
the lake. Seeming as if it floated on the lapping water was a pearly, flat platform. It was 
either porcelain or pearl, but it was the same sinless white as the mountaintops. M'ellie 
gasped at seeing her entire home in one view. Some things seem less fantastic up close, 
and some things you become used to seeing from some views, and seeing the gates and the 
stairs and the lush mountains and the mirror surfaced lake all in one long glance was breath 
taking.
     Then their view came over the gates, and they slowed, looking for a landing pad. Down 
below was the plateau itself, but not a single plateau as said by the legends. They were a 
series of tiny plateaus and canyons encircling the singular, gigantic and table topped 
plateau. The small ones were orange and badge and red, jutting up at this angle and that 
angle, some level toped, some sloping and rough. Rocks set suspended almost magically on 
top of tiny red fingers of stone, river from the mountains rushed about below. It was a 
circular Grand Canyon, hazy and beautiful, creating a protective ring around the main 
plateau that no ancient army could penetrate. 
     Then, on the flowery, green covered grassy Table Top plateau, each sitting beside a lake 
that drained into a river that crashed over the plateau's edge in a magnificent waterfall, 
were the cities of the Lette. The greatest, simply called the City Of Nimf, was in the dead 
center beside a perfectly still, reflecting lake, where the Armageddon's filthy underside could 
be clearly seen. This was their destination. This was the home of the Higher.
     "Do they have any kind of radio contact?" Jerress asked, moving the chair on the pivoting 
arm over to the communications board. "Any way I can warn them that we are to land." 
M'ellie stood a leaned over his shoulder, looking at the communications controls.
     "We have an old style radio, like one used on ships from before the Thousand Galaxies. 
Our people have not been able to get our hands on a new age Crosspace radio. I am afraid 
we found space travel of little use when only needing to protect this land."
     "Works on Radio waves?" he asked. M'ellie shook her head. Jerress looked at her for a 
moment, and then he inspected her entire body in an all encompassing glance. She took 
little notice. Jerress began typing quickly.
     "You seem to know your machine well." Daezra said, looking over the many controls 
before him. "This is to travel in the stars, isn't it?"
     "Yes," said Jerress, paying closer attention to what he was typing.
     "Hmm," Daezra said, running his hands over the controls panel, wondering how long it 
would take to learn so many buttons and switches and dials. "To travel the stars. I have 
always wondered about stuff like that. It must be wonderful. You travel at great speeds to 
magical new lands, learning things you would have never been able to even attempt to 
imagine if you tried. You simply tell the machine where to take you, guide it there or 
whatever, and you get there. No need for finding food, you can take such great amounts with 
you. No need for warm clothing, no attacks from Leach Lilies or land beasts of other kinds. A 
nice, safe, learning experience that you can never forget," he said, not really talking to 
anyone in particular. M'ellie glanced over, watching him ponder the controls like a baby 
looking at writing. 
     "It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" said Jerress, still typing feverishly. 
     "Why do you say that, Kyl?"
     "I will simply say that this ship is equipped with immense stores of defensive shielding, 
back up life support, and even greater amounts of destructive weaponry."
     "Meaning there are enemies in space. Dangers?"
     "As you said, greater then you could ever try to imagine." Then, with a series of beeps, the 
message was sent. "I have told them that we mean them no harm and that we have the Key 
and Daezra Daynn. They have agreed not to shoot us down with their Proton Throwers if we 
land immediately." Jerress raised an eyebrow and glanced questioningly at M'ellie, "I thought 
you said that you had little use for modern weaponry."
     "We only have use for things to defend this place. Over fifteen hundred Proton Thrower 
Stations is all we wished for, so we got it."
     "Very well, then," said Jerress standing suddenly. "We shall place the Armageddon down 
in the outskirts of town. We shall then make out way into the main district and find the place 
of the Higher. M'ellie, you shall address them."
     "I cannot." 
     "Why is this?"
     "I cannot return there."
     "Banished? For what? I you were banished, what of the things you have done for the 
cause of protecting the Well. What of your letter from the Higher?" asked Jerress, keen on 
what was truly happening. Nitz was relieved to let it out. "I had suspected as much. The 
Higher are no longer in contact with the true mission of your people, they would rather waste 
time purchasing Proton Throwers then seeking out legendary saviors."
     "You see deep into me, Kyl, yet I know that you have used no magic. Your mind is 
observant. I will tell you this, as simply as you told your tale." Jerress leaned back, listening 
with deep interest. M'ellie continued calm but quick, "I was banished from this place for 
meeting with my love and getting caught in the Men's Living Quarters. It is that simple. They 
threw me out. I wondered hopelessly, knowing that my lover had been killed for we met in 
his Living Quarters. At last I came upon a friend, Marlina Frost, and she told me of her 
findings. Much later I set out to find the son of the son of the High Lord. I have found him." 
     "What about the letter?" Daezra asked, concerned and feeling foolish for believing her 
story. "You said it had come from the Higher, you said that I was to have it, that you could 
not read it."
"I can read it, for it is in Aeyelon," said M'ellie. Soon the letter was in her hands. She opened 
it cautiously. "However, it is not from the Higher. It is from Marlina Frost. It says as follows: 
     To M'ellie and the Savior,
     As you read this you have come, in some way, to the gates of Nimf. Our little game has 
come to an end, and now is time to reveal ourselves. We are not the leaders of a country. 
We are not even Nimfian citizens any longer. Banished for our beliefs or for our love, it is 
true that we have met and have found that the time is nearing. An alien race has discovered 
the place of the Well. They have a leader, one of great power, whom lives on an isle in this 
very lake. He is called Naf. I know little of him or of his powers, but I know that he is 
searching for the savior and the Key, so I have sent my friend out to find them both. All is 
well, I am hoping. If the Savior falls into the hands of Naf he will be killed, if the Key falls into 
the hands of Naf we all will be killed. 
     Upon your arrival you are to see me. I am dwelling in a cavern on the East Side of the 
lake. I will then take the key from you and point you to Naf. Only the Savior has the power to 
destroy him. Follow these instructions as I say or all will be lost,
     And so she ends the letter."
     "We are to give the Key to her and destroy Naf?" asked Jerress, only half believing the 
letter, Nitz not believing for a second.
     "Yes. She has dedicated her life to this study. She had lived somewhere unknown for 
most of her existence, then she suddenly appeared in the City of Nimf. She showed her 
studies to the Higher and they banished her. Time is running short and only she knows what 
we are to do." said M'ellie calmly.
     "You do believe her. I see that, but I refuse to entrust the Key with anyone. That is the 
base for revealing the Well from it's hiding place. With that, and the other tree Key pieces, 
the Towers can be accessed and the Well revealed!" Nitz screamed, loosing Jerress' calm 
quickly.
     "What are you guys talking about?"
     "Listen to me!" said Jerress loudly, having trouble suppressing Nitz; "Even you say you 
know nothing of this woman. She just "appeared". We must find evidence that she can be 
trusted!"
     "We have no evidence that you can be trusted!" M'ellie insisted.
     "I believe that this Naf may exist, for it confirms many of my suspicions, but I do not trust 
this Marlina Frost's motivations. Very few people, even Lette, do things for pure good. The 
Higher is proof that Lette are not immune to corruption. We must know more about her."
     "What about you?"
     "I'm not asking for the Key." Jerress said flatly.
     "What are you guys saying here?" asked Daezra, striding confidently to M'ellie's side.
     "Yeah, Kyl, what are you saying here. Are you going to stop us? Like you said, you don't 
want the Key, so it stays with Daezra till Frost has it. So what do you plan? How are you 
going to make us go along with you."
     "I can be forced to take the Key."
     "Not so just and heroic now?" asked Daezra, resting his hands on his belt. "What makes it 
any different. You want it to save the universe from destruction, and this Marlina does too. 
No difference."
     "There is a difference. I have told you much of my history, I can tell you more."
     "We don't need to hear more!" M'ellie said, stepping a long stride forward, standing 
inches away from Jerress' face. "We heard how you created the Gion monster that has 
already destroyed Pierce. We heard how you took part in the destruction of a Mother Ship 
full of thousands of innocents, the killing of millions of Spprahgue, and the destruction of 
both Terra and Gaalor. You are the villain here, Kyl, and I am out of here." Then, in a flash, 
M'ellie jumped forward, grabbing Kyl in her arms, kissing him deeply. There was a blue flash, 
then a white magical crackle, and Jerress was on the floor. 
     "That's some kiss . . ."
     "Run, love, run!" M'ellie screamed.
     "I'm going, I'm going!” He froze, turning round in circles. “Where? Where am I going?" 
     "To the door we came in!" They sped out the cockpit and down a short hallway, and soon 
they were in the cargo bay. M'ellie, her fingers as skilled as Kyl's, punched the door controls. 
The emergency alarms screamed and the door exploded outward, dropping suddenly out of 
sight and falling at immense velocity. They looked out. Nearly three miles below was the 
waters of the lake.
"Now what?" asked Daezra, looking sick from the hieght. 
     "We jump."
     "No. Way."
     M'ellie, calmly, stepping in front of him, resting her hand on the door jam. "Listen, I want 
you to wrap your arms around me and don't let go. Got it." Daezra, carefully, reached around 
her front and rested his arms around her waist. "No, elbows under my armpits, hands 
clenched over my breast. Squeeze tight! Ohhh, your hands are warm." Then, with a joyful 
screech, M'ellie leapt out the door and the shot like a rock toward the surface of the lake. 
Daezra wondered what it felt like to be crushed, but all he could say was,
     "AAAaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaahhhhhhh!"
     Then, as suddenly as they had leapt into the open air, they stopped, almost as if they had 
hit solid rock. Daezra almost lost grip and fell from the sudden and powerful jerk. He 
wrapped his arms around her, feeling her breath and not worrying about her being 
comfortable. "I said to 'old tight, love, and I meant it."
     "What is going on?" Daezra asked, afraid to look down.
     "Oh, dear, 'aven't you ever 'eard?" M'ellie asked, patting his hands that trembled on her 
chest, "Nimf can fly."
     
     
     
     
     His arms and legs and eyes and mouth and every other part of his body refused to move 
in the slightest. It was a skill of the Azyr, a rather simple trick, to have the person conscious 
when they were unconscious, if that made any sense what so ever. Jerress had never found 
it a very useful trick before, but suddenly all depended on it. Unfortunately, he had never 
had the time to master it. Nitz? Nitz? No. Nitz had lost consciousness too, but Nitz had no 
Azyr spells to revive his mental powers. Jerress found himself wondering is if Nitz had even 
survived that mental onslaught. M'ellie had geared the spell for the protected consciousness 
of a master magician, not an overweight, middle-aged, politician like Nitz. Jerress now knew 
that there was no way he could achieve the concentration required to cast the needed spell 
to revive himself. Instead, he simply listened, for he knew what was coming and he knew if 
things went as he expected he would end up dead. For good this time.
     To move from the level of Undring to the level of Maseterou an Azyr had to die 
spectacularly, though no one was ever sure what counted as spectacular, and if they did die 
well, then they would either return in their own body or in the body of another who had died 
at the same time. Jerress, luckily, had returned in his own body when he died in the 
explosion of the satellite. Was that spectacular; climatic? In a way. He had been trying to 
save the satellite and save his wife and son. He had saved Stacie and Aspen, but the 
satellite died with him. Was that spectacular? It didn't matter. Jerress realized he was letting 
his mind drift. That would have never happened if he were conscious. He was loosing it. He 
knew what was to happen, and he knew that if he failed to save himself he would die for 
good. There was nothing above Maseterou save death. Then the future of the Outspace 
would be in the hands of Daezra Daynn and M'ellie Ruthven, and perhaps Marlina Frost.
     The beeping sound of the in coming message did not take him at all by surprise. How 
long had it been since he promised to land immediately? How long had the giant war ship 
been hanging over a thousand Proton Throwers? Concentrate! It was more then twenty 
minutes. Maybe a half an hour. M'ellie's magical kiss had taken him by surprise; he hadn't 
the time to put up magical defenses. She had given him Raes' Kiss. It was extremely 
pleasing, if given lightly, but it was a mental overload if placed at maximum. It simply coated 
the brain with a pleasurable chemical, like an upper or a hallucinogen, but at full strength it 
disabled the brain's higher functions. Jerress knew that even if he did come back to 
consciousness he could not save himself. He would be in a daze of madness, and a spell 
would prove impossible. Damn you, Kyl! Damn you! Such a fool! 
     The beeping finished. He had to concentrate, try to understand the message. Think of the 
beeping sounds. Like a telephone dial, each letter had a different tone. Think. Think. Land . . 
.will fire . . .two minutes . . .destroy. . The message was clear, even if he couldn't decode it 
all. If he didn't land soon they would take it as a direct attack on their civilization and they 
would open fire with all Proton Thrower stations, utterly destroying the Armageddon and all 
its crew of one.
     Hand moved . . .how long had that taken? Was he regaining consciousness? Arm lifting. 
Had it been two minutes? Had he the time to stand? Legs. . He could feel them. His muscles 
locked up, tightening on themselves. Pain extreme. Sight. Had it been a minute? Yes . . .a 
minute at least. Had to concentrate. Kela would have been able to overcome this. Mind over 
body. Mind over body. Dizzy. On his feet. Too late. Minute thirty-seven seconds . . .at least.
     Feet flat on the floor. Calf muscles twisting, screaming in pain. Mind over body. Hand 
resting on a cold wall, vision colorful ahead. Swirling colors, musical, beautiful. Minute thirty-
seven seconds . . .at least. Push it away. He stopped; he knew he had to concentrate. It was 
time to give up, not his struggle, but his worries. Daezra was the Savior, M'ellie was his 
guide. They needed him not. He was not part of the legends . . .this Frost was. She might be 
true to her purpose. A step forward. Decision time, Jerress, to the communications or to the 
controls? Communications. A minute thirty seven seconds . . .at least. Three more steps. He 
was on his face. On the floor. Mind over body.
     Stacie . . .I love you. Aspen, I am sorry I will never see you master your skills . . .pulling 
himself across the cold, metal surface. Martus Pierce had died in this place . . .his best 
friend in the world--in all the many existences--Martus Pierce. It would be a fine fate to die in 
a blaze of glory, going with the Armageddon. Martus and him finally resting in piece, part of 
the Well . . .Pierce. He seemed so important suddenly. It is time Jerress, live or die now. He 
was on his knees, then on his feet. Dizziness pulled him forward; he stumbled to the 
controls. Mind over body. Mind over body. Minute thirty-seven seconds . . . at least. Head 
clearing. Spell? Could it be done? No. Falling into communications chair. No.
     He fumbled to hit the response switch, to simply send the standard TADSET greeting, to 
let them know he was still in good intent. Dizzy. Tired. His fingers refused to do his bidding. 
Do it or die. Send it or perish. 
     Pausing . . .Concentrating . . . Then, with the sound of a thousand sprakling fire works, the 
Proton Blasts tore through the Armageddon like it was glass ball, and it exploded with the 
beauty of a setting sun, sprinkling its dust-like remains over the entire Ragged Face Lake.
     
     
     
     
     "By the Well Keeper himself . . ." was all that Daezra could utter at the sight of the 
Armageddon's fiery end. It had been there, strong and steely and majestic, one second, an 
undefeatable war machine, and the next second it was nothing. Not even dust. Atoms, 
smaller then atoms. Only fire rained down. 
     "He will be missed," said M'ellie, looking back solemnly, "I did not ever wish to destroy 
him. One of such power, and one who never abused his might, will be greatly missed, 
especially in the upcoming battle of good versus evil."
     "Now that we are safe from his pursuit, you'd better talk. And you'd better talk better then 
you did last time. No lies. Pure truth. Swear on something sacred," said Daezra, suddenly 
stopping his quick pace. They had been walking across the grassy and cool landscape, 
around the lake, heading for the east side for nearly twenty-five minutes, and now that 
things seemed calm, he needed to know. M'ellie slowed her pace, then finally stopped, 
perhaps stalling to think, perhaps wondering whether to tall the truth or not. "The truth, 
M'ellie, the whole truth. No games."
     "I understand," she finally said. She paced about for a second, looking at the ground. 
Soon she found a soft spot in the grass and took a seat. Daezra sat across from her, sure to 
stare directly into her eyes. He did not care whether or not it made her uncomfortable. 
"Swear on something sacred?"
     "Yes."
     "Then I swear on your life, Daezra. I am dedicated to protecting this Well, and you are the 
only one who can finish my job. I swear on your life to tell the full truth, or at least all that I 
know as true, for the truth is never as we really see it." she said, pausing for a second. Then 
she took her knees in her arms, much like she did long before.
     "Go ahead."
     "I'm thinking. I'm thinking. I have never practiced this story, okay. Look, I'll just tell it to 
you as it comes to me, so if its out of order you can organize it yourself . . ." again she fell 
silent for a long time.
     "Why were you banished?"
     "Banished. Oh, yes. Well, I had this love of mine. I can't remember how we really fell in 
love, but we did, and I suppose that's all that counts. Well, I'm old, I know your eyes can't see 
that, but I am. The Lette may be ageless, but we can die of old age. I suppose I should only 
live another sixty years. Anyhow, we were in love, and we had both already had our children, 
so we hadn't a chance to ever see one another. So, he snuck me into the Men's Living 
Quarters and we got caught. Me, being so old, got thrown out. He was probably executed. 
That's when I encountered Marlina Frost. I was wondering when a storm hit, so I came to the 
cave that she had so skillfully made a home and discovered her. We became quick friends, 
and she told me of her life long studies, and of the beliefs that she had been banished for.
     "At a point we realized that Naf was ready to get the Key, the first piece to open the Well, 
and she sent me out to get you and to get the sword. I have accomplished this, and now we 
must return there to see what further mission is necessary to defeat our enemy."
     "What the hell is the Key?" asked Daezra. M'ellie gave some thought to this, chewing on 
her pink lower lips, but then she spoke quickly.
     "Well, it's hard to explain without saying the whole story. So, here I go. The Well, as 
Jerress figured, is near by here. The Well cannot be truly opened unless you have the Key 
and all the Key Pieces. The Key Pieces, there are three of them, are used on top of each of 
the ancient towers--we aren't sure which three, but three of them. Each Key Piece will extend 
a magical bridge out over the Well from the Tower Top. When all Bridges have been 
extended they meet in the center at a great mystic platform which stands directly over the 
Well's center and deepest part. Then, to finally reveal the Well the Key, your sword, must be 
placed in an altar on the central platform. When the Sword is placed in the altar, the Well 
will be opened and whoever stands on the central platform will have access to all the 
powers of Azyr and Reighk Rom themselves. The user would become all mighty. However, no 
one is meant to know this other then the protectors of the Well, the Lette, and the protectors 
of the Key Pieces."
     "Who are the Protectors of the Key Pieces?"
     "You should not know more then you need to at the time."
     "Then, if no one else is meant to know this, who is this Naf?"
     "He is our enemy. He is the one seeking the Key. He is the one seeking the Well. He is the 
one who sent the army of Gion to take the Sword from Kyl in Pierce. He is our enemy, and no 
more," said M'ellie, quiet, finished.
     "Is that all?"
     "That is all that I can think to say."
     "I take it you can't fly for more then short distances."
     "I won't even be able to fly again for a week."
     "Then," Daezra said, turning around and walking slowly off, "let us find this Marlina and 
destroy this Naf."
     "Yes, my handsome lord!" and so they were off.
     
     
     
     
     Walking calmly together, Daezra Daynn and M'ellie Ruthven came to the top of a grassy 
hill, somewhere atop the vast flat plateau of the Nimf, or, called more exactly, the Lette. 
Daezra had been leading the way for a while as he understood well enough the direction 
they were heading from listening to M'ellie's many tales of Marlina and her adventuring 
about. He had been starting to get the impression that M'ellie had done a lot more traveling 
then she let on, and a lot of traveling in the direction--the exact trail at that--that they had 
just come: from Marlina's Cave to Daezra's House. 
     Daezra's ankles hurt as he pushed up the steep, short incline and M'ellie made her way 
up with the same amount of physical and mental exhaustion from the events of the day. 
They had crossed more miles then they could have ever imagined crossing in a single day, 
they had watched the Nimf destroy a brooding Azyrian, and they had traveled on till the brink 
of sunset. The orangeness in the sky as well as their weariness beckoned them to stop on 
the sun washed hillside. M'ellie plopped down first, and Daezra soon realized and turned 
back, sitting down with a quiet groan of soar muscles and tight joints beside her.
     "Are we happy?" Daezra said softly, having to clear his throat after. He looked over toward 
M'ellie, who had sprawled her body, shivering in her dull, torn, filthy gray leather suit. She 
shrugged her shoulders. "Here's a happy thought." he said, looking toward the sun, "I have 
suddenly realized that I will never see Kro again." M'ellie sat up.
     "Does it bother you greatly?" she asked. Daezra sat silently watching the sun dipping 
beneath the outlying mountains of the Plateau. He pulled his knees up against his chest, 
clutching them with his arms, trying something that he had seen M'ellie do so many times.
     "Yes and no." he said with a low breath. "It is more the no that makes me feel the worse. 
He was a loyal friend for all those years, and now that I lost him--and don't even know how I 
lost him--I don't really feel all so awful. I have someone to actually talk to, and I have a hell of 
a lot on my mind, and maybe I'd just like to feel a little bit worse about loosing him." He 
glanced over to M'ellie, but she said nothing, she just watched him eyes. "You're right, I'm 
being silly."
     "Nah, love." she said, lying back again. "You're right you want to miss 'im more, but you 
can't right now. Be 'onest to yourself, you 'ave more important things to worry about. 'e was a 
sweet dog an' all, an' 'e'll be missed, but . . .well, you 'aven't the time to worry about your own 
parents, let alone you're dog."
     "We shouldn't be sitting here waiting, should we?"
     "Nah. We should'na, love, but its gett'n chilly." She scooted over closer and leaned her 
shoulder into his. "It tis a nice night."
     "'Find a nice warm dry spot and go to sleep.'" Daezra said to himself, unfolding his legs in 
front of him. "My father used to say that. I think that it's an Azyrian saying."
     "Mmmm. In a way." She said, tilting her head as she looked into his light blue eyes. "Ya 
know, I can'na do this with other people, love."
     "Hhmm. What's that?"
     "Look ya right in the eyes without laugh'n. Seems a very spiritual thing, look'n right into 
your soul like I 'ad Tulunayn Aura or somethin'"
"You're too sweet to be a Tulunayn." He said, crossing his arms in the cold. M'ellie leaned her 
head on his shoulder, shivering. Daezra looked down in curiosity, then, equally calmly; he 
put his arms around her. And together like this they slept through the cold night in the moist, 
chilled sea air.
     
     
     Three more days of walking followed. They were heading for the town of Daygoon, 
somewhere on the edge of the lake. They were heading for the caverns in the east, and 
Daygoon was their best and safest place to stop. The main road to Daygoon was called 
Tistra, and it was a long black gravel road with sharp stones covering the entire way. In the 
past the Road Tistra had been the only trade route between Daygoon and the city of the 
Nimf, but in the last one hundred years the people of Daygoon had mastered navigation of 
the rough lake between them, charting the many rocks and high spots on the edges, 
showing best winds, and the old road of Tistra had been left to rare foot travel of this such.
The old black road was becoming over grown with vines that stretched across the entire 
width, and many of the bright flowers of white along the side edges reminded Daezra far too 
much of the Leach Lilies that he had encountered a month and a week ago. The scars still 
remained, and they still itched, and above that every thought of the Leach Lilies made him 
think of Kro. Otherwise, save the roughness of the rocks on M'ellie's bare feet, the travel was 
quick and easy. 
     There were moments of cold winds and chills when the sun ducked behind the clouds, 
but otherwise it was beautiful on the Plateau. Daezra could see why this weather would 
allow for no clothing all the year. However, M'ellie explained that, in fact, this was the coldest 
she ever remembered it being. This was the only thing that seemed to slow her pace or 
heavy her heart, and it did both greatly. Every time a new wind would blow she would look off 
across the mountain barriers with a distant look, whispering lightly to herself.
     "There is a great evil stirring in the land, so great that even the weather and the Well and 
all servants of Azyr 'imself feel its presence with pain in their bodies, 'earts, and minds," she 
said once, after staring off across the sky for an amount of time that Daezra would have 
rather not waited. But she did finally put the things about his mind straight: evil was all 
around. A force with the name Naf was after him, the little guy from the woods who had 
never had anything to do with anything. But a great force that was shaking the entire planet 
was after him. He was glad that M'ellie was with him, but he still wished the wise Azyrian had 
come along. 
     So they walked along Tistra till sunset. When the sun fell and the temperature dropped, 
they reached the town walls. In ancient times, all Nimfian towns had built great sea walls to 
defend itself from floods in what they called the "evil season." Higher places, like Daygoon, 
were the only to survive, and they only survived because of their great, three hundred-foot 
walls. However, for a time uncounted, ever since the fall of Reighk Rom and Azyr, the floods 
had stopped. But the walls remained. M'ellie approached the huge, rusted iron doors.
     "Eye!" she called, "Open up the gates!" There was a long pause, perhaps five minutes, and 
Daezra found himself wondering whether or not they could have actually heard her little 
voice through those thick iron gates. Finally a reply echoed back.
     "Far the likes o' who?"
     "For the likes of two weary travelers looking for the finest shelter from the coming storm 
of evil." There was another long wait, this time longer. Daezra realized that the sound was 
somehow being echoed through the doors by some design, and their reply had to echo back 
as well. There was a time delay on the whole process, but it worked beautifully.
     "Opening." the gruff, metallic echo call came back abruptly. With a hideous squeal of 
metal against metal and the chugging of engines and gears turning, the doors slowly opened 
more the three feet in more then twenty minutes. "Come in" the man said, clearer now.
     "Entering." M'ellie said, and she beckoned Daezra in; he followed quickly behind. There 
stood the gatekeeper. He was a young looking Nimf male, with the same tall ears and two 
thumbs. He was muscular and tanned, long golden hair, and totally naked. For a second 
Daezra stood frozen. 
     "Stand clear, stranger," the man said pushing through, "The door's a'close'n" The Nimfian 
Baennun grabbed a great long wooden post in his giant hands and pulled down on it. The 
door, taking the same amount of time, slowly creaked closed. M'ellie did not leave till it had 
shut.
     "All safe?" she said, following an old tradition.
     "Water sealed," he replied, giving her a half-hearted salute. "I see you've brought a guest 
of other race, Marin M'ellie Ruthven. You said you would be when you passed by here in 
leaving, now I see you spoke the truth. A fine young lad, a Baennun, no?"
     "Yes, a Baennun. You are looking good Twelz," she said, giving him a little hug. "I see that 
the laws of emergency 'ave been put into order, otherwise you would 'ave never called me by 
my first name."
     "Yes, the orders of Baennun-Woman Excommunication have been repealed. It is the 
weather. The Higher in Nimf are getting upset. They know that your friend was right. 
However, M'ellie," he said, backing away and looking her over from top of her head to tip of 
her toe, "they refuse to repeal religion clothing orders. You'll have to loose these unholy garb 
while in the town."
     "I know. What about 'im?" M'ellie asked, referring to Daezra.
     "He should be able to get away with in now. Just don't take him too near any high-guys. 
The Higher are trying to keep order, but they are also the ones causing all the worry. They're 
acting like we've never seen a little chill before. Ahh, we can handle it." Twelz said, pulling 
out a not pad and a pen.
"Is the Inn safe?" she asked, cocking her head to see what he was writing. "It's R-U-T-H-V-E-
N."
     "Thanks. Yeah, the Inn is safe. What about him?" he asked, pointing the pen at Daezra.
     "That's M-A-N-E-U-M word. D-A-Y-N-N word. Any Higher hanging out at the Weapons 
Depot?"
     "Yeah, keep away from there. Oh, and be careful about the Inn's bar. I think there is a 
Female Higher hanging about. It's the first time I've ever seen her. Never even heard of her . 
. .name started with a 'J'"
     "Janica?"
     "No. Ahh . . . well, it doesn't matter. Just watch yourself. I'll tell you though, she's a real 
looker. She's got even you out done M'ellie. I'm talking."
     "Better then mine?" she chuckled back.
     "Yep."
     "That's okay," she said, walking away with Daezra, waving goodbye, "Daezra's got you 
beat too."
     "HA-HA-HA" Twelz yelled from behind, waving a kindly goodbye.
     
     
     
     The Town of the Daygoon Nimf was not bustling with commotion. The streets were silent 
and dimly lit in the shadows of its great walls. The line at which light black wall stopped and 
light shown through was far far upward: a bright contrast that was a shock to the eyes to 
gaze upon. The streets themselves were damp and gritty cobblestones covered with a dark 
black dirt that was ground into every pit and every crack of every stone. They were thin and 
slanted downward like the bed of a river; massive barred drainage opened in the "v", water 
dripping slowly down, dead plants and pieces of paper dangling from the slats into the dark 
sewers below. When walking on the streets your ankles hurt from stumbling on loose stones 
on the great angle. The way was so narrow that if a carriage, specially built with out-slanting 
wheels, rumbled down the road, you would be forced to throw your back against one of the 
large square black bricks of one of the tall, thin buildings. 
     The stairs from the buildings, for this reason, could not come out into the street by more 
then a few inches. Therefore they were cut into their own little cubbyhole. All entrances to 
buildings, below a classic wood carved sign that hung over the street, screeching in the 
wind, were cast in lightless shadows, making what lurked in all doorways a question that 
could not be simply answered. And all this was the main road.
     At a point M'ellie and Daezra stood beneath one of those swinging wooden signs. This 
one read: Saaren. Or, translated loosely into Nimfian (which Daezra spoke): Inn. The front 
door was cast on the same shadows, but wishing to avoid the Higher that Twelzun had 
spoke of, they headed down the alleyway. 
     The alley was only inches more then a shoulder's width across and the ground were 
coated in thick brown liquids and gritty filth. The walls were dripping with water and slime, 
and spider webs descended clear across. The walls were built of tiny, gray, randomly shaped 
bricks that seems to sag toward the center. It moved on for many yards forward, but upward 
the walls went too high to see. There were no doors, and no side escapes. It was a long walk 
in a tight place, and Daezra found himself immensely uncomfortable.
     "What's be the matter of trouble, ya claustrophobic?"
     "What?"
     "Afraid of small, confined places? You know, love, don't like little rooms or tight, exitless 
alleyways? Claustrophobic."
     Daezra placed his hand on the wall as he walked, guiding his way. He thought about it for 
a second, glancing far up and far back. "Maybe," he decided, "and you could walk a little 
faster if you please."
     "I'm going."
     The alley opened into a street half the size of the main road (about three alley widths). It 
looked like the street had at one time actually been twice as wide as the Main Street, but it 
had been covered with tents and market stands. It was, unlike the Main Street, bustling with 
people lifting fruits, checking silver-wear, packing bags and chopping fish. "This is Old 
Market Road. Watch yourself in the crowd. Pickpockets are more numerous than the 
cockroaches 'ere. 'old on to the Sword, handsome master, mah dear." So they cut through 
the crowd and came around the left corner to the rear wall of the Inn. M'ellie knocked, and 
the waited impatiently, being pushed and hit by passing crowds. Daezra held his hand on 
the hilt of the Key, and twice some black haired child tried to steal it off his belt. Finally, her 
patience out, M'ellie twisted the handle and threw her shoulder into the heavy oak door. It 
swung open.
     Inside was a dark room. It was thin, like a closet, but definitely wider then the alley had 
been. To the left was shelving with different colors of cloth and paint, and to the right was a 
stool with a large mask laying on it. Beyond the little room was a wider, more dramatically 
shadowed area with sandbags and ropes and rows of hanging costumes.
     "Behind the stage?"
     "Beside it, gracious. Beyond that curtain is exit stage right. Do you 'ear the music?" He 
did. It was a deep beating drum and a few horns. It sounded like very war-like beating 
rhythm. Still, it was catchy. A man was singing, but he couldn't make out the words. "They 
are performing. All the performers 'appen to be on stage at the moment. It's safe for us to 
pass t'rough that room and out into the main Inn area. We'll fetch the keys to a room 
upstairs and head back out to the rooms. The rooms’re upstairs, but the only way in is a side 
stairway in the further road. We came down the alley, but on the other side o' the building 
there is another road that crosses from the Main Street to Old Market Road. Still, I 'ad fear 
that there might 'ave been a problem gett'n you past a Higher."
     "So we took that little alley?"
     "Yes, mah lord."
     "Then why would it be safe to go to the Cross Road now?"
     "I'm not say'n it will be, love, but I 'ave it figured that if the Higher isn't in the Inn, then 
she's got 'erself a room, and we'll 'ave to watch ourselves, but if she's at the Inn, then we can 
pass without worry."
     "But we have to worry about her now?"
     "Right, love, you are correct." M'ellie said, closing the door carefully behind her. "That's 
why we came in this way." Then she crept forward, her bare feet making no sound. Daezra 
attempted to walk as silently behind, but he felt very clumsy in his big boots. They moved 
into the larger room and sneaked past the clothing and the large, brightly painted back 
drops depicting great battle fields and came to the exit door. Again M'ellie knocked, making 
sure that no one would answer, then she cautiously opened it. "Try not ta draw more 
attention to yourself then ya need, love," she said darting out the door. Daezra followed 
behind, feeling twice as clumsy when the door slammed behind him. The came down a flight 
of stairs and were at the foot of the stage.
     Now he could see the performance on stage. There was a single man and a single woman 
standing totally nude, as were everyone else in the town, but these performers wore strange 
masks. The woman, a tall dark tanned woman with long red hair, wore a light blue mask that 
only covered the top of her face, from the nose up. The mask had white tiger stripes and 
great long strips of flowing orange, red, green, and blue material that was light and see 
through. She danced slightly, moving elegantly and carefully, the light material dancing and 
twisting around her as if they were living snakes. The man wore a metal skull with bright 
green eyes, and it had a long, spiked steel bar that went down the center of his chest. At his 
waist it ended and circled his body like a belt. His arms were in huge, spiked gauntlets that 
were attacked to the contraption at the waist with a huge, dramatic lock and chain. He 
simply stood, dignified and foreboding, the girl dancing about him.
     They sung a strange song with the great, drumming and slow groaning orchestra behind 
them in dark shadows. Smoke covered the stage, pouring off in cold streams, touching 
Daezra's boots, forming droplets on the leather. M'ellie felt the cold and could not imagine 
them standing naked on that stage with that freezing mist, but that was the plight of the 
actor. Daezra listened carefully to the song, which M'ellie explained was a small part of the 
myth about Daezra. The song went as such.
     HER
Entrapped. . .long  long. . .lost to time with the heart still that beats.
Entrapped. . .long  long. . .lost to time and never to be released.
     HIM
     But free I'll be, wait to see, wait to see, I'll split the chain and trash the clasp
     But free I'll be, wait to see, wait to see, For the Asp slithers. Be' th the Asp
     O! Free! O! Free! The Asp part of me. The Asp has set me free. The Asp.
     (He breaks the chain and lock, lifting his hands above his head.
     HER (jumping back. Music grows dark.)
     Free! To rule the land, the sea of sky and be to be to see. Free, insane.
     Free! But away is blast, for till the last, the face of the Asp, comes to Daynn.
     Free! Ha! For till the last, the face of Asp, comes to Daynn. Comes to Daynn.
     (A man with a sword appears on stage. Dramatic drums)
     Free! Ha! He will show you free! The Sword in hand he'll free out land of Asp and evil.
     The Sword in hand he'll free our land of Asp and evil and dig your tomb, O! Your doom.
     MAN WITH SWORD
     Cut you down! Cut you down! The Well and might and flight at night will do no good.
     My friend at side, my sword in hand, I'll free this land of Asp and all that I should
     My friend at side, your wound wide, your tears and hope will serve you no good.
     Cut you down! Cut you down! The Well and might and flight at night will do no good.
     HIM
     Ha! I -
"Come on, love, we 'avn't the time to watch this silliness. "M'ellie said, tugging him toward 
the bar. They cut carefully through the crowd.
     "That was pretty bad," Daezra mumbled. "It's interesting and sounds cool, but you can't 
make any sense of it. It sounds like your listening to a thousand riddles with triple meaning."
     "You are. That's why people don't believe Marlina's translation of the myths. There are so 
many different and nicer ways to make that thing out," she said, cutting past a tall man who 
looked at her strangely. "and people don't listen to what they donna want tah 'ear. It's hard 
tah tell a body somethin' that they just don't want to believe, love. That's why we 'ave tah do 
things the way we do things." Finally they had made it to the bar. M'ellie pushed between to 
occupied bar stools and called for attention as Daezra watched from a distance, holding 
onto the Sword. "Bar tender! Hey, Nixer! Nixer! Get over 'ere!"
     "M'ellie, well, I'll be damned, I'd never have thought I'd see the likes of that pretty face 
ever again." Nixer, the old and wrinkled bar tender, said, leaning up close to her. They kissed 
quickly. "What's the happenings, girl? Why you dressed like some stupid outsider or 
somethin'? It's a party night! They let up and let the men and the women together, and I've 
got business up to my ears. There's gonna be a lot of sex t'night girl, don't make yourself 
look like a freak!"
     "Nixer, I 'adn't had time to change or I'd be out of these damned uncomfortable things, 
trust me. Tell me, Nixer, 'as there been a Higher in 'ere t'night?"
     "Yeah. Pretty woman, too, but since you're an illegal you should keep away from her."
     "I know that Nixer."
     "Yeah. Anyway. She's a pretty woman," he said, looking off into the distance in a dream, 
"but she went off to the rooms by herself. . . "
     "I take it you wanted 'er tah go with you, you old goat."
     "Hey, she's a lovely woman and we don't get a chance like this often."
     "There's that damned Daygoon blood talkin" M'ellie said, frowning cheerfully, inspecting 
his piling of napkins.
     "Yeah, it is. Jus' cause you n'rmal Nimf don'na want tah, well, don'na mean we don't want 
tah. You're in a Baennun-mixed area, M'ellie girl, get used tah some cravings yah can'na 
understand."
     "Trust me, Nixer, I understand it more now then ever." M'ellie said, glancing over toward 
Daezra out of the corner of her eyes. He was watching the stage with strange interest.
     "You got it f'r the Baennun?"
     "I 'ave my reasons tah beleive 'e's part Nimf, or Daygoon, or Humarian, or Edenian, well, 
just Lette some how."
     "But you gett'n the feel'ns?"
     "Yeah. . .guess I am. Have been for a long time, though I don't think 'e feels the like," she 
said under her breath, glancing carefully over again. This time Daezra saw her, and he 
smiled. M'ellie looked quickly back to Nixer, who was now leaning over the bar stool with his 
hairy arms, meeting M'ellie eye to eye.
     "You want a room I'd suppose." M'ellie nodded her head, smiling smugly. "Well. . .I 'ave a 
lot of rooms reserved already, an' I shouldn'a let you go up there wit' the Higher. . ."
     "Nixer. . .this is M'ellie."
"I don't know 'bout that, strange lady, I Anita never seen M'ellie wearing them funky monkey 
outfits."
     "Nixer."
     "All right, all right. Ya know I can'na say know to those big blue eyes. Or them big-"
     "Nixer, the room?"
     "Ahh, can't cha let an old man 'ave 'is fun?" he chuckled. She put her hand out. "Okay. 
Okay," he said, stepping away momentarily. He came back with a key and a notebook. "'ere's 
y'r key. You'll 'ave to sign some name f'r the room or some damned fool will insist to see the 
book and'll see the room empty. He'll charge up there and catch'cha two in the sac."
     "Whatever, Nixer." M'ellie said, taking the pencil from above his ear. She turned the note 
book around toward her and signed "Daezra Daynn." She handed it back to him. Nixer read it 
and chuckled. 
     "The day that the Savior comes to this crappie bar is the day that I give the drink out f'r 
free," he chuckled, closing the book and walking away. "'ave a nice night, M'ellie."
     "I 'ope you 'ave a full keg." M'ellie mumbled to herself, crossing back over to Daezra. They 
left through the front door together.
     
     When they came into the street Daezra and M'ellie found that the cold, as well as the 
moisture in the air, had increased dramatically. They rushed along Main Street, which was 
now slightly occupied by a few people leaving the Market Place, ignoring the stares of 
Daygoon Nimf at seeing two fully dressed strangers, one a Nimf. M'ellie's hair was pulling 
out of its binding in the back, whipping about her face, but they pushed on. Despite how 
uncomfortable the clothing felt and silly they made her look, M'ellie was glade she had them 
on. Above, storm clouds rumbled. It was actually going to rain. Dark powers were at work. 
They rushed around the corner to the Cross Road.
     There before them was the wooden stairs leading to the second story rooms. The had to 
rush around to the other side of them, and they, without even considering the possibility of 
running into the Higher, crashed up the first flight. The boards gave lightly beneath M'ellie's 
cold bare feet. Daezra clutched his sword. They reached the first platform and saw a tall, 
blond haired Daygoon Nimf ducking into the Inn door above. M'ellie remembered.
     "Watch out for the Higher!" Thunder crashed. The winds whipped cold wet gusts. Daezra 
barely heard, but he understood. They turned toward the opposite direction to climb the 
creaking old stairs. They were giving in the wind. Daygoon was not made to handle bad 
weather. Lette of all kinds were not made to handle bad weather. This was bad weather. 
Thunder crashed, lightening flashed somewhere over the Ragged Faced Lake. They turned 
in the opposite direction once again and came to the top platform. Daezra leaned against 
the weak railing about the small box and M'ellie peeked her head in the door. "All's clear, 
love."
     "Go." Daezra insisted, pointing out another attractive woman coming around the corner 
and heading for the Inn. "Get to the room." They both ducked inside and let the door shut 
quietly behind them. This room was also small. The carpet was a dark red and the walls had 
no windows, forcing the room to be lit with only the orange flickering light of a number of 
lanterns that cast eerie shadows on the floor. In front of them was the counter with an old, 
wrinkled-faced woman sitting behind it. To the right and left of them were a few heavily 
made folding chairs. The door to rooms 6-10 was to the right of the old woman; Daezra and 
M'ellie's left.
     The old woman looked up; Daezra showed her the key and M'ellie smiled. The old woman 
pointed toward the 6-10 door. M'ellie took Daezra by the hand and they rushed through, 
listening to the wind beating against the building outside. They rushed to the end of the dim, 
candle lit hall to room 9. Daezra took the key and jammed it violently into the hole. It didn't 
turn.
     "Turn it! Come on, we'll be seen!"
     "I can't. The lock's all gummed up." Daezra tried to ungum the lock by wiggling to the key 
and jamming it in and out, but he finally had to kick it in. The lock gave before the wood.
     "That was quiet."
     "Go." Daezra insisted, pushing her into the room. He closed the door behind him. 
     Inside was the color of pitch and tar. M'ellie stumbled her way to the far left corner and lit 
the candle, casting a very dim light on the room. Daezra stood just inside the door. To his left 
was the opening to the closet, showing a small hat rack and some blue and pink painted 
metal hangers hanging on an iron pole. In front of him was the large, eight person wide bed, 
and to the right were the dresser with a green comb and a red brush with beige bristles and 
a large mirror hanging above. At the foot of the bed was an old, knicked and beaten door 
with a tarnished bronze handle. Daezra walked carefully over and peeked in, still in the habit 
of sneaking. Inside was a room covered with white tiles. To his right was a small white 
bathtub with a yellow tube running to it and to his left was a water basin with tubes running 
to the top and away from the bottom. To the far left, beside the basin, was a strange looking 
pot with a large square tank behind it.
     "What's this?" he asked, pointing into the dim room.
     "Bathroom. Running water. This is Daygoon, not Pierce." M'ellie said, fluffing a big white 
pillow on the bed. Daezra looked over toward her for a second, then back into the bathroom. 
He decided to forget about it and shut the door with a one squeal and a bang. M'ellie had 
plopped herself down on the springy but silent soft bed, and she had started untying her 
beaten old leather suit in the front.
     "What are you doing?" Daezra asked, resting his sword on the dresser top. M'ellie 
stopped and looked up with a confused frown. "Its freezing cold and there's no fire place and 
you're taking your clothes off!?"
     "Fire place," M'ellie said with a snicker, sitting up, "We don't need any fire place. See 
those big yellow pipes in the ceiling over there," she pointed above the mirror. A large, half-
inch diameter pipe came out of the corner and moved into the bathroom. "That's filled with 
water. There's a big furnace in the basement of the Inn that 'eats the water and sends it 
through those pipes." Daezra approached it, looking up and scratching his chin. "Go ahead, 
love, put your 'ands near it." He did. It felt warm. He smiled. 
     Daezra took off his jacket and his rough cotton shirt and hung it in the closet. He plopped 
himself down at the foot of the bed, resting his arms on his knees, breathing deeply. His 
eyes felt heavy, his lungs felt too small, his bones were wearily. They sat like this, in silent 
stillness, listening to the creaking of the room for more then ten minutes. Daezra finally felt 
movement as the feather bed shook with M'ellie moving on the bed, and he felt her leaning 
up against his shoulder. Daezra looked down and grinned at her big blue eyes. "Are you 
happy?"
     "I don'na know, love." she said, putting her chin on his shoulder. Daezra nodded his head 
lightly, and after a few more still noiseless moments M'ellie backed away, putting her head 
on the pillow and her feet on his back.
     "Hey! Your feet are cold, Ice Woman!" he said loudly. M'ellie chuckled, putting them up 
against his neck. He stood in a flash. "Ahhh. Watch your little toes, Mrs. Ruthven." he 
chuckeld, grabbing her foot in his hands. "Or you're gonna loose'em."
     "Let me go," she laughed as he tickled the bottom of her foot. 
     "Giv'n me frost bite to tickle your feet, girl." He said, holding her feet between her hands 
to warm them up. Then he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her closer with a quick jerk. 
M'ellie shrieked and laughed. He let go and she pushed him away with her foot, turning him 
around. She kicked him in the butt. "Ohh, you're gonna pay for that one."
     "Oh yeah, love, come 'n make me." she said slyly. Daezra climbed over toward the bed, 
pushing her lightly kicking feet out of the way. She tired to push him with her hands, but he 
grabbed them by the wrist and held them above her head on the soft feather pillow. She 
wiggled a little, then laughed. "You got me, gracious, you got me."
     Suddenly thunder crashed.
     M'ellie jumped and Daezra looked calmly down into her blue eyes, seeing her face 
highlighted in the candlelight. She smiled beautifully, like an angel. "Are you happy now?" he 
asked, tilting his head, his soft hair falling in his face a little.
     "Almost." she said, relaxing her arms. Daezra leaned over and kissed her, letting go of her 
hands. M'ellie wrapped her arms around his back and neck, running her fingers through his 
hair. He reached carefully down, feeling the warmth of her body and the rise and fall of her 
chest, and finished untying the leather strap in the front of her circlet-top.
     The rain began to roar. Then Daezra’s brain rushed. Thunder crashed in his brain and he 
jerked backward, fell off the bed and slammed onto the floor. He grabbed his head in silent 
agony. M’ellie sat up, holding her top with one hand, and kneeled at his side.
     “Daezra?” she said, but that was the last her heard.
     But not the last he saw. There was a dark planet. Slag covered. Ashy like the bottom of a 
fire burnt out. Covered with evil and hatred and dark magic like rotting animals covered with 
flies. And there, a young innocent foot stepped, and was coated with soot. Images. History. 
Gods named for men, men named for governments, lives given for hope, lives taken for 
mistakes. Then, the mask of Rom. The steeling dark face of Rom, the twisted iron mask of 
Reighk Rom. Then thunder.
     Then thunder.
     Then thunder.
     M’ellie’s frightened tears, and thunder.
     
     
     
     
     
     In the city of Daygoon the storm and the rain had continued through the night. The storm 
had not been impressive by any standards. It was a small amount of wind, some rain, a little 
chill on the skin and a little humidity in the air, but there had not been a moment of bad 
weather on record--or in memory--on the island inside the blessed Ragged Faced lake since 
the times when Azyr and Reighk Rom had struggled for control of Outspace and the Well: not 
since the creation of the island and the Lette themselves. During all the night the storm 
drizzled, but by early morning it fizzled, and by day it had washed away. When the first signs 
of the weather showed, about three quarters of an hour before M'ellie and Daezra had 
arrived, on the day of October 21st, the Higher had been quick to repeal the Male-Female 
Act in the town of Daygoon. Daygoon was a mix town. It was not known how Baennun blood 
had become mixed in with the closed society of Lette, but in the town which had once been 
the ruling strong-hold (before the mix problem) of the island, a Baennun had mated with a 
Lette (or a number of such happenings) and a mix had been created of the people. This mix, 
the Daygoon Lette, had immediately developed problems with the Segregation Acts, and 
they had fought it. This had all happened recently, with in the last hundred or so years, and 
the Higher were happy to give the Daygoon a break as long as the Daygoon would stay off 
their backs and only mate with other Daygoon. It was a fine mess, but it had made Daezra 
and M'ellie's night easier.
     Without a fight they had roomed together, and they had shared a bed during the storm. In 
the morning the sun came up on a much drier day, and it turned out to be a perfectly warm 
and comfortable, clean of evil things that had brought the storm the night before. M’ellie 
had awoken first to the sunlight peeking through the cracks of the room’s door, meaning the 
shudders in the hall and the main room had been opened to a much lovelier morning then 
the night before. She slipped away from the warm bed and into a cool room, which was 
appropriate from a Nimfian morn, and moved into the bathroom, where she turned on the 
warm water and slipped herself into a bath.
     It was not till later when Daezra awoke. His night had been a tortured one. The visions he 
thought had passed, both from existence and from memory, had returned. These newer 
ones had been simpler, and far more understandable then those of the past, and if they 
hadn’t been so vivid and disturbing he would have taken them for a simple dream. In the 
dream he was standing on a wooden platform, one that seemed to waver beneath his feet, 
and there were many criss-crossing stairs that made their way up to where he stood. A warm 
breeze blew. A form, that of the Higher One that they had feared the night before, made her 
way up those long twisting stairs, and soon she stood before him. Her face was not at all 
familiar, but the speech was something that he had heard before. It was not the educated 
sound that it had, for he had heard many educated people speak, but the sort of distinct, 
deeper, more knowing beyond books and education air that she had had that he seemed to 
recognize. The words that the Higher spoke he did not hear, but the familiarity was clear.
     Then, very suddenly, the face of the Higher seemed to fade away, dripping like water, and 
it was replaced with the grim face of the dead Jerress Kyl, calm and still compassionate, but 
angrier, more driven, as if he had seen that his time was running short and his plans were 
falling apart even after death. Then, Daezra awoke. M’ellie was humming gently in the bath. 
A knock was at the door. Daezra stood, pulled on his pants, and walked over to the door. He 
opened it cautiously, not thinking about having his sword until after it was already half open. 
The old woman from the Inn desk was standing on the other side.
     “There is someone at the door, sir. She insists that you come directly out, sir. She wants 
to speak to you, and she says something about not bring’n the girlfriend, neither. She 
threatened me sir, and I’d be forced to put some o’ my sons to action if ye didn’na do what 
she asked.” The old woman spat quickly, looking behind repeatedly as if she were being 
followed, or carefully watched.
     “Did she say whether or not I was to bring my weapons?” asked Daezra.
     “Not a word ‘bout weapons, sir, but she did say you was tah bring the Key wit’ ya when ya 
came. She seemed really mystic like ‘bout it. I can’na say I knew what she meant by it, but 
she said you would be in the know,” she peeked over her shoulder again, then leaned in 
close to Daezra, squinting her old eye, “Can ye tell me what she meant by dat?”
     “No,” Daezra said quickly, then he slammed the door on the woman. 
     M’ellie was still in the bath. Daezra grabbed his sword and pulled on his shirt and jacket, 
then headed out the door into the hall where the old woman still stood.
     “So, yah tak’n yer sword?” she chuckled, full of secretive interest. 
     “No. Just the Key,” said Daezra, pushing by her, his heart pounding in wondering what he 
was doing. You should have told M’ellie what you were doing, you fool. Now you’re going to 
have to face the Higher all alone, and you haven’t a damn idea what you’re supposed to be 
doing. He rushed through the main room and to the door, which was propped out with a 
large cobblestone that had been pulled from the street. Daezra came out onto the plank 
deck and kicked the cobblestone away, letting the door swing shut behind him. Outside the 
weather was sweet and the air smelled of fruit and bacon and smoked fish, his favorite by 
far, from the Old Market Road to his right. Daezra turned his gaze toward the Old Market 
Road, and looked down the long winding stairs, trying not to seem nervous, but he saw no 
visitor. He looked quickly to his left, to the area that had been hidden by the door when it 
had been held open, and there he saw his guest.
     She had long, dazzling red-brown hair that fell lightly around her face where it had been 
held back by a flowery white headband. Her skin was much darker then Daezra’s or 
M’ellie’s, more of a tanned brown shade to it, but she was definitely a Lette. Her ears were 
tall, sticking up proudly a few centimeters higher then M’ellie’s, and she had the classic two 
thumbs on each hand. She was nearly a foot and a half taller then Daezra, with brownish 
lips and bright purple eyes.
     “You asked to see me?” he said.
     “I didn’t quite ask,” said she, “I more ordered and threatened my path to you.” Her voice 
was very familiar, educated, low and slow, calm and wise. Like his dream. She was much 
like his dream, but her appearance was totally different. “Tell me, Daezra Daynn, where shall 
your plans take you from here?” She took a precise step forward. “Where do you plan to 
take the Key?”
     “Where ever I like.”
     “You may wish to think that.” she muttered to herself. Slipping her right hand out in front 
of her. She held a rather large blaster. “Let’s go inside and talk to your girlfriend.” Daezra 
put his hands calmly above his head, and turned toward the door, considering an escape. 
“Keep your mind off getting away, Daezra Daynn. I have things well enough under control.” 
Daezra peeked over his shoulder.
     “Was the sacred clothing act repealed? I hadn’t expected a Higher to wear clothing.”
     “It demands respect. Higher officials are not to be seen in their sacred form by dirt faced 
commoners. The Act rules that you should wear less then your superior, but I couldn’t have 
expected you to have actually known the law. Keep walking.” Daezra felt the gun nuzzled 
against his back. They made their way slowly into the main room, and they cautiously took 
the corner toward the room. The old woman was standing there.
     “Maints Peeder Kuvess! Don’t bring blood into this ‘ouse!” she screeched, diving at the 
Higher. A blast rung out. The old lady toppled to the ground, a sizzling black and red hole cut 
through her skull. Daezra paused, unable to believe what he saw, and he felt a now burning 
hot barrel in his back. 
     “I’ll not put a hole in your head, Daynn, I’ll make it a much slowly fate. “ Daezra kept 
walking, realizing that he had definitey made the wrong choice. He wasn’t sure M’ellie would 
ever forgive him. They were at the door of the room, and he had left it slightly open. The 
Higher gave it a swift kick and pushed Daezra in. “Where is she?” the Higher insisted, 
pointing the gun quickly toward the bed.
     “Don’t have a clue.”
     “Get one.” she snapped, pointing the steaming pistol at his face. 
     “Sit on it.” The Higher gave a frustrated sigh, then listened into the air. She could hear the 
covered murmur of M’ellie singing. Daezra tried to step forward, but the Higher gave him a 
warning look, and she took a few steps toward the bathroom door.
     “In the bath is she?” she chuckled, “Well, we haven’t the time to wait on her,” the Higher 
shot Daezra a venom filled glance. “You wait here.” That instant M’ellie stopped singing, and 
as she did so the Higher pointed the gun and yanked open the door.
     Daezra could hear M’ellie’s muffled outcry of disbelief. The Higher, gun charging, was 
about to enter the bathroom. In that slow second, Daezra’s forest breed instincts built up in 
him, brimming over like fiery hot water, and he shot himself forward in a rage.
     Stunned, the Higher stopped and whirled about, gun still upraised, trying to make out 
what was happening. Daezra drew the Sword from his side and brought the heavy, dull point 
down on the Higher’s wrist; the gun skittered away on the floor. Daezra wheeled around, 
crashing the broad of the Sword on her stomach, knocking her across the room, sending her 
to the tiled floor before him.
     About to spin and grab the woman, Daezra’s eyes stopped momentarily on M’ellie in the 
bath. She was giving him a strange pondering look from where she sat in the bath, dripping 
wet, wondering what he could have possibly done. There was a big patch of bubbles on her 
nose, and she blew them away. 
     Assured that she was far from hurt, Daezra turned to deal with the Higher. But the strong 
Lette had managed to fight to her feet, and with a backward glance she leapt for the gun. 
Daezra reached for it, but went too late. 
     “Dang.” M’ellie muttered behind.
     “Get to your feet tough guy.” the Higher said, wiping her bloody mouth. “Come on, up. 
Up.” Daezra stood. “Hands behind your back. Good. Now get your girlfriend a towel.” Daezra 
reached slowly back and grabbed a towel off the rack without looking, and he tossed it to 
M’ellie in the tub. “Now, you, get up.”
     “Ahh, could we ‘ave ‘im cover ‘is eyes or something?”
     “Oh right, Ms. Ruthven, like you two haven’t ever seen each other naked.”
     “Well...actually,” M’ellie shot Daezra a disappointed look, “we got pretty close, but no.” 
The Higher looked over toward Daezra questioningly. Daezra shrugged his shoulders. The 
Higher shook her head. “So, would you, you know, ‘ave ‘im turn ‘is back?”
     “Just get out.” The Higher said, showing the gun. M’ellie smiled, then stood and sniffed 
like a frustrated child. She wrapped the soaking towel around her. “Enough. Let’s go. 
Ruthven, get some clothes on.”
     “Hey--I’m not putt’n no clothes on! I just got ‘ere!” M’ellie said, almost screeching that’s 
not fair. The Higher cursed beneath her breath, as if disappointed in herself.
     “That’s right. Okay, okay. Forget that. Just get out of the tub and move into bedroom.” 
She did, dripping wet, the towel sloshing and sticking to her. Daezra followed behind. “Now, 
we’re gonna go outside, and we’re gonna leave town. Once we’re outside the gates,” she 
looked at them both, “I’m gonna have to put two or three holes in you both. I’ll be taking that 
Key, Mr. Daynn.” She pointed to gun at the sword on the floor. “Pick it up and give it to me.”
     “No.”
     “Do it or I’ll shoot you.”
     “You’re gonna shoot us anyway. I don’t see why not do it now.”
     “Daezra,” M’ellie said, looking over him with a grin, “Why don’t you just pick up the sword 
for the nice lady? There’s no reason to fight. We’re gonna die.”
     “Last act of defiance.” Daezra said, crossing his arms and frowning low, his bottom lip 
hanging out.
     “Pick it up!” M’ellie yelled.
     “No!”
     “Yes!”
     “No!”
     “Yes!”
     “One of these days, M’ellie!”
     “Both of you!” the Higher finally said, breathing in with a beboggled stair. “Shut up! I’ll 
pick up the damn thing!” She bent over. Daezra and M’ellie looked at each other quickly, 
nodding. Then, simultaneously, they leapt. Daezra hit the Higher first, toppling her over, and 
M’ellie grabbed the Key. After kicking the Higher a few times when she was down, they were 
out the door and heading down the stairs.
     M’ellie lead the way, taking three steps at a time, looking silly trying (for a reason even 
she didn’t understand) to hold the huge, soaking wet towel around herself. Daezra took up 
the rear, reaching the platform just as M’ellie came to the first turn.
     “‘urry up, love! The devil’s behind you!”
     Daezra turned, without a thought, to look for the devil behind him, and the Higher leapt 
widely from the door, hitting him in the chest. They toppled back, smacking into the railing 
with a grunt. “I won’t let you take that Key to Marlina Frost!! You must understand! I know 
what I speak of!!”
     “Ahhh. Shut up.” Daezra said, trying to kick the Higher away. Instead, he lost his footing 
and slid downward, cracking the railing behind him. 
     “Daezra!” M’ellie screeched from below, jumping up and down nervously, biting her lower 
lip. “DAEZRA!!” The Higher smashed into him again, and Daezra grunted, the wind knocked 
out of him. “Run, love, RUUUUNNN!” she shook her hands as if they were burnt, tears 
coming to her eyes. “I won’t leave you behind!”
     “Hear that, lover boy, she’s sticking with you to die.” The railing split a little more. Daezra 
looked into the Higher’s beautiful, and still not evil face, wondering what to do. He tried to 
turn his head to she M’ellie, but she was too far behind him; all he could do was hear he 
scream his name, fear and care thick in her yell. The railing creaked a little more. Daezra 
thought about the drop, and knew that if the Higher killed him he would kill M’ellie next. He 
had to save M’ellie. Had to kill the Higher, no matter the cost. 
     Daezra threw his elbow back.
     The railing shattered.
     The two fell.
     “Daezra. . .” M’ellie screeched, too frightened to cry, too empty to move. Blood splattered 
the white of her towel. The Key fell from her hands.
     
     
     
     Beneath him was a warm, around him a cold. He felt a jostling movement, like drastic, 
dragging steps. He was on his back. His arms and legs were dangling free, his head swinging 
as if he were dead. Daezra slowly opened his eyes. Above him was the star lit sky. He turned 
his head to the right and saw a path winding off over the dark horizon, disappearing so far 
off that it seemed only God could be at the end. He looked to his left, above him, and saw 
the determined face of M’ellie Ruthven, red from tears. She was carrying him. Daezra 
nuzzled his cold face in her warm shoulder.
     “Love!” M’ellie shrieked, dropping him. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she uttered in a breath, 
kneeling down at his side. He didn’t move. “Love? Daezra, love? Wake up!” Daezra slowly 
turned to look up at her. “Are you okay? Daezra, can you hear me? Can you see okay?” she 
was talking too fast for him to understand, but neither she--nor he--cared. “I’ve been carrying 
you all day. I figured we ‘ad to get away from that Higher, whether you were alive or not. So, I 
picked you up, and, and, and I took you out of the city. Oh, love, I ‘ad thought you were dead! 
Can you talk? Love, speak to me.”
     Daezra licked his lips, trying to smile, “You meant to drop me.” he chuckled, reaching up 
hug her. She came down on top of him, hugging him and crying, laughing a little. “Gentle.”
     “Yeah, yeah, oh yeah.” she said, sitting back up on her knees. “You all right?”
     “Fine.”
     “Good.” she pondered for a second, as if out of thing to say, but she continued, “O, I 
bought the Key. ‘ey, look, I still got the towel. I figured it might get cold. . .well, actually I 
didn’t figure it at all. I just didn’t think to take it off. Didn’t think about anything but get’n you 
to safety. You and me. You and me and the Key. Well, there’s a chill smell in the air, and I 
think we might see some more weather before we reach Marlina’s cave. Oh, by and by, we’ll 
be there by morning. Before morning. Real soon. She’s right at the end of this road ‘ere. 
Would ‘ave been there doubly if I ‘adn’t ‘ad to carry you and all, not that I lay blame on you, I 
thank you for save’n me. I know you did that for-”
     “M’ellie, shhhh.” he whispered, putting his finger on her lips. “Let’s just relax for the 
night. We’ll continue in the morning.”
     “Yes sir, me ‘andsome lord.” M’ellie said, leaning over and kissing him lightly. Then she 
laid her face on his chest, and the two fell asleep in the middle of some obscure side road 
the M’ellie knew so well. By luck no weather came that night.
     
     And so morning came. The sun rose over the land in warmth, covering the sleeping two 
with a cherry light. They had passed the city of Daygoon in the night, and they had made 
their way off on some ancient road that was no longer used, one from the old times when 
Daygoon was the ruling power on the isle, before the mixing began, when a new road was 
made everyday for some new product or person or purpose to reach the city. The road they 
were on just happened to be called Comesround Avenue. It was a rather small path, and it 
cut very close to the Central Lake, too close to risk wagons or horses--an advantage to avoid 
pursuit--just a small gravel and grassy path on a grassy lake side, much like many that 
Daezra had spent his long days on when he had still lived by the another shore, that of the 
Ragged Faced Lake. Comesround was made in the heyday of Daygoon, one of many that led 
to the Central Lake side caverns where marble had once been quarried, beyond which was 
Marlina’s cave home. 
     M’ellie awoke first again, not so worn away by the visions and the strain of the Sword’s 
power as Daezra was, and she had not moved; just laid on his chest, listening to his heart 
and feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, smiling just slightly as she thought about the 
many traveling couples much like them, looking for a more relaxed and beautiful route, who 
had come down the old Comesround Avenue. She could hear the foot steps of the booted 
rogues who didn’t dare the main way, hiding as they were, sure to find adventure and 
fortune and happiness, doubtlessly marrying their love and living happily ever after. 
     M’ellie wondered if that story book ending was to be hers, if she was to go away with 
Daezra to live out her few remaining years, but some how she felt it was not her lot in life. 
She was born into a struggle for an ancient power, mystic and mighty, beyond her 
comprehension, and yet she was sworn by race to protect it: created to protect it. The Gion 
were moving in on the ancient force that had lay dormant for so many years, they were trying 
to take what had been held in the hands of nature for so long. Such strength was not meant 
to be held by good nor by evil, but after so so so many long years of hiding, the powers of 
Reighk Rom had returned to reclaim that that they had stolen at the beginning of Outspace, 
and after the chill had already gathered its forces and formed its armies, after they had set 
into motion their campaign to rebirth their master Reighk Rom, only after this did the slow to 
see and too comfortable workers of Azyr begin to move. If they did not move fast M’ellie 
would see no happy ending. All the Outspace would see no happy ending for time 
everlasting. But if she succeeded, would there be joy then? Was she really willing to sacrifice 
her few remaining years for those to come ?
     “What are you thinking about?” asked Daezra, his eyes coming slightly open, his calm, 
low voice breaking M’ellie from her few minutes of drowning in thought too deep for herself.
     “Oh, just the sun.” M’ellie said, her eyes looking out over the horizon of the blue and 
white Central Lake, and all along the green edges of the circular mass of water. “The sun 
and the land that edges the lake, and the trees to this direction and the stone to that, the 
hills behind us and the grass beneath us. I think of Daygoon now and Daygoon passed, of 
the Higher and of the town of Nimf, the other many towns, or the passing of Jerress Kyl in his 
steely eagle, shot down in a blaze of glory over our theretofore clean and bloodless central 
lake. I think of the changing and forgetting of the Nimf, of what we were created for, and of 
what became of the Montain if you have so easily gotten the Key which those mighty 
creatures were only to protect. But mostly I think of Reighk Rom’s rebirth that is so soon, 
and already set into motion by his army of devilish followers who had never forgot him: the 
Gion, and in the back of my mind is the curiosity of our destiny, or that of all Outspace, and a 
wondering about the Well itself--a pondering that had weighed down even the greatest of 
Azyrians for time countless.”
     Daezra looked down on her, feeling her chin pushing in his chest as she spoke so slowly, 
so calmly as she had in the presence of Jerress Kyl, and he saw that she truly was one of 
them: an Azyrian in her own way. “You think of what I dream of.”
     “What vision had you today, my love?” asked she.
     “A vision of an Asp, an Asp and a virgin, and they walked along a fiery charred path 
together. And at the end of the path was a mask, one of iron and chip and riddled pox, dark 
and foreboding, like a skull but less Baennun, more dark and evil: the mask of Reighk Rom. 
The Asp slithered through the mask, and my heart cried as I foretold the rebirth of a dark 
force and the rising of a cold army. There is harsh time to come, M’ellie, and I find my tears 
and my fear hard to hold back. We are here alone, without a guide to lead us, without Azyr to 
show us what is right and what is false. Soon they will have a second dark master, one 
mightier and with a longer reach then Naf, one which I can never hope to defeat, only two of 
us; alone.”
     “We seem alone now, love, but we are not. It takes no vision to see that there is still 
forces left for good. Azyr’s creations have not all fallen to waste. There will be help from 
places unexpected, places where we do not wish it, and there will be dangers in places we 
looked for help, and in places we have never looked upon before.
     “There are still armies in hiding: the Carron in their shallow square boarded burrows, the 
Tulunayn in the towers of steel behind their locked doors, the Kauin in their castles and their 
sky caves, the Tobbins and the Dorshians still lost in their strange little minds somewhere in 
a paper house or a fortified front lawn, and we can never forget Baennun--most lost of them 
all--scattered by the forces of evil--taken from their once great home world and spread 
throughout the Thousand Galaxies in lost colonies, hunted by police forces, fearing the KAA 
and the Gion and the Decanters. Let us not forget the Baennun, building their home in a 
million new planets, in a hundred new galaxies, for they found this Joanna, and they, in their 
beautiful and deadly innocence, found the Well and showed the forces of evil that which 
they had nearly given up looking for.
     “You see, Daezra, there are still armies of good left, and more then I named, but they are 
still in hiding, not having the darkness and the cold to drive them on. They simply need 
someone to rally them: someone like you Daezra. Our savior: Daezra Daynn.”
     Daezra looked down at her for a second, considering commenting on her thoughts that 
he had not known she had. He found a new respect for her, seeing that she truly did struggle 
valiantly against the weight of Outspace that was set upon her.
     “And as you said, M’ellie, help will come from places we forgot to look, for I have a feeling 
that some of Reighk Rom’s tortured creations, be it the Spprahgue, the Trobi, the Eyeh’dol, 
the Ogray, or a nameless other, a revolt is most driven by the whip of a dark ruler.”
     M’ellie listened to the calling of the lakeside birds calmly, considering the sight of the 
Savior, one that saw kindness even in the most wretched creations. She doubted that any of 
those horrid creatures, despite the years between, could ever switch to the good. She did 
not want to believe, because if that was true, if evil could cross to good, then surely good 
could cross to evil. Daezra took in a deep breath, and listened to the lapping of the waves, 
feeling a cool breeze off the lake, his chest warm under M’ellie. “We cannot forget the last 
two,” said he quietly. “The Aeyelon and their horrible Gion mockeries.”
     “If ever there was a more complex two, I wish not to meet them.” said M’ellie turning over 
to lay the back of her head against his stomach, “It is said that both were so mighty that they 
were sent away during the warring, far far away, to the very edge of the Outspace, to the 
Zoarias Due, to the Haven’s Rim. There their planet was planted, and they have since been 
fighting to cross back to here, and they have reached it. The Gion settling on a livable planet 
in a secluded system, naming it Gaalor, or ‘great Gion’, the bitter horrible beasts. But so little 
is said of the Aeyelon. It was believed for long a time by the Higher that they were crossing 
neck and neck, and that they would reach this sector at once. It was only in my lifetime that 
the Gion arrived, and only hints of the Aeyelon, the strongest in the mighty strand of Azyr, 
have come to the ears of the Higher.
     “No planet is discovered, no system is named. But it is said: when both the Gion and the 
Aeyelon have come, then the Second War, the last war, for the Well shall begin. The Gaaion 
and the Dacamntres, Gion and Tulunayn. I shudder should they clash so close. Not even Azyr 
and Reighk Rom themselves should be able to pull the two races apart. Magic verses anti-
magic. Heart verses dark heart, warmth verses the chill. I wish not to be cursed to see their 
coming.”
     “Gaaion and Dacamntres.” Daezra repeated thoughtfully, thinking about the strangeness 
of how languages had come up from the tongue of Azyr. Gaaion had become Gion, Maaion 
had become Baennun, Caaion had become Carron, but Lehttehs had turned to Nimf, Sauion 
had turned to Kauin, and Dacamntres had turned to Aeyelon. The Lette had cherished their 
name, only modernizing the spelling. So closely related were the Lette and the Aeyelon, 
would the Aeyelon have so altered Dacamntres?
     “All right then, gracious,” M’ellie suddenly said, sitting up from her long silence, “We ‘ave 
wasted enough time on nonsense. We ‘ave to get mov’n. The caves aren’t far now, we 
should reach them by high noon. I hope our stomachs can ‘old till then, cause my stomach is 
in great need of food. I can’t remember the last time I ‘ad a good eat’n. That’s not matter’n,” 
said she, helping Daezra up and dusting herself off, “Marlina Frost should ‘ave us a nice 
meal to feast, and we shall be much up on Reighk Rom’s plans if we give ‘er the Sword. 
She’ll ‘ave the know what to do with it.”
     “All right then,” Daezra said, breathing in deeply, “Let’s get some food.” And they were 
off, heading toward the caves.
     
     
     
     The day began fine, and they moved at a good pace, watching the washing of the stone 
lined Central Lake against the lip of the edge, where the shafts of grass and stems of old 
drift wood hung about in a relaxed sleep from the ancient days of Lette. The wind blew 
comfortably, and the sun was cool, and all was like it should have been on an October 
Nimfian day. They saw no animals, save birds and rabbits, and saw no other people on the 
road. They had chosen the right path, on the Comearound Avenue, for only a few minor 
paths cut into it and no buildings had been built so close to the lake. The gravel and grassy 
path beneath them was easy to walk on, still beaten down after so many years and not too 
dusty from being still moist from the rain.
     Daezra walked cautiously, feeling that the Sword was very obvious at his belt, and he 
many times considered an alternative way to hide it, but he could think of none, and it still 
bothered him greatly. The weight of its responsibility was upon him strong. Still, he managed 
to keep an upward and foreword and onward outlook, stopping many times to inspect an 
interestingly curved piece of wood, wondering when he would have a chance to forge a new 
bow, asking M’ellie what had happened to her promise of him getting the Androsogogin bow 
back. She said little. And they moved on. Clumsy and unskilled with a sword, using it more 
like a club, but refusing to have M’ellie wield it, Daezra finally killed a rabbit by late morning, 
and the paused and started a fire with the drift wood. Daezra took a time to skin the rabbit 
with the dull Key, but he did, and soon they had a small amount of meat to continue on. 
Noon was coming closer as morning passed away.
     M’ellie continued to wear her towel, embarrassed of her appearance and wondering at 
the experience, for no Lette she knew had ever felt as such, but she put most of it at how he 
was the Savior, Daezra Daynn himself, the male of legends. So she held it loosely around 
her like a tube skirt, kicking at the dirt and commenting on the driftwood along with Daezra. 
The towel was a bright, puffy white wrapped around her light skin, and her hair had no tie 
and it feel very long all around her body, and her feet were bare making her step from patch 
of grass to patch of grass in the road.
     From early morning till low noon, they talked and laughed and slowly grew to know each 
other better, and M’ellie found that the dreams were beginning to pester him in the day as 
well, not just stealing his sleep at night. He often talked about his bed at home, and how he 
could have slept for three months straight for so long, but he had never wanted to. She 
found that he was as oppressed beneath the coming battle as she was, even if less 
knowingly. She could not let him know too much of his fate or the darkness that had turned 
or he would surely despair and turn back; it was her place in things. So she kept the urgency 
of the disappearance of the powerful Montain, the pride of Azyr, to herself. She did not say 
what it meant that the Aeyelon had not yet come, did not let him know her fears that the 
superior Gion probably defeated them, as they had the Azyrian Learning Chair of the 
Aeyelon, as they had used it on Jerress, and the Aeyelon would have never given it up. 
Reighk Rom had prepared better, fueling his races with bitter venom and hatred, and if 
Azyr’s prizes had both vanished, the Montain and the Aeyelon, then all was lost.
     Thus, talking only of happy things, they took the path as it elevated higher, up over the 
shore lined with half quarried marble, and passed over it as noon fell, having lost some time 
eating and preparing the rabbit. The path rose up along the lip of the rock, and they could 
look down the jagged white and black face of the wall, and they saw how clean and beautiful 
it was as the lake kept it dirtless. The Quarry was a beautiful sight, a place used for the 
building of Daygoon beneath its dirt and rot, and Daygoon’s white and black and green 
marble would someday shine again, if that day ever came, if the waters of the Well ever 
scoured its filthy and old walls down to the marble hidden inside. It had taken many fine 
men many long years to move and work that marble, and they had used magical techniques 
to speed it up. Monumental undertakings, such as the towers of Drid, Nesolus, Choria, and 
Lonza, built with no help of mystic powers or modern tools, were beyond M’ellie’s 
conception. Being weary of travelers on the road, which had become Marble Road, they 
made it off and onto another tributary path, one whose name was forgotten, and M’ellie 
named it Marlina Road. 
     This road was like the other, but rockier, and by the end Daezra carried M’ellie not to 
bloody her feet on the small rocks, and it wound on, and M’ellie sang songs of happiness for 
she felt that her year long quest was coming to an end with her mission complete. But 
Daezra was less joyful, for the responsibility of the Key was upon him, and he began to worry 
if Marlina Frost was the right choice. He thought much of Jerress Kyl and the Higher, and 
how much they were alike. The path dove down off the lip and down a steep hill into the 
edges of the Quarry where the rock was wilder and less worked. It wound between the faces 
of great outcrops and came up another hill where they could see a wall ahead in the 
distance, and this is where they headed. By sunset they reached the closed cave door, a dull 
black cave with nothing special of it, much like a Troll cave, and they were both in low spirits 
and tired.
     “Malina! I’ve returned! Open this stone or we’ll cut it down!” M’ellie screamed, Daezra 
calmly setting her down. She looked up at the top of the great boulder and listened, but 
there was no answer in the shadows of the night. “Hello, girl, show me that you still exist!” 
M’ellie said, less confident at the silence. She took Daezra’s hand; the wind whistled 
through the stony quarry of white and black marble. The cave was in a small bulge in the 
wall, dug out by the Daygoon who camped there long ago. It sloped gently back, and Daezra 
found himself wondering what lied behind the wall and the cave. “Marlina?”
     “Could she have had somewhere to go?”
     “Marlina rarely ‘as errands to run, but it is true that we ‘ave returned early. Jerress Kyl’s 
great ship took us over many weeks of travel. We are nearly a month early still.” said M’ellie.
     “Marlina!?” Daezra finally bellowed, deep, loud; like the call of a general. No reply. He 
went to call again, but the bruises and cuts in the back of his skull swelled, and he felt the 
great pain that he had been putting off coming on. He had been damaged in the fall, despite 
landing on top of the Higher. “Marlina Frost! I call you in the name of Daezra Daynn and 
M’ellie Ruthven!”
     “Well then,” a craggy voice said down from the roof of the wall, “Why didn’t you say so, my 
lords!” Daezra gazed up onto the cave’s top, and he saw standing there, bent down and thin, 
the silhouette of a woman standing before the yawning white moon that seemed to close. 
She came forward, “Help me down,” said the cracking voice.
     “Come, love, let’s ‘elp ‘er! It’s a climb down from there!” and M’ellie shoed Daezra 
forward. He grabbed his hand onto a rock lodged in the wall, and he pulled up, grabbing with 
his feet, struggling up to the top of the cave. M’ellie pushed his feet up, and finally he 
dragged himself over onto the top. M’ellie landed lightly with a single leap. 
     “M’ellie! Love!” Marlina screamed, running forward. The two hugged. Daezra came to his 
feet. “And. . .” Marlina said looking over toward Daezra with great interest. She walked over 
before him, and she kneeled, taking his right hand in her wrinkled fingers, “Daezra Daynn. . 
.Savior,” she said, and Daezra got his first look of her.
     She was not old, like he had expected, but tough and surely Nimfian, but different; some 
other mix. She was tall, perhaps six foot eleven, and her skin was a pale color. She has 
flowing white hair, silvery, like none he had yet seen, and dark, dark, blue eyes, so close to 
black, yet glimmering in the moon’s light like the sea. She had the reddest of lips, looking as 
they smiled as often as they frowned. Her hair fell to cover her neck, and cascaded around 
her small body. All of her skin seemed a strange whitish gray, almost as if she were only 
drawn in blacks and whites and grays.
     Her arms were thin but muscular, not bulky, but enough to show she was familiar with 
difficult life: the life in the wilderness. Her stomach was also this way, rippled down to her 
belly. Her hands were wrinkled, also remembering hard work in the stony quarry, but also 
seeming as if she were old, as if she weren’t pure Nimfian; perhaps like the Daygoon who 
grew old. She bowed her head and said nothing. Daezra glanced up at M’ellie, questioningly. 
M’ellie shrugged her shoulders.
     Marlina glanced upward and held her hands beside each other, as if to except a gift. 
Daezra felt a tugging at his mind, and he realized that she was ready to except the Key. He 
felt it pulling at his belt, he felt the responsibility twisting his stomach. Could he really give it 
to her? He had never given up something like this before. 
     “Lay the responsibility upon a knowing mind, Daezra Daynn, place Nethereth upon my 
hands, and all shall turn toward your path, O lord almighty.” said she.
     “Nethereth-Kazon. . .the Sword-Key.” M’ellie said behind, giving him an approving look. 
“Hand over the weight.”
     Marlina looked up, smiling grimly, her red lips twisting, her blue eyes twinkling, and 
beside her sat the basket which she had brought up from behind the cave, it contents of 
mushrooms and small shriveled fruits. Raisins. 
     “Thou shalt soon feel its great weight upon you. Place its weight upon me, and all will 
pass as it shall.” Marlina Frost said confidently. Marlina Frost, the one who had sent M’ellie 
to fetch him. The woman who had seen the coming of the evil, her white hair blowing about 
her thin body in the night breeze, the cold moon rising up behind her. It was a shadowed 
night. “Nethereth-Kazon.”
     If he handed it over, what would happen? What if she had been an evil in hiding for such 
a long time? What if she had sent M’ellie out to find him and M’ellie knew not of her evil? 
What if M’ellie were evil too? What had Jerress warned? What had the Higher commanded? 
But still, if the responsibility was too great for him, all existence could fall to doom. Reighk 
Rom would rise and destroy all, but he could stop that, if he just handed it over. He needed 
more time to think. So much time, all that walking, all those days knowing that he would 
have to hand it over, why didn’t he better consider? Why didn’t he ask more? He knew 
nothing of Marlina Frost!
     “Before. . . first we will eat, then and only then can we truly turn our minds toward such 
pressing matters.” Daezra said, sweat appearing at his brow.
     Marlina looked up, fire in her eyes for a second, “Very well . . .” she looked down at her 
feet, then back up at Daezra, but not into his eyes, at the Sword, at Nethereth. “It is wisest 
that it should be so. Let us feast.”
     
     
     
     
     And so, into the cave they went. Using an uncanny Nimfian strength, Marlina Frost pulled 
the boulder away from the passage and allowed the two weary travelers to take pleasure in 
the warmth of her home. The room was flickering the color of the pumpkins set out in those 
early November days, warm and calling to comfort. M’ellie walked in silence, Daezra behind 
doing the same, and Marlina showed the way. 
     The home was simple, one that Daezra could hardly believe a woman, and at times two 
women, could have ever survived in. The doorways did not lead directly in, for her home was 
parallel to the wall. It opened to a short path that was cast in shadows, only a single dripping 
candle illuminating, and came into the main room after three broad strides. To the left a wall 
of black, glimmering marble, to the right the home. The home was about seven feet in width, 
three times longer then it was wide, and a table sat in its center. The table had three place 
settings, one for each, and a home-constructed chandelier of wood and marble and a half-
hundred candles hung in its equidistant, casting sensational, prancing silhouettes and high 
lights on the dark gray, wide grained and dried wood table. Beyond the table was the 
fireplace set against the rear wall, and it burned brightly, giving most of the light and heat, 
and a third of the fantastic smell. Hidden in a cubby to the left of the fire hold was the 
kitchen, with its fine stove and oven. The smell of pumpkin pie and burning incense jumped 
away from its core like butterflies in the wind. The bedroom was beyond a doorway in the left 
wall of the Kitchen Cubby, making it on the other side of the dinning table’s left wall.
     “Come! Come! Sit down! We shall feast upon pie and mushroom and fine beast from the 
quarry! All by luck prepared for a king, a king whose true name be Daezra Daynn! Drogo the 
father, mother unsaid!” Marlina cackled in her sketchy voice, happy and high, yet scratched 
and dark, somehow transformed; as a woman of many years. “Take a seat as suits your 
senses!” she said, dancing into the kitchen.
     M’ellie showed him a seat at the head of the table, his back to the fire hold, and M’ellie 
took seat to his left, her back against the out wall, and Marlina was to sit across from her, 
Marlina’s back against the bedroom wall.
     Daezra sat, smiled and breathed in deeply. He looked about, a grin across his lips, 
somehow less oppressed when the thoughts of the Key, of Nethereth, were off his mind. He 
had no responsibilities again, just like so many wasted years on the banks of the Kolkien 
river that ran so directly from and to the Ragged Faced Lake, only to feed himself and keep 
himself well. And, maybe a single added, but gladly excepted and shared responsibility, to 
care for M’ellie as she had cared for him. He placed his hand upon the table before her, 
offering it, and she rested hers atop his, accepting it, and silently they sat for a moment as 
Marlina began to sing:
     Thither and hither! The pot’s-a-boil!
     For our master’s meal we scrape-n-toil!
     Yonder they squander their days away!
     For our master’s meal our lives we lay!
     We skin’em to win’im, to get a taste,
     We skin’em to win’em, a smiling face!
     Thither and hither! The pot’s-a-boil!
     For out master’s meal we scrape-n-toil!
     Yonder they squander their days away!
     For our master’s meal our lives we lay!
     Finish the bread and one last bun
     The Master’s meal is finally done!
     With this Marlina pranced out of the kitchen with plates laden with more plates, and 
bowls and pitchers and cups. She tossed it to the table, taking her seat with a relaxed sigh. 
And so they ate meat and mushrooms, bread and pie, wine and water, and such fine things 
to eat. Neither Daezra not M’ellie had any trouble coaxing their stomachs to crave the meal.
     “It’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed a well cooked meal!” Daezra announced, 
breathing in all the smells, his eyes eating all the fine steaming foods spread before him.
     “Then eat. . .then well shall be on with our business.” Marlina said, quietly taking a bowl 
of vegetables toward her. M’ellie poured herself some wine.
     “Is this Daygoon wine? Looks rather bluish for that.”
     “No, this is Nimfian wine. . .I’d had it put away for such an occasion. . ..”
     “Nimfian wine!” M’ellie said, placing the pitcher back down with both hands. “Imagine 
that. I can’na barely remember the last night I enjoyed such an expensive fineness. Would 
be late nights with my roommates in my youth that I would take jugs of this in, gett’n myself 
too drunk to stand for weeks.”
     “It’s been far longer for me. . .the last time I had a wine or an ale in me was when my 
father lived. . .when I was fourteen, on the Last Holiday. It was a cheap beer, and I don’t 
know where he got it, but it tasted as horrible as a beer should.”
     “Eat.” Marlina said silently, speaking between her teeth.
     “I looove ‘shrooms!” said M’ellie excitedly. She pushed the large brown and steaming 
chunks out of the clay bowl with a long wooden spoon. Daezra looked on in disgust, blinking. 
“I take it you don’t care for the ‘shrooms, love?”
     “You take it right.” Daezra frowned, picking up a warm chunk of bread. “Not even Kro 
would dare eat such horrid foods, especially after they’ve been cooked. I refuse to even try.”
     “You’re missing out of a pleasure. . .but, well, it wouldn’t be your first on this trip. I 
remember when I was a kid my mom used to take me and ‘er roommate out of the town 
gates and down to the valleys to look for the ‘shrooms. I tell you, they ‘ad the biggest 
mushrooms down there you’d ever daresay care-say to see. We’d take’em back ta the ‘ouse 
an’ throw’em in this big ol’ pot. My mom made the best cooked ‘shrooms. The best.” said 
she, watching Daezra with interest.
     “Mushrooms. . .” Daezra cringed looking at them steam on her plate. “Fungus Food. I’ll 
eat any kind of meat you can find, save Baennun, or I should say meat of the such, but there 
is no way I’ll eat some fungus that grows on the underside of some dank rock with the bugs 
crawling about it. Plus, the last I heard mushrooms were poisonous.”
     “Ahhh, love, you say you never ‘ad’em cooked.”
     “Your point?”
     “You ‘ave to try it. I won’t talk ‘bout it ‘less you try it.” She spiked one with her little metal 
utensil, shaped like a miniature spear, and held it up in front of her mouth. “Look. No 
poison.” Then she stuck it in her mouth and chewed in ecstasy. Marlina ate silently. 
“Mmmmm. Mmmmm.”
     “Not poisonous to Lette.”
     “Ahhh, try it.” 
     “No.”
     “Open up.” she said, impaling another on the shimmering spike.
     “I’m not doing-”
     “Open wide. . .” said she, and she pushed it in his face.
     “Hold it.” He guarded his mouth his an upheld hand. “Look, I’ll try it, but you have to 
accept if I don’t like it. You know, I am in the right to have my own oppin-”
     “Shut up and eat.” Then M’ellie stuck it in his mouth and sat back. He chewed. She 
watched with interest. Daezra suddenly stood, knocking the chair on the floor, and he 
dashed to the fire. “Gracious?” M’ellie asked, watching with a smile. Daezra spat the fungus 
into the fire and hacked violently as it spattered in the flames.
     “That’s disgusting!” he announced, leaning on the wall beside the fire, exhausted, wiping 
his tongue with the sleeve.
     “So, maybe it was poisonous to Baennun, how am I supposed to know this?”
     “Don’t make me--”
     “ENOUGH!” Marlina bellowed, looking up as Daezra walked over. “I’ve had more then 
enough of this nonsense. I’ve had more then enough of waiting.” She stood, slamming her 
chair under the table, and she came over to Daezra. “You two are sitting around playing 
games while the forces of evil are raiding our planet. Time grows shorter and shorter, and 
you nearly poison the savior! Now, before something stupid is done, or further stupid, gave 
me Nethereth-Kazon!”
     “Marlina?” M’ellie asked, looking up in wonder. “Time running out? We’re here early. . .”
     “EARLY!? I’m afraid, my dear, that you are far far too late! Naf has already launched his 
armies! He’s already begun looking for Nethereth-Kazon, and there is no doubt that he will 
find me soon. . .he will be here very very soon . . .” said Marlina, looking over her shoulder, 
toward the door, suspicion in her eyes. “I can feel the footsteps of dark warriors over the 
hills, deary. Footsteps of my doom. Footsteps. . .” she drifted into thought for a second, then 
continued with equal; anger, “It was wonderful that you arrived so early, or we would have 
failed! You would have returned to doom and destruction, Ruthven. . .. I was out on that roof 
for a reason. . .I didn’t reply till you spoke your names for a reason. . .they are near. . .I feel 
doom in my veins. 
     “I allowed you your meal time to consider. I realize that if your way were had you would 
stew on the decision for hours and hours till they built into days and days, and I would let 
you have that time, if I had that time, but I do not, deary. So, you must hand over Nethereth-
Kazon so we can head to Naf, and we can finally rid ourselves of that dark pox on this world! 
Now. . .Daezra Daynn, named the true savior. . .hand over the sword to he who can handle 
its might.”
     “He?” Daezra asked, looking into the old woman’s eyes with suspicion. “Tell me, Marlina 
Frost. . .” he paused looking at the table. “Why did you set three places at the table if you 
didn’t expect us. .?”
     “Wise. . .wise. . .” Marlina smiled. She stood at the table’s end, facing Daezra who stood 
before the fire, shadows glimmering on his outline. M’ellie stood in shock, turning toward 
Marlina. 
     “M’ellie, what race is this Marlina Frost, for she is not a Lette, not a Daygoon Lette.”
     “Marlina. . .?”M’ellie cried, tears and confusion in her eyes. 
     “I did not drink of your wine, did I Marlina? All night you’ve been compromising your 
wonderful plans. . .now. . .its come to an end. Skin of ice white, dwelling in dark caves and 
eating foods of the shadows. . .what Lette are you?”
     “You are filthy. . .” Marlina spat, raising her hand, sparks surging about their tips. Her 
power filled the room with static. Fear pushed M’ellie a step backward. 
     “Stand down!” Daezra screamed, “I know you know nothing of me, for you called me by a 
name I only call myself. . .tell me, Marlina. . .what is the name given to me by mother and 
father? What is the name my father has ordered me to hide?”
     Marlina cringed, snarled and twisted her white lips. She whispered to herself, “In all times 
of horror a hero arises. In the first rising Martus Pierce came from the tiny shores of Terin-
Toram. In the Wars of the Harbinger Jonathan DeCora came from insignificance in the 
smuggling trade. Through much time. . . Jerress Kyl. Now, from the tiny fields by a tiny lake, 
out of nowhere in the middle of nowhere comes you. What makes you deserving of that 
sword?!” Marlina’s hand screamed with power, and she took a single step forward.
     “Say my name or loose your head!” Daezra commanded, pulling the sword from the belt. 
He held it out before her. He had no idea what had overtaken him, some force he could not 
understand, but something guided his hands, and he relied on it. Something higher, maybe 
Azyr, or maybe something basic, maybe instinct. “Say my name. . .Or say your race. . .”
     “Baaaahhhhhgggg. . .” Marlina gurgled, throaty and harsh. “You stupid filth, filthy 
nothing.. .dweller of darkness. . .Humarian. . .HUMARIAN LETTE!. . .me, you dirty bastard. 
..I’m Humarian.” 
     “Say his name, too, Marlina. . .” M’ellie uttered from behind, stepping forward.
     “Aakk, Ruthven, how do you even know he has another name!? The blind fool, clutching 
to his precious sword! You’ve lost your mind, just as the myth says. You two have turned your 
backs on everything good that has come to you. You, M’ellie, as was said, killing Jerress Kyl. 
He is dead forever now! A Maseterou cannot return!” A sort of smile bubbled to Marlina’s 
lips. It stirred fear in Daezra, and he tightened his fingers around the handle, wishing he had 
his bow of Androsogogin. “You have brought the beginning of our destruction and now you 
wish to foul more! What more damage must you blind fools do? Do you not see the 
Nethereth corrupting your minds?”
     Marlina stepped forward, Daezra lifted his sword, preparing to swing at her neck. “Your 
sword will do nothing. . .you have no idea how to use its might.”
     Daezra glanced at the stony, dull blade, and felt doubt in his heart for a second. 
“Perhaps. . .” he said calmly, smiling again, “but no matter what any of your myths say, I will 
go down with a fight.”
     “But you will go down. . .” She took another step forward.
     “Say my name, Marlina, this is your last chance to show your truth to the cause.”
     “Say ‘is name, Marlina, please, say it and let’s go. Surely you know it. Say ‘is name!” 
M’ellie cried. Her confidence had spilled away. Everything that had made her so sure was 
falling apart.
     “I shall not remember this name. . .” said Marlina, taking a last step forward, “for it will be 
forgotten as one of the many fools lost!” 
     Her foot landed softly.
     Grunting in pain Daezra brought the sword crashing round. It cut the air with a sigh, and 
grabbed Marlina in the small of her pale neck. A flash. The dull blade cut violently through 
her, and Daezra finished the swing, pulling his shoulder with the iron sword’s heavy weight. 
He looked up, gasping. 
     “Not quite. . .”Marlina smiled, her head still firmly upon her shoulders, the sword having 
cut through her neck as if it were made of soft clay.
     M’ellie cried. Daezra pulled himself back upward, breathing heavily in disbelief. Slowly, 
less sure, he uttered, “Say my name and you shall live.” Marlina only chuckled, looking down 
as she regathered herself. “Say. . .my. . .name.”
     “Now, Daezra, you die and Nethereth comes to Frost!”
     “Say his name.” a voice commanded, echoing through the silence, confident and quick.
     “What is. . .this?” Marlina shrieked as she spun around. In the doorway she saw a sight 
she had never expected. Tall, trim, flowing in blacks and blues, was a beautiful red headed, 
strong and thick Tulunayn. The Higher. “You?! No, that’s impossible! You were killed! You 
can’t come back again!”
     “You resist the say of his true name for you know its uttering would burn your soul and 
turn you away, Marlina Frost, chill beast as name implies.” the Higher said, lifting her hand 
calmly above her head, blue and white light flickering on the black cave walls, sending evil 
and cold shadows running away into the quarry night. “All evil shall fall as one as mighty as 
you says the name. . .the name of Curen Daynn!”
     “NOOooooo”
     The name seemed to tremble in the room, and the walls cracked and quivered. Marlina 
Frost covered over her head, hiding her nakedness with sudden shame. She cried and 
cursed Azyr, tears and horror in her snake-like voice. The entire dark quarry shrieked and 
ducked over itself and all rumbled as the name echoed in Marlina’s cursed lands.
     “Under the table!” Daezra, or Curen, called, pushing the terror and confusion ridden 
M’ellie under the protection of the heavily constructed oak table. Boulders crumbled down 
on top; dust sprayed like waves on the stormy shores. “Azyr help us!” he called, but he was 
cut off as the rocks fell around, covering them in darkness.
“Curen Daynn!” the Higher called again, and the sound waves seemed to buckle all time and 
matter, warping the cave and smuthering the dark fire. The earth screamed in horror, and a 
chasm opened beneath the quivering white frame of Marlina Frost just as the roof crumbled 
on top of her. Her cries were never heard above the wrenching of the quarry as it shredded 
apart, pulling toward the clean waters of the lake, splashing sprays high into the skies.
     The stone walls fell to the sea. The dark forests reached toward the stars, praying for 
freedom from the engulfing light, but the land continued to collapse, the lake taking all. The 
rivers reversed coarse. The waters of the Central Lake tore at the land. The caverns were 
overtaken with a million gallons of freezing water, tearing their hidden evils apart. The Lake 
rushed forward, sucking all water from other areas, creating a new channel, a new river, 
away from the Central and to the body of the Ragged Face. All that was cruel in the dark 
quarry of black marble and twisted wood beyond were washed off the edge of the plateau, 
away from the pure Lette, in a singing fall of burning waters. They were destroyed, as it 
belonged.
     The underground tunnels flooded. The quarry was swallowed. In a small part of Outspace 
things were put as they were meant to be, though beyond the lake Naf’s armies were 
overtaking Lonza and Bry, killing all before them. The evil that had festered on the cleanness 
of Azyr’s Letton Plateau had been burned away. October 23rd would from then on be known 
as the night that the corruption of the Higher was forgotten.
     All evil in that quarry died that night.
     
     
     
     She burst up from the ground, sitting up and gasping in confusion. The world had fallen 
down in her dreams. . .now. . .. Daezra, or Curen, slept beside her. He shifted in his sleep, 
his hands beneath a warm pillow, a thick red and yellow patchwork quilt laid across him. A 
large fire crackled at his feet spewing sparks and somber smoke out into the autumn 
smelling air. They were out doors. To her left was open fields of rolling green hills and hill 
valleys, to her right was Curen and beyond him was a small patch of forest with short trees 
and cute red and yellow shrubbery reflecting the warm light of the fire on their open leaves. 
And beyond that small island of plant life was a path leading to the city of the Nimf, the city 
called Que-larzoe. They had traveled far from the quarry of Marlina. . ..
     Marlina. . .so much was twisted. M’ellie’s life had suddenly shifted. All that she had 
known as true had been destroyed. Marlina Frost, her friend for so very very long, the one 
who had sent her to find the Sword and Curen, the lore master who had changed her life, 
had turned out to be a worker of Naf. Marlina had turned M’ellie from an old Lette who had 
no further purpose in life toward being a dedicated woman fighting for the fate of the 
Outspace. . . or had that been a lie too? M’ellie had blindly believed Marlina, killing the 
powerful Jerress Kyl in her name, running from the Higher in her name. The very same 
Higher who had saved her from the villainous Marlina when she had revealed her true 
colors.
     Curen, or Daezra, turned in his bed, seeming restless even in sleep. She wondered if the 
nightmares and visions still tormented him. Then she suddenly wondered where the sword 
was. Then what had happened to the Higher, and Marlina for that matter? The Sword! Had it 
fallen into the hands of the corrupted Higher? Had Marlina taken it to her dark master?
     “Curen! Curen! Daezra! Wake yourself, love!” fretted M’ellie, leaning over and shaking 
him. He moaned and half opened his eyes. “Gracious master, if your ‘eart is yet forgiving, let 
us be off together. . .away from ‘ere”
     He gazed slowly around. His hand that had been under the pillow slowly made its way 
down to his side. . .rested there. . .then his eyes burst open and he sat up in a shot, “The 
Sword! Nethereth! Where is it?!”
     “I don’na--”
     “Neither of you need worry. . .” the calm voice said quietly behind. Footsteps crunched 
pleasingly on the dry leaves, bare feet placed carefully. “I have the Sword.” Then the Higher, 
logs in her arms and a hatchet hanging at her belt, cut into the firelight. Nethereth was 
across her back. 
     Neither Curen nor M’ellie spoke at this sight.
     The Higher smiled, “Surely you didn’t think you just appeared here now, logic grants you 
more then that. Now,” she said, dropping the logs into the fire, “I want you to calm 
yourselves, for as I have said, I have no need for Nethereth, I simply need to keep it from 
those who would destroy our chances to defeat this greater evil. I shall never wield it, I shall 
never hold it beneath the hilt, so worry less, but refrain from worrying not--evils are 
gathering.”
     “Who. . .” M’ellie uttered, frozen.
     Curen looked into the eyes of the Higher for long seconds, then said calmly, as if all were 
suddenly becoming obvious to him, “Jerress Kyl. . .”
     “Your subconscious serves you well, Curen Savior.” the Higher said, smiling broadly with 
her brownish lips. “It is I, though even I know little of how I returned. . .”
     “Azyr. . .” M’ellie mumbled, quivering and awe stricken. “Back. . .” then a gray mist swirled 
before her eyes, and she fainted for the first and last time in her entire life. When she awoke 
she found the leather top loosened and the after taste of Morgish Whiskey on her lips. The 
Higher was leaning over her, a flask of liquor in her hands.
     “My precious Lette, I must say that I am very sorry. I had not expected such shock on 
such an event on such days. . .or, I didn’t expect you to be so happy to see me. . . or what is 
me now.” she said calmly.
     M’ellie sat up, clutching her head. It was still night, and she had been lain out on the 
ground. Curen stood above her too. “M’ellie, are you okay?” he asked. 
     “Yeah. . .just a little. .ohhh. . .light headed. Too much for one night.”
     “I’d have to agree.” Curen said resting his hands on his waist, looking calmly up to the 
Higher. “Now Kyl, as you put it, our less pressing but more immediate problem is solved. I 
think you should start explaining.”
     The Higher smiled roguishly. “Well, I know very little myself. As Jerress Kyl I died a 
Maseterou. . .I should have been joined with the Well. I must say that I had at one time 
looked forward to the concept, but in light of the importance of my mission I would have 
rather been able to return one last time. . .but I shouldn’t have been able to.”
     Curen helped M’ellie to her feet.
     “I had tried a spell to save myself before I died, I tried to project my soul into another 
creature temporarily. . .but I’m afraid I failed. I only succeeded in saving Nitz. . .and I have no 
idea where he is now. Perhaps a bird. . .perhaps a king. Somewhere, out there, I suppose. 
Now I am left alone again, only his and Ashlia’s echo still a part of me. . .”
     “But how do you live?” Curen asked. “You say a Maseterou is not able to return. . .how 
did you?”
     “That is what I mean. . .I don’t know.” the Higher said unstrapping the sword from her 
back. “I was in the waters running toward the Well. . .I felt the calm, the peace, the power 
and energy and greatness of life all around. . .but something stopped me. It all seems like a 
dream now. . .but I saw a face that I have long forgotten. . .but I can’t place it. He turned me 
back. . .I fought back.. . .I don’t know how, but I fought back against the waters. . .I still had a 
chance. You see, only the Undring have the chance to swim back. Only the Undring have the 
will to fight back and return a Maseterou. Maseterou should not be able to. . .or maybe 
we’ve been wrong for so very long. Al I remember is this: You have over come the greatest 
current, all else is but a trickle.”
     “What are you saying? Are you saying that a Maseterou can make it back to life too, if he 
truly tries?” M’ellie snapped, confused again. “That’s impossible! That’s against everything 
we know!”
     “But am I not evidence? I have made it back. The Well has created this new body for me 
and I live again. I don’t know how, but I do. And that means that if one has the need, the 
force, to live. . .then they will. The force of life and soul is strong. . .if you need to live and 
your will is strong enough, your dedication pure enough, if you are strong enough. . .you will 
live.” 
     “But. . .but. . .that would means that anyone could. . .could come back to life. That would 
mean that everyday people could be as mighty as an Azyrian! That destroys everything we’ve 
learned!” M’ellie said, panicked.
     “In the past Azyrian Undrings ruled with iron fist and they were never challenged for all 
were told and shown that they would return, and return mightier. If those people had known 
that they too could fight to destroy he dark Undrings. . .would they had had their might for so 
long? Would it have taken the Thousand Galaxies alliance to squash them so long before 
recorded time? Maybe this smashes all we’ve learned. . .”
     “But it brings us the truth. . .” Curen finished, smiling.
     “It shows us that there is a higher force out there. . .someone. Maybe not Azyr, and 
maybe not anything we understand, but someone. Marlina, though twisted, was very wise. . 
.she said something more truely then any: in the time of need, the hero will arise, and in 
times of greatest need the greatest hero will arise. That shows us that someone is looking 
out for us . . and I am glad to meet the hero of the present.” The Higher handed the Sword 
over, holding the blade, and Curen took it by the handle and admired it. He hung it from his 
belt with a swift motion.
     “And I,” said Curen looking up, “am glad to meet the hero of the past.”
     The rogue smiled again, and she shook her head, “No, Curen, not I. . .the hero of the past 
died just in time for the hero of the present to arrive. . .and that was a man and a friend who 
I will look up to for always.”
     Curen nodded his head, understanding.
     The Higher pulled a bag onto her shoulder and smiled to M’ellie. The other two rolled up 
their bags and pulled together their new things. 
     “One last question, Jerress Kyl,” M’ellie said, ready to go. “What should we call you now 
that you have switched to the other gender?”
“You may call me. . . you may call me Jerren, I suppose.” then she pointed a finger with a 
dark blood red nail toward the fire and the flame sparked and died with a poof. She moved 
out, M’ellie and Curen behind.
     “Have you seen yourself yet?” M’ellie asked, ducking under a branch.
     “Only my body. . .I haven’t a mirror. Why?”
     “Nothing.”
“Tell me, how does it feel to be’n woman?” Curen asked, chuckling.
     “I’m fine with it. . .but I’m gonna catch hell from my wife.”
     
     
     The appeared in Que-larzoe three days later, no better from the trip. Curen Daezra Daynn, 
the Hero of Outspace, took his fist steps into the sacred city wearing a worn brown leather 
jacket with his torn, no longer quite white shirt with it rips and snatches. M’ellie Ruthven, the 
Guide through the Wilderness, stepped with bleeding bare feet, the same worn, chipping 
and dusty dull black leather suit no longer breathing with her skin. And Jerress Jerren Todd 
Kyl, the Greatest Magician, no longer in his body, but the body of a light brown skinned 
Edenian Lette, his lips brown red, his clothing consisting of a white front-laced silk shirt, as 
long pair of light blue denim jeans and a set of once shining black boots. On top of all that 
was a dusty worn light brown oilskin.
     They stepped into the main street, surrounded by perhaps ten to fifteen onlookers. A 
male and a female were standing before them, representing one style of dress. She wore a 
long black skirt, made of light fabric , she was totally unadorned, save a necklace that hung 
low to her waist with the insignia of a black eye before a star burst. Curen immediately 
recognized her as Letton. Nimfian. As is the male’s. He wore all white flowing cloth of a 
slightly rougher material, like soft cotton. The cloth was formed into two long drapes that 
covered his shoulders from the strong sun and hung elegantly down the sides of his chest, 
to where it was bound with a belt at the waist.
     Behind them stood a man. He wore finely detailed armor of black and blue. It was fine a 
beautiful, strong yet flexible. In the crowds were others wearing such fine armor, while other 
wore clothing that almost some how resembled it. M’ellie only knew this was the armor of 
the Humarian Lette. The Under Nimf, those who lived beneath the plateau since the times of 
the Great Storm.
     Mingled in the crowd were men in sterling silver plate mail with long flowing capes of 
purple and red. None wore helms, showing their stern and proud faces encased in waves of 
curls of light blond hair. Each was heavily armed, seeming to take pride in their every step, 
as they stood tall and prim, hardly breathing. A huge flying Montain on perhaps large winged 
Dragon silhouetted on a red blood drop was blazoned on their breastplates and silver 
shields. Daygoon Lette, from the days gone, before the mix. 
     Then others, all around, wearing nothing.
     “What is this?” Curen asked calmly, almost lost in wonder.
     “These in classical garb are from the Society Keeps, one from each, save you,” M’ellie 
said, giving a glance to Kyl, “Edenians are not considered a good force, Kyl. I must warn you. 
They are seen as sinners in the name of Azyr.”
     “Understood.”
     “Here they come,” Curen whispered discreetly, and the dressed crowd came perfectly 
forward. They said nothing, but laughed and rejoiced and patted the three on the back. They 
offered direction down the main, glittering cobblestone road. To either side the Daygoon 
Lette began to sing one of their old war songs, proudly yelling in deep voices.
     Stomach turn at blood’s red sight?
     Fear the Mist that cradles the fight?
     Winch to think of forever Night?
     NOT I
     NOT I
     Bring them on,
     Stab their eyes,
     Tear them down,
     He who opposes is he who dies!
     TIS I
     TIS I
     Love not the morn until the night,
     Love not the peace until the fight,
     Love not the strong till he is weak,
     Love not the army till it is beat,
     THEN DIE!
     THEN DIE!
     
     Soon the officials had rounded the three into a small enclosed garden called Rantook 
which opened to the Higher’s kingdom through two large golden gates with silver hinges, 
much like those hanging outside the plateau. There they paused and a Letton female turned 
to Curen and spoke for the first time. There was utter silence.
     “Why have you come?”
     “We must see the Highest of the Higher. We must see the Queen.”
     “What business have you?” asked an armored, white skinned Humarian male. “Speak 
your names.”
     “Our business is with the Queen, though we will say you will be foolish not to let us see 
her. And if you must know our names, this lovely woman to my right,” Curen said, motioning 
toward M’ellie, “Is M’ellie Ruthven. And this to my left, is Jerren Kyl.”
     “But who are you?”
     “I,” he paused, “am Curen Daynn.” A wave of doubtful gasps ran through the crowd. In 
time they calmed, and the same Humarian warrior stepped forward, looking haggard and old 
beneath his thick armor. He pointed a long, ungloved finger at Curen, a scowl on his brow.
     “Prove yourself or death be your.”
“Surely death be his!” someone screamed from the crowd.
     “Or yours!” Curen screamed, ripping Nethereth Kazon from his side. He swung it round 
and held it up into the suns light, where it’s dull dark outline glowed with the sun’s light. 
There Curen stood, at the crack of the golden gates, the ocean of Lette before him, Jerren 
and M’ellie to either side, Nethereth Kazon held high above his head, catching a single ray 
of sunlight and glowing with power. “Now, let us see the Queen or death be yours!”
     “So,” the first Letton female said meekly, “The prophets have spoken true. The Books lied 
not. Let the celebration continue as it should have never stopped, for faith should have been 
in our hearts! Come, to the Higher!”
     Promptly, the celebration started up again, and the songs seemed even more cheery then 
before, but none could be recognized through the noise. The gates soared open, and the 
crowd poured out onto the main street.
     To the left was the first Society Keep, and to the right the next. They were shaped like 
bulky square arches laid backways, so what was once the top of the arch became the back 
of the building, the arch’s feet faced toward the road. On each tall wall of each arch’s foot 
was a door. The left the Arts Chamber, the right the Science Chamber. And inside the arch, 
in the underside of the hump, was the road to main Keep entrance. They started wide at the 
Main Road then thinned out to the huge red doors. To either side were tents and tables for 
selling objects and clothing from the respective Societies. In the center of each was College 
level schooling for those who wished to learn about that society, and behind the Keeps, in a 
separate building was the collage campus.
     Further down the road was the Letton Society Keep, or Keeps, for it was so large that 
there were two, one on each side of the Main road. And there started a kind of parade, a 
procession of guards and slaves and food bearers. Before the three could move again they 
were picked up by huge handed males and set upon a passing carriage carried by slaves, 
and they were suddenly up above the crowd, moving smoothly toward the Higher Castle, 
swiftly away from the gates of Rantook. They were handed grapes and salted legs of lamb, 
and they were draped with all kinds of riches. Jugs of wines, mead and Ogray beer were 
poured into goblets of heavy birth and pitched adeptly up to them. The whole procession 
was of great joy and song and drunkenness, and it seemed more a party for a demon and 
not the side of the angels. And perhaps that was why Jerress’ face was so set.
     The slaves steadily carried them up the eighty-one stairs to the Castle, the stairs to 
peace, as the masses had sung, not even tipping the carriage in the slightest. The mob that 
had sung and draped them in the cities many treasures fell back, and continued to 
celebrate as they returned to the gates of Rantook. The three looked up, and through the 
mist they could see the Letton eye symbol watching though from the top of the stairs.
     They could clearly hear and feel the rhythmic marching of the guards and the chiefs and 
the slaves, and they lined up to the left and right of the carriage in an army-like line, singing 
in low voices the praise toward ancient Gods with elegant names and ancient stories of 
forgotten home-planets. The only people who walked in the center with the carriage was a 
gathering of priests, who calmly sprinkled the ground with the Letton sacred white 
shimmering herb of Whomor.
     Then they reached the doors, again huge towering red doors that were tin and stretched 
up the castle’s front perhaps fifty Letton heights. They could see the solemn guards looking 
out from the haze above the doors. They were on a suspended guard outpost platform.
     A single guard approached the doors and let out a loud trumpet call on his horn and the 
doors swung and locked ajar with a thump like summer thunder, and inside there was a 
dark tunnel moving under the guard’s outpost, maybe thirty five strides of darkness. They 
moved through soundlessly, every breath echoing, even thoughts reflecting back, and in 
front of them appeared another set of doors, but these slanted outward from the top, and 
they were notched as if on the underside of stairs. The same guard knocked on the door, 
then gave a hearty push that sent them gliding open.
     As they moved through them they realized that they were on the underside of the stairs 
that descended from the guard platform, and when the doors were resealed behind, they 
seemed to vanish away, giving no clue that doors were ever there. Now they were moving 
along a misty gold a silver cobblestone path, leading to an opening to the main castle 
ahead. To their left were huge food gardens, and to the right were fare courts were the 
Highers’ children played with dogs and picnicked in the sun.
     Then they were in the hall, and the guards let the carriage slowly down, and they 
disappeared into a line of workers that had followed them in. They fell into order along the 
edges of a huge room, and Jerress, Curen, then M’ellie came to a large table of fine maple. 
The guards motioned for them to sit, and they did.
     At the end of the table was a raised throne with doors that led behind curtains, like on a 
stage. From the left curtain came a meager looking old Humarian man, and he clasped his 
hands behind his back and looked down on the three with disgust and boredom.
     “Your business?”
     “I will see the Marin Queen.” Kyl said frankly.
     “Oh oh oh! Will you, Edenian!? Such filth with such high hopes? Can one so low reach 
high enough to even hear the Marin Queen’s words?”
     “Her words are loud, fool, now tell her that I wish to see her, as that is your only task in 
life, or face my wrath.”
     “Bah! Wrath! Wrath is the Asp’s pet!”
     “And so shall thee, if I am not allowed to see her.”
     “Large words!”
     “From a large man.” M’ellie smiled. Curen chuckled, looking over at the more then 
obviously female Kyl. Jerress smiled, and glanced up at the old man with his roguish smile.
     “At least, my slave, I am a far more man then you.”
     “Bah! Bah! If you are a man, I am a fool!”
     “Then you are a fool and a eunuch! Now carry your message or loose more then you have 
already lost, my little man! We have been accepted by those wiser, and you in your wretched 
age will surely not stop us.”
     “I will so! I am the only path which you can take to the Queen.”
     “Then,” Kyl said standing. She flattened her shirt out over her chest. “Like the path you 
attest to be,” Kyl walked slowly forward, her oil skin flowing behind. She stood before the 
old, meek man, “We shall tread over you.”
     Then Kyl lifted her boot, placed it on the unexpecting man’s stomach, and pushed off 
with a grunt. The little man crashed backward into the throne, shattering it into pieces. There 
he lay, gasping on his chest. “Devil! Devil! Ack! To wound an old man!”
     “Such is why an old man was chosen, so none would dare wound him. Now, will you let us 
see the Higher Queen?” Kyl’s boots thumped as she came up the short flight of stairs to 
stand over the griping old man.
     “Never! Especially now! You Devil! Demon! Reighk Rom reborn!” 
     Kyl looked down on him, her lips twisted frighteningly beautifully, “Wrong answer, old 
man.” Then she stamped the heel of her foot into the back of his thin hand, drawing blood. 
He screamed, and she twisted it.
     “Guards! HELP! Help me! I stand for the Queen, save me!” The guards simply watched 
like statues, excepting the three for who they were, and hating the wretched old slave.
     “Let me see her!”
     “Only with my dead eyes watching, Reighk Rom!”
     “Now, now, man, never say such things.” Kyl smiled a truly bitter smile, “Wishes have a 
nasty habit of coming true.” Then Kyl lifted her boot from the man’s hand. The old slave 
grabbed his palm and cried with relief. “Last chance, obstacle man, will you show me to her, 
or will only your dead eyes watch our meeting!”
     “You shall never see her.” he said venomously.
     With that, Kyl kicked him in the face and broke his neck.
     She turned to Curen and M’ellie, rather disappointed, “I am sorry, but time is too short. 
You two wait here. I will see the Queen. I will see the Queen with his dead eyes watching 
from the Well.” she turned to walk away. “It’s as he wanted it.”
     
     
     
     And there stood Marin Queen Goldeh, tall and noble. Her gown was an exquisite green, 
like the forest surrounding the Central Lake. Her soft skin white like sun reflecting waters, 
and her eyes were a green unseen in nature, like dancing mystic flames. Marin Goldeh’s hair 
was enigmatically Cimmerian, nightfall black, encircling her head as a faint halo, then tied 
back into the rope tail as M’ellie’s had been.
“Marin Queen--thank you for concurring to this encounter.” said Jerress cautiously, stepping 
out from beneath the viridian vine entwined white criss-crossing wire arch, letting the 
luxurious, delicately carved, insect bone-like gates shut behind him. He came out into the 
Queen’s Garden.
     The lush garden seemed an impossible crossbreed of wild development and trimmed 
control, forming an almost animated appearance. They breathed with the wind, turned with 
the earth, rustled with the waves, and crawled with the clouds. And in the midst of the silent 
living symphony was Mn. Queen Goldeh, fuseing with the faultlessness, as much a part of 
the garden as the lylacks or the daisies, as elegant and tender as the white roses, as tall 
and as proud as the red Androsogogin trees.
     “Mn. Jerren Kyl. . .long I have tarried here for the day that your beauty would become a 
part of my garden.”
     “Thank you, Mn. Queen.” said Jerress, striding down the grass carpeted, red and green 
bush edged path to walk beside the Mn. Queen. Goldeh’s diaphanous green gown that 
dazzeled behind her, touching against Kyl’s light duster in the evening breeze. “Mn. Queen, I 
have much to tell, so I must regretfully bypass pleasentries.”
     “To bypass pleasentries in such a pleasent place, soft, your news must be great in need. 
No time to smell these roses when a fouler stench blows, say you?”
“Yes, Marin Queen, and it is a far fouler stench. A stench that blows from within the waters 
of the Well itself. Naf, on his isle of the Ragged Face, has let loose his army on those of fare 
Joanna.”
     “So they cover this Earth?”
     “They scour all lands of good. They are questing to fetch the Key pieces for their master 
on the Ragged Face. I do believe Naf may be Rom’s rebirth.”
     The Queen stopped, spoke softly, maternally. “Nonsense, Jerren Kyl. It may be days of 
few since I have left the gardens to gaze upon the lands outlying, but surely the rise of this 
Naf, this Reighk Rom reborn, it would never have passed unseen before me. Such a stench 
would have overtaken all the garden.”
     “That,” Jerress said, pausing, “is because you have taken your time in Rom’s shadow, 
and in a shadow of such great darkness seeing other shadows proves impossible.”
     “Soft, you say you can look down on the Queen of the Lette? What high stair have you 
climbed, young girl, to grow higher then the highest Higher?”
     “I have not gone high, just outside. And from the outside I have a view of the crowded 
inside that those confused in the crowd cannot see.”
     The Queen started forward again, watching her white sandaled feet, “It is a far descent 
from a Queen of the greatest and highest good to the depths of murky darkness. Tell me, 
Kyl, how did I travel so quickly from so high, dropping so low, to rise again so high, and so 
fast?”
“Marin Queen. In days that only recently have become weeks things have changed greatly. 
For long times good and evil was a separation as great as the clouds and the bogs, but now 
it more likens the fire in winter.”
     “Say how?”
     “In winter a man lights a flame to prevent his death of cold. He can lay so close to that 
fire that he risks death of flame, but if he rolls aside he again risks freezing to death. At time 
such as these, it is simple, especially in our unexpecting sleep, to roll inches too far.”
     “And who shall say a great Queen is asleep?”
     “All were asleep, asleep of boredom and waiting. None expected the coming of evil now, 
none did. None.”
“Then who awoke you, Marin Kyl?”
“I did, Marin Queen. I was awakening by the fire on me a century and half a century ago. 
Luckily the flame died in time for me to realize that only by staying awake would I lay that 
fine line.”
     “Hmm. . .” the Queen nodded, considering, “Are you suggesting that I, too, fell to the 
flame?”
     “Far better then falling to the chill.”
     “What so?”
     “For a fire can be extinguished. Death by cold is permanent.”
     “I see.”
     “Ahead of us on this path,” Kyl said, turned toward Goldeh beneath the extending fingers 
of a sassafras tree, “is a dark forest. We can see danger ahead in this future.”
     “Curious,” the Queen said, picking a white flower from a bush, “That Humans and 
Tulunayn see the future as ahead of them and the past as behind them.” Picking at the 
pedals, tossing them at the ground, the Queen gave Kyl a penetrating stare, “Far more 
curious that you should think the like.”
     “Queen?”
     “You have not a Letton, or even Edenian, mind, Kyl. All Lette see history as ahead, for you 
can see what is ahead, and you can see history. Behind you are always what cannot be 
seen, the future, and the unknown. Lette, unlike Humans and Tulunayn, do not see life as a 
walk on a path.”
     “Then you realize I am not Edenian.”
     “I do.”
     “Question, Marin Queen.”
     “Yes, Kyl?”
     “Both you and I can see glimpses into the future. So, in either vision, we turn to look the 
other way and turn our backs on what is normally seen. Does that mean we loose sight of 
the past when we look into the future? Does that mean that by seeing all, we truly see 
nothing?”
     “A question often pondered.”
     “We, seeing so much, are, therefore, blind.”
     “Perhaps. . .”
“Then,” Jerress said, stopping, “Marin Queen, even if you did not turn to the shadows, how 
could you be so sure of your own blind vision?”
     “You fight with words well, Kyl. . .”she smiled at him, “A good woman to beat the Queen. 
But, as I said, these are only words. Such nonsense is only nonsense. By seeing into the past 
and the future we simply see more then others.”
“Curious, Marin Queen, that in all of this, you have never considered looking down.”
     “And why should the Queen of the Higher, a chosen of Azyr, look down?”
     “Because. . .only when looking down, do we see where we are. Maybe, Marin Queen, it is 
time you took a look down on the present.”
     Goldeh shook her head with a smile, “All right Kyl, you have earned a small taste of my 
time. Thought nothing will come of it, I will gaze over the Well. Come Kyl, we will see that 
when looking down, you see nothing but the obvious.”
     “And what is that?”
     The Queen chuckled, “Your feet, Kyl, your feet.”
     
     
     The curtains in the audience chamber swung open, and through it walked Marin Queen 
Goldeh followed by Marin Jerren Kyl. M’ellie and Curen stood with respect. There Goldeh 
paused, looking at the two with a distant glare. Jerress stepped closer, and Goldeh glanced 
toward him with the same curiosity. Finally, she looked down behind her and saw the old 
man lying dead.
“Marin Queen?”
     “A banished Lette, an Edenian, and a forbidden son of the woods. . . so strange is the 
fulfillment of the prophets, smashing what I had expected. Guards, remove this fool’s 
corpse. Kyl, Hero, Guide, come with us. We shall look to if I truly have been so bind after all.”
     The Queen watched Curen with empty, speculative, all encompassing gaze as he came 
forward. She took his hands in hers as he reached the stair top. She looked into his blue 
eyes with her green for long seconds, and slowly her bright lips twisted into a nostalgic, 
remembering smile.
     “Welcome, Daezra, my only son, welcome.”
     
     
     The time was ancient. Forever ancient. A man named Varick Daynn ruled over the Lette of 
the Ragged Face Lake. He was a Baennun, a Baennun, and a special man chosen by Azyr 
himself to be the bloodline of Letton royalty. He took a wife, a young Letton female, perhaps 
only eight hundred years old, a girl named Goldeh, and they bore a son. A son that was 
named Curen Daezra Daynn. Curen, living in Daygoon, was the first mixed child of the Lette.
     Immediately the Higher council, frustrated with Varick’s popularity, and perhaps tainted 
by Reighk Rom, announced that the Daynn child was a tormented, twisted mix, a mongrel of 
Azyr’s once beautiful and pure races. They rallied the people who feared the mixed, strange 
people they couldn’t understand, against Daygoon and stormed the ramparts. They 
outnumbered and overtook they city and banished the devilish male Baennun and his son 
from the Letton plateau. That was when rule moved to Que’larzoe and Marin Queen Goldeh 
was put in a command she never wanted.
     Varick, meanwhile, took a wife in Choria to help raise the slowly developing Letton child. 
Varick had two Baennun sons, Drogo and Doro Daynn, and when Varick finally died, at the 
age of three hundred and twenty, Drogo took the now six year-old-appearing Curen to live 
with him in the Red Wisp Forest. Drogo, also calling himself Mara Kin, with Ogray workers 
from beneath the forest floor, built and ruled Crystal Town, raised Curen there as best he 
could, telling him as much the truth of his past as he knew and could, and commanding him 
to keep his true name secret. But then Drogo was stricken ill and in madness he fled into 
the woods with Curen, perhaps again tormented by Reighk Rom, and in the waters of the 
Kolkien River, Curen seeming only twelve years of age, Drogo drown.
For countless years, through the Thousand Galaxy Empire’s rise and the Undring Ruler’s fall, 
through the rise of the Alignments, of TADSET, through the Horde Wars, the War of the 
Harbinger, through the Gion war and the ruin of Terra and Gaalor, through the scattering of 
Baennun, through the rediscovery of Joanna, and the creation and collapse of the KAA, 
through all that time Curen Daezra Daynn grew at a Letton pace in the forest by the Kolkien 
river.
     Only at that moment, looking in his twentieth year, did he ever return to his true home to 
see his immortal mother, who had watched him for such a long time, again.
     
     
     And so, the Queen told her tale, and Curen knew it was true. He remembered his father 
Drogo, though he knew him as only Mara Kin, and had such a strange familiarity with the 
Queen. He felt her in him. Then the Queen, more hurried now, rushed off by herself to glance 
out upon the Well, living the three in the audience chamber, sitting around the cherry red 
Androsogogin table.
     Jerress looked over toward them, his eyes’ view wider then in his Tulunayn body, and 
wondered for a second what was to come, wondered which of the two would survive, if any 
of them did, if anything did.
     “What did she say?” Curen finally asked.
     “Little. She said very little. I am sure that for a time she let the corruption of the Higher 
blind her against things, but she never truly fell as far as I toward darkness. She simply 
turned a blind eye toward the rising danger for a very long time by normal standards, but to 
an immortal, she simply went to her garden to walk off a string of depression, a depression 
brought on by gathering evil.”
     “So she can be trusted?”
     “I am pretty sure. At least as trustworthy as we are. No one is immune to the might of evil, 
it is a constant struggle, as anyone would know. I cannot guarantee her, just as I cannot 
guarantee myself, or M’ellie, or even you, Curen. We all must face our demons, in time.”
“Well spoken, Marin Kyl.” echoed the Queen’s voice, as she appeared at the doorway. “Now, 
you have sought the council of the wise, and you have come to find out what should be 
done. It turns out that you were, for a time, wiser then I, but that has been repaired, I have 
turned from my vacation. Now, you will have my council, the council of the highest Higher, 
the council of Azyr’s ancillary.”
     
     
     
     
     
     That night M’ellie and Curen slept divided for the first time in ages. Instead, Jerren and 
M’ellie shared a room in the castle, and night fell, and the three slept thinking about the 
next day. In the morning Curen awoke with the sun, strange images of leading a great war, 
visions from the night, still in his mind. It was a moist, cool morning with a light breeze, and 
he walked out on his balcony, and walked from there to a bridge-like walkway that 
suspended over the city. There he tarried and thought, considering the birds and the clouds 
moving about in the Red Sun Up. 
     Then, behind him he heard footsteps. He turned to see Jerren, her hair flowing long and 
deep brown-red, down her back in rippling shimmering waves. She was wearing a simple 
frosted bluish silver nightgown that lightly sketched the shapes and shadows on her tanned 
olive-brown body beneath.
     “Hello, Curen. Good rise.” she said, stepping out on the bridge.
     “Good rise, Marin. How did you get on the men’s side?”
“Air is no barrier.” she said, smiling with her blood brown lips.” Are you ready for the tryst this 
morn?”
     “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” he said, coming toward her.
     “Then come, Curen,” she put her arm around his shoulder, “We shall begin as you take 
your seat.”
     
     
     Curen Daezra Daynn took his seat. At the table were faces he had never seen before, 
along with the few he had known shortly. Jerren sat down beside him, and his mother, 
Goldeh, sat at a new built throne, all in the audience chamber that they had waited in the 
day before.
     “Where’s M’ellie?” Curen whispered toward Jerren as she sat. But before she answered, 
hands rested on his shoulders, and he looked up to see M’ellie standing behind him. “What 
are you doing? Don’t you have a seat?”
     “I am but your servant, m’lord, I’ll ‘ave to stand behind you. But I’ll be ‘ere for you” she 
whispered quietly.
     “Then,” an old man, bald and horrible looking with many spots on his skull, sitting at the 
head of the table, in front of the Queen’s feet, said, “All are attending are here?”
     “Yes, lord A’mok.” Jerren said quietly, sitting.
     “Guards, seal all portals and show yourselves distance. None but those who belong shall 
hear this and yet live.” The guards then, one by one, in an almost religious precision, sealed 
the shutters on room’s many side windows. They then backed submissively out, and shut the 
heavy doors behind them. “All is well then,” A’mok muttered, his face shown in the slits of 
light that shot in from the shutters. “Light the candles.”
     Many of those seated at the table reached forward and the candles in their tall thin pink 
glasses were lit. The room was filled with eerie light. “Now,” A’mok said finally, “You can 
begin with the introductions.” He stood. “I am Dia A’mok. The Queen’s successor to the 
throne. I am here to oppose the Queen’s foolish haste.” He sat.
     On the left side of the table, the first seated stood. This was Jerren. “I am Marin Kyl. I 
have brought the Key and the news of doom to this council. I am here in the name of Azyr.” 
The room turned to Jerren for a second in silence, awaiting an explanation. Jerren took 
advantage of the custom to force his point, as the others surely would, “I am here to prevent 
the downfall of Azyr’s creation through the rise of Reighk Rom’s power. Too long you have 
ignored its existence, denying that such conspiracy was possible. I will prove otherwise.” 
Silence. Then they went on.
     In the center left, a woman wearing what resembled many coils of dazzling silk ropes 
around her torso, looking a little broad faced, her hair short and white, stood slowly. “I am 
Dia Tevye. I am the head of the Higher Female Order. We insist that this nonsense is a want 
to bring about a male led war to place females back in their places. From the beginning the 
male of the Lette have wanted war to make themselves seen as fighters for Azyr because 
women fight for Azyr everyday in the government. Males belong worshipping in their places, 
we want no war. We want government.” To the surprise and disgust of every female there, 
Jerren chuckled to herself.
     To Curen’ immediate left sat another man, looking old and horrible like A’mok, his face 
dismal and beaten, his hair ragged and long. He had a thin, pointy face. “I am Dia Ohpak. I 
represent those of Daygoon Lette. I represent my forgotten and shunned people through all 
these trysts, all these times ignored for being twisted. I am here to fight for the right to fight.”
     Around the corner, opposite of A’mok, sat Curen. Something took hold of his heart and he 
stood suddenly, M’ellie holding his arm at his side. “I am Curen Daezra Daynn!” He said 
proudly. Shirk’A, of the Female Order, stood in horror, ready to call him a liar and a heathen, 
but Jerren grabbed her and yanked her into her seat. “No doubts may be allowed. I posses 
Nethereth-Kazon and I am the lost son of Verick Daynn. I have returned here to open the 
eyes of those who have grown blind. And any who refuse to see with Rom poisoned eyes 
shall have each cut from its socket!” He looked about at the silence, smiled to himself, then 
took his seat again.
     “Follow that.” M’ellie chuckled at the next in line.
     “I,” started the old, long bearded man to Curen’ right, “am Dia Renthus. I am he who 
represents those of the Humarian Lette.” He wore the same Blue-Black armor as those 
Humarian Lette in the street had, and he had the same white hair that the evil Marlina had. 
“No more needs to be said. My loyalty is with the Queen and her Son.”
     As the old man sat, the next in line stood in a flash, “My loyalty is the same! Azyr’s 
blessed son and mother! May their mortality never come for debt!” the naked young man 
screamed, his hand in the air with enthusiasm. 
     “Very good,” A’mok said cynically, “but, young Dia Godtman, did your pretty words toward 
the Queen get you the right to succeed her throne? Silence you nonsense.”
     “No! You silence yourself! Your words got you no throne either, old A’mok! The rightful 
heir is returned!”
     “No mortal mix shall take the throne of the Lette!” A’mok screamed, looking bitterly 
toward Curen.
     “Again with your poisoned tongue!’ Ohpak, of the Daygoon, screamed, “One more word 
against my people, A’mok, and I shall have your tongue! Curen is the heir now, not you, you 
braggart!”
     “Enough from you Ohpak, you twisted thing!” A’mok returned, standing too. 
     “Hey!” the young unrobed woman beside the young Godtman screamed, the two 
obviously being the lowest ranked, “I haven’t gotten to introduce myself! This always 
happens! Come on!”
     “SHUT UP!” Jerren finally screamed, putting her feet up on the table. “ALL OF YOU SHUT 
UP! The next one to speak dies! Now, young lady, you may speak.”
     In the flickering silence, all eyes turned toward the young blond girl with her hair tied up 
on her head. She blushed with sudden embarrassment. “I’m new at this. . .” she whispered, 
swallowing difficulty. She didn’t seem full Lette, she had a smaller frame, very light skin, but 
not Humarian. She actually looked Baennun. “I am Irelynn Boston. I, I, I’m the last dissident 
of the woman appointed to wed Curen Daynn when he reached maturity to clean his line 
back to Baennun.”
     “What?” Curen yelped, leaning forward suddenly.
     “Stop right there.” Goldeh warned. “We will discuss this later. Right now more pressing 
matters are on us, and we haven’t time to worry about ancient rules and ideas. As Jerren 
has warned me, we have spent too long looking in the future and dwelling on the past, and 
we’ve forgotten to keep watch on the present. A’mok, let us begin.”
     “Yes Marin Queen. You may start at anytime.”
     
     
     
Irelynn shyly took her seat at the table, watched carefully by Curen, and Goldeh began. 
“A’mok, Irelynn, Godtman, Renthus, Curen, Ohpak, Tevye, Jerren, welcome to you all. Yester-
evening I was met with a stranger whom I little trusted. It was an obvious Edenian in flesh, 
dark, short, but Lette. She was dressed like a commoner in oil skins and rough cottons, but 
something told me to let her speak. That person was Jerren Kyl.
     “She told me that Reighk Rom’s power was rising before my blind eyes, and argued well 
to the point that I had fallen into the shadows and could no longer see the world beyond the 
darkness’ edge. Obviously I doubted such at silly thing: the Highest of the Higher, the wife of 
Zarick Daynn, the Queen of the Lette, how could someone ever dare say that I had fallen 
into the grasp of Rom? How could anyone say that one who saw so much could be so blind? 
But then she showed me my son, showed me that Curen, my own son, Curen, was in my very 
house, no more then five hundred feet away, and I had not seen him, had not seen my own 
son.
“So, perhaps Marin Kyl was right, in a way. Perhaps I never caught fire, but maybe I burnt my 
skin on the warmth. I never thought that the Higher was possible of corruption, but this 
Edenian has showed me otherwise. So, in rush to repair my error, I came to the edge of the 
Well. There I placed my hand into the water and stirred the sand on the floor. And it formed 
many things for me to see.
     “First it showed me what has passed. It showed the rise of a thing called the KAA, and 
that they took up battle against a ship that seems familiar but changed, and I cannot place 
name on it, and not knowing is heavy on my heart, for it seems that this ship that tore this 
KAA apart is of grand importance. I shall return to the Well again when my strength to gaze 
in is renewed, but that was not all it showed. It showed things of far more clear importance.
     “It showed me further into the gone, and it formed for me the sight of a disastrous thing. 
It formed for me the shape of Reighk Rom’s horrible pets, the Gaaion, the Gion. They have 
returned home from Azyr’s exile, they have returned to the Outspace cluster. The Gaaion 
have beaten the Decamntres, the Aeyelon, back to us. And they have set their sights on the 
Well itself! The Well told me more of this tale, and my trust in Marin Kyl wavered for a 
moment. And I will now tell you the tale it has told me:
     “A man once lived named Jerress Kyl, who would, in time, become Jerren Kyl, and he was 
taken by these Gion. They twisted him into an Undring, an almost master of Azyr’s sacred 
Well might. They twisted him with a tool of the Aeyelon, they twisted him to let him bring 
back the forbidden Soul Power of Reighk Rom, and they succeeded! Two Gion, in contact 
with Reighk Rom, became masters of the Soul Power, but they were not done. They had to 
have the Well. They had to do as their lord commanded from beyond. They had to bring 
Reighk Rom back from the dead!
     “And in their hands was the perfect being. Jerress Kyl, a user of all Powers, a dark, evil 
man, he would serve superbly as the keeper of Reighk Rom’s heart. But, at the last moment, 
the Tulunayn teaching tool showed Jerress the evil of the Gion, and he broke free of them, 
killing one of the two users of the Soul Power.
     “But the second user lived, and he had his army. He took Reighk Rom into himself, 
though--as we know--Reighk Rom could only temporarily stay in that Gion body, for it had no 
strand of immortality, no strand of Azyr. With Rom in his heart, he led his army on the planet 
that homed Baennun and many other races, thinking that this was Joanna, but it was not. 
The Gion laid waste to that planet, cursing it with Reighk Rom, building towers upon it, 
making it the home of Rom’s Mask and the temple of his darkness. No attempts to take it 
back to good would work; it was forever forth the center of evil. This planet became Tartarus, 
the Zenith of Reighk Rom’s might, and all because of Jerress Kyl.” the Queen paused, 
looking down on Jerren for a moment. All eyes were on her, bitterness in their hearts on top 
of an implanted prejudice toward Edenian Lette.
     “Continue, fair Queen.”
     “Surely. To say of the Gion, who housed the might of Rom, he was killed and Reighk Rom 
never was truly reborn. He was killed by Jerress Kyl, who had come back to the side of Azyr. 
Jerress and a Tulunayn, whom even I know not how she came here, called Kelakwen, 
destroyed the planet that the Gion had taken. Jerress had redeemed himself for good, but 
things were not at an end.
     “The Well’s waters swirled to show me newer things. Things that even Jerren may not 
know, things of now, frightening things. Suffice to say, Jerress bore a son named Aspen Kyl. 
A name for a tree, a wholesome name indeed. A good boy, a boy trained by his father and 
his mother to be an Azyrian, whom we may hate, but is seen as good in some sectors. In all, 
like his father, he was to be a good man.”
     “Where are you going with this?” Jerren asked, suddenly surprised.
     “Patience, Kyl. As I said, he was a good man. And when Jerress came here to fetch the 
Key, as Azyr told him in visions, Aspen went to destroy the last traces of the Gion’s army. But 
there, on the horrid planet of Spprahgue, Aspen and his friends were again captured by 
Gion.”
     “No!”
     “Gion on the same mission as before, Gion looking for a rebirth of Rom. This Gion 
leader’s name was Terrex Minor, do you know this name Kyl?”
     “Yes, but that’s impossible . . .he was the first user of the Soul Power, and also the first to 
die at my hands! How does he live to still torment me?”
     “He was a being who knew only one Power, and one is a mighty one when one masters all 
he knows. Kyl, when you killed this being, he returned as you did when you were killed. By 
Reighk Rom’s might, he was resolute enough in his mission that he fought back from 
beyond, turned against the Well’s waters, and returned to life!”
     "That . . .” Jerren said in a whisper, her face suddenly in shadows of grief, “That is who 
slipped through my fingers . . .that it how the Gion know the Soul Power.”
     “Perhaps, I know not how they have learned this skill, but that is a possible solution. The 
Well showed me nothing to explain that, but it did show me more of this Terrex Minor. It 
showed him taking young Aspen, and putting him in that same machine, twisting him as he 
did you, Jerren, turning him into a creature for Reighk Rom.”
     “What happened?”
     “He broke free, and perhaps it would have only slightly churned the darkness in him, and 
maybe in time it would have just sunken back to the bottom, but the Gion had their hand in 
these events. Aspen, his heart’s evil brought to the top, fled from the Gion with a virgin girl.”
     "Samthianne . . .”
     “They had to run from a great force of Gion, and as I said, he may have been able to put 
the evil behind him, if not for this turn of events. The Gion made him run, and he ran from 
the night into a cellar, for he ran onto the planet called Tartarus. He ran into the core of 
Reighk Rom’s power, and he ran right to the temple of his might, right to the Tower that the 
Gion erected.”
     “What has become of my son?”
     “I do not know, but the Well showed me the Mask of Rom in that Tower, it showed me 
that your son would be right to take Reighk Rom. He has the power, he has the virgin, and 
he has the Mask. Sadly, I fear there will be no turning back for your son, and Reighk Rom will 
be reborn into Aspen, and he will change his name to Asp. The Serpent King will be 
begotten, and your heart break is ours, for your son’s down fall may be ours!”
Jerren, as the rest, was silent; the same shadow of depression that had plagued her when 
with Ashlia had again fallen on her, her moments of light-heartedness replaced with lead 
weights.
     “What else did the Well show you?” A’mok managed to utter, his mouth and throat dry 
from shock and fear.
     “The Waters spun, and the present of this Earth was upon the sand. The grains shifted to 
show me the 4 Towers, and the 4 Keys. The 4 Towers, holding the machinery to extend 
Reighk Rom’s platform over the Well, the 4 Towers that would allow access to Azyr’s power 
source. It showed me the 4 Keys, the pieces, that when assembled on Nethereth Kazon, 
would extend those bridges. As we know, 4 Montain, Azyr’s mighty dragon guardians are 
meant to watch those Towers, but the Well showed me an empty place where those beasts 
once watched. Have fear, for the Four have flown! None guard the Well, and I know not 
where they flew!”
“Carry on, Marin Queen, carry on . . .” the old Humarian Renthus whispered.
     “It also showed me the place of Nethereth Kazon, and for true, it is at the belt of my son, 
the true Hero of the World. If he can guard it from this dark enemy we will be safe.”
     “Enemy?” Ohpak, of Daygoon, said suddenly, “What enemy is this? Is it this modern 
Terrex Minor . . .we could destroy him. No Void Skiff could oppose the combined might of the 
Lette!”
     “No, no, Ohpak, our enemy is one that Jerren warned me to search for, one that a Marlina 
Frost warned us of. And in the story of Marlina Frost, there are two intersecting tales. But I 
will tell you as the Well told me, and you will see soon. First, the Well broadened my view, 
and the sand showed me the out lying lands of Joanna, the cities, the people. And they are 
under attack. Horrible Gion warriors, with Soul Power as their might, are scouring the edges 
of the lake, searching for Nethereth Kazon and the Key pieces. They have destroyed Bry, 
and Lonza, and Cauta.”
     “What of Pierce?” Curen asked for the silent Jerren.
     “I know not, the Well did not show me. But it did show that the people are not prepared. It 
showed me that the Gion will reach the first Tower City, Choria, shortly. They have great 
columns of fighters, and if Choria is not protected, the enemy may receive the first Key 
Piece.”
     “Then Choria must be protected!” the young Godtman insisted loudly.
“Wait Godtman, do not rush to decide.”
     “Continue, Queen, tell us all.” Ohpak insisted.
     “The Waters and the sands again stirred. And now I see the Ragged Face itself, the very 
lake that this Letton Plateau sits upon.”
     “And what did you see?” Tevye, the female’s representative asked with over excitement.
     “Patience, Tevye, patience. You will hear. As I had begun, it showed me the Ragged Face, 
but it did not show me the Letton home itself, it turned more south, it turned toward a 
horrible little stone covered isle just north of the Bailin Pass, just north west of the Kolkien 
River and my son’s home. On that isle I saw the evil forces exhume. They came from there, 
passed over the Bailin Pass, ravished my son’s home and were on his heels as M’ellie 
rushed him back here. They finally caught up when Jerress found them, but that is beside 
the point, for the isle is my concern.
     “The island is the center of this tale. For on the island is the enemy that Marlina had 
warned us of, and on that island is the reason that we turned her away to ultimately die in 
torment. On that dark isle a chill force augmented, and grew, grew until his dark power even 
influenced us to turn a blind eye toward him. He turned us to darkness, and when Marlina 
Frost came to warn us, we turned her away, banishing her for her thoughts. She then hunted 
out this villain, going to the island, and there he defeated her, raped her of everything Letton 
about her, made her his slave, and turned her back to our plateau. There she took in M’ellie 
to have her fetch the Savior and Nethereth Kazon for her new master. Luckily, Jerress, or 
now Jerren, destroyed Marlina in time, destroying the Quarry, a place on our very home, 
which had become a nest for Reighk Rom’s might.
     “We thank you, Jerren, M’ellie, my son, we thank you for taking the blinders off my eyes. 
We thank you for saving the future, for now, by destroying Marlina and her Quarry.”
     “But Queen,” A’mok said darkly, “What about this enemy on this isle.”
     “A’mok, do you not remember what Marlina told us in this very room so long ago? Do you 
forget?”
“Forgive me, Marin Queen, but you had ordered us to banish her banter from our brains. I 
had long put her words to rest," he said honestly.
     “Ah, yes, in my darkness I had said that. I will repeat it now, and you are ordered to never 
forget, like you would never forget your name or your race, what I tell you. Our enemy is the 
master of those Gion forces scouring the land, he is mighty, and have fear! His name is Naf, 
and I believe he may be the familiar of Reighk Rom! He is holding the darkness of that Soul 
until it can be put into Aspen.”
     “My lord . . .Reighk Rom really is returning . . .” the old Renthus breathed in pain, “What 
will we do?”
     “That, Renthus, is why we are gathered here. We must make our plans.”
     
     
     “Our first priority, obviously, is to stop the army that is heading for Choria. If they reach 
the Wind’s Tower with no Montain there to stop them, they will take the Key Pierce from the 
unknowing humans. They are unprepared for war.” Ohpak said, holding the warm candle cup 
in his hands.
     “But we, too, are unprepared for war.” Stik’A said.
     “Why do you say that, Tevye?” Godtman said bitterly, “Is it because females are weaker 
and cannot fight such battles? Is it because such Azyr inborn differences bother you? Why 
must it be this way with you, Stik’A?”
     “It is not that, you fool!” she screamed, “there are too few of us! Lette take too long to 
reproduce! As you see, Curen took countless years to develop, and he had a bit of Baennun 
in him, most of our children, born only soon after Azyr leaving us, are not even fifteen in 
Baennun looks! We cannot supply the lives for a war. We may be ageless, but immortal is an 
exaggeration!”
     “She’s right,” old Renthus said quietly, “the Humarians may die faster then you Lette, as 
I, and much of the first generation, will die in a million years, but we cannot supply enough to 
fight! We have the armor and the weapons, yes, we have the greatest armor in the universe, 
but with no man to wear it, how shall we fight?”
     “Luckily,” Ohpak, of Daygoon, said smugly, “Azyr plans far better then foolish Lette. He 
made the Daygoon Lette! We grow and age as fast as Baennun, but we have the strengths 
of Lette. There are many of us, and if the war is to last as long as this, we can produce many 
thousands more in less then twenty years!”
     “He’s right,” Godtman said, forcing himself to admit it, “The Daygoon have thousands of 
thousands covering the plateau, we well know that, for we have hated it for many years. 
They have at least as many as the Gion. With their numbers, the Humarian’s Armors, and 
the Letton skills, we can take on the force.”
     “Plus,” Ohpak added, “My people have grown into proud fighters. We are, in fact, by 
Azyr’s sight, the greatest fighters on this planet. With a force of Daygoon armed with Blue-
Black armor and followed by Letton priests, we could take on the Gion and have a chance.”
     “A chance.” Goldeh said solemnly, “They are many, and we are still few. They are not 
weak fighters, or fools, these Gion. They are physical masters, and perhaps it is only Blue-
Black armor that could stop their claws. They are intelligent and quick, armed with dark 
magic and highly destructive technology that we have none of. They also have their own 
creations, faster, stronger, more durable; they call them Gion Dragons. They are mighty 
killers, bred for murder and perfect for war.”
     “We can take them!” Ohpak insisted.
     “Yes, if you play your pieces right. I will warn you, in a straight out one-on-one, you would 
die utterly. But with wise strategy, with good placement and planning, you may stop them 
from taking Choria.” 
     “Queen, tell us where they are, exactly.” A’mok said thoughtfully.
     “They were driven away from Pierce, I do believe, and they arched northward and then 
eastward, hitting and looting Bry for food and blood. They then arched further back south, 
and came to the point where the Natherr mountains north of Pierce and the R’zona 
mountains south of Pierce meet. It is where those two ranges become one, and it is called 
Volcher’s perch.”
     “That is where they are? They haven’t yet crossed over the Natherr mountains north, so 
they still must cross them to reach Choria.”
     “Correct, they will have to follow the North Road over the Natherr Mountains, and they will 
follow that road directly to Choria and the Wind’s Tower. But South of Choria, to the east of 
the North road, is the high rocky Dohess Ridge. The ridge’s western section hugs the 
southeastern corner of Choria. They may choose to take that high ridge. There they have the 
high ground to strike Choria.”
     “I agree,” Godtman said calmly. Then he glanced up at Tevye, who sat uncomfortably in 
her chair. “What about you Tevye? What do you have to say.”
     “Nothing.” she snapped, out of her place.
     “I know,” Godtman smiled, sitting back, “It is lovely, isn’t it?”
     “What about the Northern ridge?” Jerren injected suddenly.
     “Yes,” Ohpak muttered, “Scammon Ridge.”
     The Queen considered it. “Yes, Scammon Ridge. It is to the North of Choria. Its western 
half lays across the entire north of Choria. It then bends northward, but its eastern edge 
protrudes eastward beyond Choria, as well does the Dohess ridge. Between to two ridges, to 
the east of Choria, is an open field.”
     “Not open,” Godtman said quietly, “It is scattered with briers. Far and between, but there 
are briers that would make it a hellish place to fight.”
     “All places are hellish to fight in.” Curen said.
     “I agree,” said the Queen.
     “As do I,” said Ohpak, “And I say we fight there.”
     “Who put you in command of the forces protecting Choria?” A’mok said, sounding rather 
frustrated.
     “I do.” the Queen said, “Ohpak’s people will outnumber all others twenty to one. They will 
follow one of their own best. Especially with the way that they have been treated by our 
people. A’mok, let all Lette know that they are to forgive the Daygoon immediately, for we 
have seen their place in Azyr’s will. Renthus, tell the Humarians living in the caverns beneath 
the plateau the same.”
     “Understood.” A’mok said.
     “I shall be done," said the light skinned Renthus.
     “And you, Ohpak, tell all that you are commander of our army. You will chose your 
underlings, and they and you will gather the forces and organize the weapons. In seven days 
they will be loaded into ships and sailed across the Ragged Face to the area about Choria. 
There you will hunt down the Gion and kill every one. Ohpak, I put much in your hands, Azyr 
save your pure heart, and may Reighk Rom have no hand in your soul: gather the army, arm 
them, and destroy.”
“We will wait at Dohess ridge if the Gion had not yet arrived.” Ohpak said quietly, “I will 
branch one force off, led by my most trusted friend, the man I entrust my city of Daygoon 
with now, Twelzun. Twelzun’s column will go to the base of the Natherr Mountain’s and they 
will wait where the North Road forks toward Choria and toward East Ending Road. There they 
will inform us of the coming of the Gion and slow them. We will then wait till the Gion are 
west of us on the North Road, and we will crash down from the high ridge upon the 
unsuspecting demons. There we shall destroy them.”
     “What if they have already reached the Dohess ridge?” Godtman asked.
     “We shall branch off again, but now Twelzun will have an entire half of my forces. He will 
wait upon the Scammon ridge and battle in them in the thorny fields between, while I shall 
wait inside the city itself, at the base of the Tower. Then our mission shall be defense. But if 
we tarry, and they have already taken Choria, we shall take the mission of offense. We shall 
attack the city, or the road, or where ever they are, and we will die killing.”
     “Very good.” the Queen said, “I see that you will have good planning Ohpak, but be sure 
of nothing now, but consider all. Be sure that there can be no better plan, then choose it. I 
trust your and Twelzun’s faith.”
     “Thank you, Queen Goldeh.” Ohpak said, nodding a bow.
     “However,” she added, “I have simply one change. You or Twelzun must not lead the 
forces of Lette wizards. You are not of magic.”
     “Understood, Queen, but who shall lead?”
     “I will.” Curen said, standing. “I have the Sword, and I am the fighter of Azyr. I will lead 
this prong of Wizards.”
     “No, no, you cannot, you are far too important here. The plateau must be protected. I 
must find another.”
     “No, mother. I will lead it. I see this battle in my visions, and I feel this is right in my heart. 
I shall go, and I shall leave protecting this home to you, to whom ever else would have been 
chosen if not for me going. I will leave it to be protected by A’mok and by M’ellie. I will go.”
     “He speaks true,” Jerren said in a deep whisper, “He must go, and he is right, save one 
thing. M’ellie will not stay here.”
     “What do you speak of?” the Queen asked.
     “Yeah,” M’ellie suddenly added, “What are you talking about?”
     “I have seen M’ellie’s powers of good magic, I have more then seen them, I have died by 
them. She is as good a companion as I could have, save Curen. I choose her to go with me 
on my journey.”
     “But, Jerren,” Curen said, “I was hoping it was to be you who would protect the plateau.”
     “And it was I who the Queen wished to lead her wizards, but I--but M’ellie and I--and 
others, have a more important mission.” Jerren said.
     “What are you talking about, Edenian?” A’mok spat.
     “Curen must go to fight this fight, he must. He has to kill that army, and I see that only 
with him can you ever succeed. He will be the only one whom can equal you. He has fought 
these beasts from the time he was thirteen years old; he can kill them with only his hands. 
He must lead this fight.”
     “That,” Goldeh said calmly, “is understood and sadly excepted, but what of this other 
mission?”
     “M’ellie and I shall go alone to the isle of Naf.”
     “I’ll do what?” M’ellie screeched.
     “Naf must be confronted, and I will see him.” Jerren said, sounding suddenly more like 
Jerress. “He will not be able to deny me that much. I will go to Naf, though he will try and 
stop me with all him mystic might, and I will try to kill him and that dark soul of Reighk Rom 
before it can reach my son!”
     "Yes . . .you must try and save your son.” the Queen said, “But, as you said, you cannot 
take us with you. This is your own mad quest. We hope to stop Reighk Rom by keeping him 
from the Well, but you have other motives, you must help your son.”
     “And M’ellie must go with me, must be there to anchor me to this world. I, plainly, am 
afraid to take on the devil alone. Reighk Rom is a force not to be scoffed at, and being killed 
already ups my confidence little. I want a Lette, a strong faithful Lette, and a Lette who has 
seen the evil in Marlina and stayed true to goodness. M’ellie, you must go with me.”
     M’ellie looked down on Curen with her wide eyes, fear in her heart twisting her stomach, 
he gazed back up, seeming still so calm and collected, and he nodded his head yes, putting 
his warm hand on hers. “All right,” she said, “When do we leave?”
     “As soon as you are rested and dressed again.”
     “Clothes, again?” she said with disgust, thinking about more weeks of discomfort in the 
harsh things. “Why?”
     “Protection. We will find something comfortable, and I will cast a spell upon them to 
make them blade safe. We will take no foods and no weapons, and we will take a small 
clipper ship to the isle. There we will face the demon alone.”
     M’ellie had nothing to say. She just nodded unsurely.
     “Is that all?” Tevye asked.
     “No, Tevye. This part is for you,” Goldeh said calmly. “All those females who do not feel 
they can go to war are to pray, and they are to look into the Well, and they are to seek 
visions. We need news from Azyr; many questions need to be answered. But the main 
question to be answered, the one they are to concentrate on is: where are the Montain? 
Where have the protectors of the towers gone?”
     “Yes, Marin Queen.” Tevye said, bowing her head. 
     “The Edenians-” Renthus suddenly said.
     “What of those strangers?” Godtman asked.
     “They were Lette . . .whom were to live on the land to feed and care for the Montain. They 
had their gardens and their forests, but they were driven away by the humans, the same 
humans that they mated with.”
     “Dark skinned Edenians, multiplied like forest animals. They became like man, too 
numerous to be special, but then they migrated north, to the frozen lands.” Ohpak finished. 
“What of them?”
     Renthus started again, “There were a few pures left, though their gardens were burned, 
all females, all immortal. Perhaps a thousand of them. They lived in caves near the towers; 
wearing clothing and living like humans, being all together strange. Then, every hundred 
years, when the Montain grew hungry, they would remove their clothing and feed 
themselves, still alive, to the Montain. Therefore, four would die each century.”
     “Are you suggesting that they have run out already? It has only been, say, six thousand 
years since the first mixing of Edenians. They would have still been in supply. No way they 
would have run out already.” Tevye said, adding in her head with some difficulty.
     “True, true,” Renthus said, “That is what I hope. They shall soon go to feed the Montain 
again, and we can find them there. I suggest some of us go to a safe town, say, Nesolus, and 
there we shall meet one of those Edenians. They will find that the Montain are gone, and 
maybe they will be able to figure out where they have gone, being so close to them and all.”
     "Yes . . .” A’mok said, smiling, “By Azyr, proof he exists! Azyr has timed this all well! It shall 
be this year coming, at the end of the winter that is now on us, that the Edenians will go to 
feed themselves. On the last day of this year an Edenian will go to the Tower top and 
disrobe. Then, when the sun rises, she will open the door and enter. The Montain will then 
speak with her, then eat her! But she will do this this coming month and find that she is 
standing there in the nude for no reason! It will be a grand sight to see that sick 
embarrassed thing so shocked!”
     “A’MOK!” the Queen screamed, “We have long shunned the Edenians. And the point that 
they wear clothing and are embarrassed in their holy form is one principle, but we must now 
put that behind us. But still, Renthus, your plan is good. Nesolus must be reached. There, 
wait, and find this Edenian. Have her take you back to the place where they are hiding, and 
there have them tell you what they think. Now, yes, furthermore, bring one of their leaders 
back with you, and her and I shall speak.”
     “Who shall go?” asked Renthus. “You shall, you and Godtman. Go and find her and bring 
her to me. We must know what has become of our companion Montain.”
“Is that all, Marin Queen?” Ohpak asked.
     “That is all that need be discussed here. All other subjects will be addressed later this 
day, or this next day. We have little time to squabble, so make haste. Now, let us eat our 
lunch!”
     “Good day!” M’ellie said, smiling a little, “I can’t wait to eat some good Letton food 
again!” 
     
     
     
     
     Curen sat back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully, listening only in spirit to the gentle 
tingling of the music in the brightly lit warm street, and paying even less attention to the 
conversation taking place at the glass, food laden table before him. M’ellie sat across from 
him, talking quietly and quickly to Jerress beside her, eating when she could manage.
     “What you’re trying to tell me is that you have absolutely no belief whatsoever in the 
stories of Illidor? You actually think that Azyr had no assistant. What of Karakor Rom?” 
M’ellie asked, a baffled look on her brow, she shook her head gently.
     “Karakor Rom is a much more logical and provable deity. Illidor is a highly inventive 
belief, a way to make an embodiment of all those things that Azyr didn’t manage to provide. 
Azyr just wasn’t as perfect a messiah as we would have hoped, and Reighk Rom had this 
assistant, this apprentice, to unbalance the stories. It is very logical to solve all those basic 
problems by fabricating a character like Illidor, but we forget, Azyr already had an assistant, 
Reighk Rom. And in essence, there are no texts, no prophesies, nothing, not a single thing 
gives reference toward an Illidor or a J’zin, or any assistant of any kind.”
     “Evidence? What evidence do you need? This is faith we’re talking about, not science. We 
are talking about history; history passed down from father to daughter to son to mother for 
generations uncountable. We are taught faith and belief . . . and belief is the important 
element, the truly faithful need no evidence.”
     “But questioning the truth and finding your answers is the only way to make your belief 
stronger.”
     “What stronger do you need? What can questioning Azyr do to strengthen? My faith is 
unwavering, and I have never doubted Azyr, or Illidor. Azyr created Reighk Rom then 
Baennun, Carron and Kauin, and then Montain and Lette, he formed the Well, and Illidor 
made all those other races so far out there. Reighk Rom turned himself into a race, the 
Tulunayn, and made the Tulunayn in his image, then Gion, Ogray, and Spprahgue and Trobi. 
I have faith in these things, and I’ll never doubt them.”
     “Your faith is backed by blind belief, and with my short time in Outspace, I’d like to back 
my belief with something much stronger, something that is the very thing Azyr most stands 
for: Truth. Truth and Wisdom.”
     “There are differences in our religions, Kyl. I accept that. The Lette follow a Well Keeper 
based religion, one with Illidor and Karakor Rom, one with Reighk Rom creating Tulunayn. 
You are a wizard, a Tulunayn, and both of those follow an Azyrian religion, Azyr made Reighk 
Rom and the Aeyelon, Half Aeyelon, Men, Kauin, then Carron. I know those small 
differences. But you go beyond that. You have made your own religion, one that totally 
erases Illidor!”
     “You are right. Well Keeper believes in a physical Well which Azyr still looks over, and 
Azyrian believes in a mental idea of the Well’s balance, but we are more different then that. 
Azyrian allows more for questioning, you have shown me. I question Illidor, and until my 
question is answered one way or the other, I will not rest on the matter.”
“What more fallacies do you trust and what more sacredness do you question?” M’ellie 
looked Jerress square in the face, bitter at his crazy thoughts, already prejudiced against the 
use of Azyr’s Well by the wizard. 
     Jerress rubbed his chin, thinking, then smiled a bit, his watery blue eyes lighting up a 
twinkle, “I have no more questions. My mind has not a reach enough to grasp the truth, and 
my hands are too weak to hold a weight as heavy as the burden of evidence. No vision has 
touched me to question anything more wild. . .but that is I. I am simply a guide, simply a 
sideliner, a supporting actor in a great crusade. Tell us,” Jerress said deeply, his voice a 
hollow whisper, “Curen, our visionary savior. Do you have any questions that plague you?”
     Curen stopped in mid-chew, and looked over with his eyes in tight slits.
     “You do.” Jerress whispered, still rubbing his gray chin, “Tell us. Enlighten us.”
     Curen leaned slowly forward, resting his arms on the table. “I can’t enlighten you. . .but 
maybe you can me. From the first time my father told me the story of Azyr making the Well 
and Reighk Rom stealing it, I have had a single question. Maybe now fate has given me the 
right to have it answered.”
     “Ask away.” M’ellie said, “You’ll find no better a brace to ask.”
     “Only one other could answer your questions better, but he has long since vanished into 
Terra’s wilds.”
     “You all know the myths. The tales of to-come. In it, the evil forces are to gather great 
powers over all the planes of life. They are to hoard immense power, and from beneath the 
wing of evil, Azyr is to rise to squash darkness.”
     “Loosely translated,” M’ellie said, curious, “Sort of. Yes.”
     “And, the Well, is it good, or is it evil?”
     “Evil.” M’ellie snapped quickly.
     Jerress talked quietly, “Many years ago I asked that very same question of a power you 
would assume would know. It told me that it was a good force, if used right. But, in my life 
since, I have put it to thought and found that answer is no answer at all. It would be a far 
better question to ask from whose point of view we perceive good and evil? By the eye of 
Azyr? By the eye of Rom? If it is one of those two, I refuse to speak for them. But by tales 
and by texts, I would gather that it is in agreement, from any point of view, great stores of 
power can only lead to evil, only lead to destruction. So, though I see the Well as a hope for 
good, it is the heart of evil.”
     “Then, if the Well is such a dark power. . .” Curen began.
     “Why is it that Azyr created it?” Jerress finished, smiling.
     “Temptation of the living. A test.” M’ellie said quickly.
     “But temptation is only allowed to take place, it is not done by good. Azyr does not test, 
he allows Reighk Rom to test.” Curen said quietly. “And wouldn’t Azyr be the evil force if it 
were he who gathered the might that controlled the universe? Wouldn’t Reighk Rom, Azyr’s 
so-called “first assistant”, be the good one if he rose from beneath Azyr’s wing? Do we have 
things backward after all? What are we to believe if we can’t even be sure what is evil and 
what is good? Is our entire morality reversed?”
     “You are only loosely translating! There is no doubt that Reighk Rom is evil! Azyr is the 
force of good.”
     “Is he?” Jerress said, smiling.
     “No, no, Jerress, that’s not what I’m arguing. I have no doubt we are driven by a force of 
good, and the banner of Azyr is the banner that Curen fights beneath, Azyr is good. Why do 
we not doubt what is not written so clearly? What is only as told as Illidor is? What if Reighk 
Rom created the Well? Why has the religions of Outspace split over Illidor and forgotten the 
creation of the Well?”
     “No one wants to believe evil could be so mighty.” Jerress said.
     “Impossible. I won’t believe it.” M’ellie said, flopping back in her chair.
     “My point exactly.”
     “Silence Kyl.”
     “But this is a point for you to fight, M’ellie,” Jerress said, “we have long seen such hinting, 
and we have perceived the Well as only symbolism, a mental image. You know that it’s real, 
you know it had to actually be created, you say. Answer his question. Believe that it is 
possible Reighk Rom may have made your Well.”
     Curen pushed on, “M’ellie, you know the scrolls, is there an entry that marks that Azyr 
created the Well and not Reighk Rom? Is it written, or have all these years of telling each 
other that it is devilish to question religion left us worshipping false tales? Have you praised 
ignorance in exchange for comfort? I think Jerress is right! Question! Question everything till 
you have a truth in your heart to back it! A wise knowledge is so much more substantial then 
a blind belief!”
     “Stop! All of you!” The three spun around and saw the dark form of A’mok looking down 
on them, “Speak no more against Azyr, for we need him now far more then ever.”
     “But A’mok!” Curen started.
     “No more will I hear! We need our faith now more then ever, and we need no half-breed 
putting doubt in hearts!”
     “You cannot doubt what knowledge knows!”
     “Easy Curen, now is not the time.” Jerress said, resting his hand on Curen’ shoulder. 
“Worry little, the time when you will show all the truth will come. Just relax.”
     “Now, silence reign. Gather your things, Curen Daynn. You depart in the morning.”
     “In the morning!”
     “And no later. I have no more to say. I leave.” Instantly, A’mok spun absurdly on his heels 
and marched down the sparkling streets like a black burn in film, a shadow in the sun. And 
for some reason an image of ashen leather wings like decaying black leaves unfolding from 
that blotch of blinding black in the unseeable light ran through Curen’s head, a vision of a 
dark dark being, foreboding worse things yet to even be imagined, and suddenly things 
seemed much grimmer. The vision faded as A’mok ducked into the living quarters in the 
distance.
     “I thought he was to go with us.” M’ellie whispered, looking over toward Jerress.
     “He is. . .he is.”
     
     
     
     
     Curen peered out his window, out over a slanting gray roof, down onto the faintly glittering 
golden streets, watching as the cool night breeze eased through the black skeleton 
branches of a tree in the central square far below. The old sugar-cherry tree had grown in 
the central square, in the view of every north facing window in both the female and male 
living quarters, and it had blossomed in the cool, never cold, warm, never hot, Letton climate 
since it had been wrought from the sea by the hands of Azyr. But never since Reighk Rom’s 
fall and the ensuing millennium of peace had a darkness as mighty as this been able to chill 
the night air and bitter the soil to turn the wide hand-like leaves to wither. So the leaves fell, 
the long-standing tree wilted, and it caused a dark dishearten to hang over the plateau and 
all of fair Joanna. Curen watched in silence, a clock ticking nearby, and his thoughts all his 
own, for long hours, letting night pass gently by.
     His mind drifted to thinking of M’ellie then, and his eyes drifted over toward the dark 
bluish brick of the women’s living quarters. He felt very alone suddenly, and he wondering 
exactly what she was doing as he looked toward her room. He pictured her curled up in satin 
sheets, sleeping peacefully in a bath of blue-silver moonlight, and he entertained the 
thought of going to see her, but chuckled at his own foolishness. But, yet, the hope lingered. 
. .
     Then he heard the knock upon his door. He stood and answered it sluggishly, almost 
expecting, and very much hoping, that it would be M’ellie coming to see him, but it turned 
out, to his surprise and a little horror, to be Irelynn and Dia Tevya.
     “Irelynn? Dia Teyva? So late in the night! What can I do for you?”
     Dia Teyva stood grimly in front of Irelynn, her hands clasped in front of her. She spoke 
uncharacteristically softly. “The Higher have been in discussion through the night. A decision 
had been reached. Now, before I continue, I request you allow us enter.”
     “Yes, of course.” Curen murmured, stepping slowly out of their way. Tevya marched in 
without a glance toward him and stood in front of the window, glaring at him. But Irelynn 
shyly slipped past, keeping Tevya between them as she went, and when her glance caught 
Curen’ eye, she looked quickly away. “What is it?”
     “As I have said, Curen, the Higher have been in session all the night, ever since you had 
left for your lunch. We’ve been through the old tombs of knowledge, the research chambers, 
reading the texts the texts Azyr left us, reviewing and comparing our commands, following 
the words of your wise father, Varrick. We have ever brought this matter before the Marin 
Queen, so you can see that our choice did not come of quick thought, though time has been 
very short.”
     “What matter is this?” asked Curen, sitting on the edge of his bed.
     “The matter of your promise of marriage to Dia Irelynn Boston. . .you do know that when 
the two of you were brought unto this world, your father Varrick, noble Queen Goldeh, and 
Dia Boston’s parents agreed upon the joining of your lines as you came of age. You are to be 
the future King and Queen of the Lette, the Highest of the Higher, the rulers and protectors 
of the Well of Power,” said Tevye quietly, emotionlessly. Irelynn seemed curled up, trying to 
disappear behind Teyve’s back.
     Abruptly, Curen stood, “Are you trying to say you’ve spent half the day deciding whether or 
not I’m going to marry her?”
     “Actually,” said Tevye, stepping fluidly forward, “We first discussed the truth that lies 
behind your claim to your name. You long argued your identity, I assure you, and walking in 
there and announcing ‘I’m Curen Daezra Daynne’! However, once we had a majority of faith 
backing you, we moved on to the matter of your and Irelynn’s promise to one another.”
     “And exactly what did you rule on the matter?” Curen asked bitterly. His heart was 
pounding. His thoughts immediately went to M’ellie. He wasn’t sure if the two of them were 
meant to ever be together, but the possibly still existed, and he didn’t want it ruined. Tevye 
paused for long seconds, considering her words and reading Curen’ face, dragging out the 
announcement of his sentence painfully. She waited till Curen was on the verge of 
screaming, then she spoke suddenly.
     “Your father and your mother’s wishes match one another and those of the texts of Azyr, 
the Boston household, and the Higher as a whole. The marriage is to commence 
immediately, with no further delay permitted. For it is already twenty years beyond our 
hopes,” said the cold Letton, rather loudly, hurtfully blunt, her white hair blowing. Curen’ 
eyes spread, his mouth dropped open. Slowly he lowered himself back to the edge of the 
bed.
     “Oh really?” he whispered, his voice almost swallowed up by the crying of the wind cutting 
through the tree outside.
     “We will have you wed before you depart on your journey, Curen, that is not in question at 
all. We will take you to your the meeting hall you were in today and we will have you joined in 
Azyr’s eyes. There is not any arguing this matter.” She continued, monotone, heartless, quick 
and sharp. “But that was not all that was in dispute this chillfull night. We had much further 
consideration to place upon the matter of your battle with the dark forces at Choria’s gates. 
We have just gotten you back, Curen, the line of Varrick, and we do not wish to loose the line 
which Azyr himself chose.”
     Curen looked slowly up with dark suspicion in his eyes. He couldn’t get the image of 
M’ellie out of his mind, couldn’t stop going back to the chances they could have together, 
and the nagging worry that they would never be together, “What are you talking about? My 
line?”
     “Why, Curen, your genes were arranged by Azyr himself. He chose Varrick, he chose 
Goldeh, and you came forth of that union. Now he had chosen your bride to be Irelynn. If you 
are to die in the warring ahead, we will loose our destined line of Kings. . .our leaders as 
chosen by God. . .we can’t have that.” she snapped, her hair rustling in the increasing wind.
     Curen’ glare shifted to Irelynn, who peeked hopelessly out from behind the statued Tevye. 
She was horrified too, feeling as destroyed as he. She had never expected him to return. She 
probably had a life of her own to lead, but no anymore. That was taken from her. All he 
opportunities were taken away when he came back. “Curen, are you paying me any mind 
what-so-ever? Do you understand what I am saying?”
     “No,” said Curen bitterly, “And I really don’t care to.”
     “Oh?”
     “I won’t be subjected to this. I don’t have to listen to you or your Higher. I am your leader, 
I am the line of Varrick, now, leave my room and take this girl away with you.” Curen said, 
signaling toward the door.
     “No, Curen, you are not king yet. You are not the Highest Higher until Marin Queen Goldeh 
passes to the Well, many ages from now. Until then, you lie under her word and the words of 
her Higher, as does Irelynn. And the word of the Higher is marriage.”
     “And if I refuse?”
     “There is no refusing. I can wed you without consent: I have been granted that by the 
Queen and therefore by Azyr himself.” She paused, looking at him insidiously. Slowly, she 
stepped closer, casting shadows on Curen where he sat on the bed’s edge. “But Curen, my 
lord, why force me into such devilish deeds? Why have methods to obtain all our goals 
tonight, and I have explained to that to Irelynn, and if need comes about, I will do the same 
to you.” She stopped again, smiling. “But I’d rather not delve into such things.” She took in a 
deep breath and spun to look toward Irelynn, who stood terrified in the corner. “Now, Curen, 
whit is wrong with the girl? A Letton beauty, all yours to wed, why fight destiny?”
     Curen looked toward Irelynn. She stood naked before his window, shy and pink, looking 
away from his gaze. But her face was kind, and she had the beauty and magic of the Lette 
about her. “Come now, Curen, what more need you ask?” She was beautiful. She was young, 
kind, quiet. Slowly Curen thought about M’ellie, about how little a hope he had for her. She 
had played his friend for Marlina, she had brought him through the woods, never once 
feeling guilty for lying to him. She was blatant, harsh, and deceptive. But more, she was 
radiant, above him, perfect, but Curen did not want to give up his chance at companionship. 
He had spent too long alone in those woods; with no one. Would a wife be so bad, afterall?
     He didn’t have heart to fight it any longer. The hand of a wonderful Letton maiden was 
being given to him by Azyr’s own word, and Curen couldn’t hope to fight destiny any longer. 
Tevye certainly would have ways to force anything she might like on him, and he knew that. 
And looking at the soft body of the shy little Lette, he felt bad for maybe hurting her in 
resisting so strongly. She didn’t deserve troubles; he didn’t need it either. He had a lifetime 
of love and companionship handed to him that lonely night.
“You are right, of course, Marin Teyve,” he finally breathed out, resting his head in his hand, 
“I needn’t go against the wishes of the Higher.”
     “Very good.”
He looked up again, hunched over in the moonlight shadows, and gazed over Teyve’s bony 
shoulder to Irelynn, who watched him too. He pushed his hair away and stood, and he 
walked over to took each of Irelynn’s tiny cold hands in his. Smiling almost sadly, Curen 
looked down into her eyes, “I would be happy to join with you in the eyes of Azyr, Irelynn 
Boston, you will make a grand bride.”
     “Oh, my lord. . .” she started, breathing deeply, trying not to tremble, “I, I. . .”
     “She accepts, of course,” Tevye insisted. “Now,” she said, grabbing Irelynn’s hand and 
leading her harshly out, “follow us to your mother’s chambers. There you will be wed, and 
then we will discuss those other matters.”
“Yes, Marin Teyve,” whispered Curen, standing frozen as Teyve rushed Irelynn out the door, 
slamming it swiftly behind her.
     And again Curen was left to himself; alone. Gradually, he reached the window and 
lowered back down into the now cold wooden chair, watching the tree outside once again. 
And when the wind blew alike again, and the skeleton branches shifted alike again, Curen 
again thought of M’ellie sleeping in her chamber. She seemed so much more distant now, 
so far away, now hopelessly far away; a chance lost. He desperately tried not to, for he knew 
what Azyr would force him to see; he tried not to look toward the Female’s Living Quarters, 
but helplessly his eyes looked toward where hope had once laid, but now only laid dead. And 
he found himself looking with a pain in his heart toward the Living Quarter’s wall. There he 
saw a single window of golden yellow light, and inside he saw the lovely outline of a Letton 
female as she slipped into her satin sheets. The light went black. And as M’ellie laid to rest, 
as did for their future together.
     
     
     
Distantly, Curen gazed into his long dull mirror, his thoughts elsewhere as he took his ragged 
old things and draped them over the window sill. A servant had brought him the appropriate 
wedding costume earlier, and had left directions to Goldeh’s chamber as well as his own 
personal congratulations. They were certainly not unsatisfactory clothing, for it was the finest 
of Letton Religious clothing, but the meaning behind them forced him to dress with 
trepidation.
     There was a dark, wheat colored shirt with no sleeves, and a thing dark maroon scarf to 
wrap tightly around his neck. Wheat colored cotton pants, tall dull leather boots, and over all 
this was the Letton prayer robe. The back like a full regular robe, but the front simply split 
into two thick sashes that hung loosely over the shoulder and upper arms and bellowed 
flowingly over the chest, till it was drawn into a belt and from there hung down. It was a 
rough dark gray, a thick stiff canvas-like cloth.
     But Curen saw the night growing ever later, so he dressed quickly and quietly, thinking of 
whom may have worn those ancient robes before him. Perhaps his father had, before the 
Higher threw him from the plateau; perhaps in his wedding with Goldeh. So long ago he had 
maybe dressed the same. But Varick Daynn had loved Goldeh, had he not? He had given up 
his rule over the Well, his post as master of the seraphs, all in order to marry Curen’ mother. 
Curen suddenly felt as if her were disgracing that gown, marrying Irelynn for less the love; 
when his true love slept unknowing.
     Pushing his long brown hair out of his face a last time, Curen moved to the window, and 
there he gazed longingly toward the window that had graced M’ellie’s shadow moments 
before. Grasping the window frame, holding his weary body up, he looked away from the 
window and up into the stars: those distant, bright, constant stars, looking down on him like 
Azyr: watching always. They had looked brightly down upon him the night when chance laid 
him on the Hundredth Rocky Hill; the night that M’ellie had found him. Though only weeks 
before, it seemed years distant, and Curen recognized well the length of years. Her face was 
growing dim on his memory now, as dim as the father he had thought was his, Mara Kin to 
the Ogray of the Red Wisp, and she grew dimmer, like the remembrance of Varick Daynn of 
so very long ago.
     Curen’ hand screamed with pain, and he realized he had been squeezing the wooden 
door frame, squeezing till his muscles ached. He pushed his motions aside then, looked one 
final time down at the said skeletal tree, and the dark window, and he turned aside and 
headed toward Irelynn, trying desperately to only look ahead and never, no never, look back 
on that night under the persistent stare of the night sky stars. . .
     
     
     
     A mist of tears was in his eyes as Curen came upon the chamber door to Goldeh’s 
audience hall. Breathing one final lung stretching gasp, he pulled them swiftly open and 
entered. Inside he found the walls again lined with guards, but the window shades had been 
cast open to the chilly night wind, and the stars seemed to glare at him, refusing to cease 
reminding him. He looked away, and walked briskly across the floor upon which the table 
had been set the day pat. He came finally before Goldeh’s raised throne.
     “My dear son, Curen. It is good to see you in those gowns. . .” Goldeh, dressed in flowing 
diaphanous night cloaks, smiled at him sadly, her wide green eyes looking somewhere 
beyond his face. “You look so very much like your mortal father. . .it is good to see his face 
again. . .”
     “They are fine clothing, mother.” Curen said, surprise to hear himself call the highest of 
the Higher mother. “Fine, fine clothing. . .”
     “And it is fine occasion to see them worn for sake of love’s union again.” She looked off 
for another moment, perhaps many minutes in a mortal’s time, but only an eye-blind to the 
eternal mother and son. “Now, Tevye has been summoned. She will perform the ceremony.”
     “What part will I take?”
     “Oh, you need not take any part. Simply stand with your hand holding hers, and all will be 
done in Azyr’s eyes. Then other matters can be arranged.”
“What matters are these Marin Teyve and you continue referring too?” Curen asked, Teyve’s 
weak hinting brought back to mind. But before Goldeh could react, heavy cracks were head 
on the floor behind, and there stood Tevye, Irelynn still standing subordinately in her 
shadow.
     “Marin Queen, we have come,” said Tevye, nodding her head softly. Wind whipped 
through the windows.
     “Step upon my podium, Tevye. The ceremony should be completed before Red Sun up, 
for Curen has many tasks waiting for him.”
“I will be my quickest, Marin Queen,” said Teyve, stepping swiftly past Curen and coming up 
onto the podium. She turned to Curen and smiled a false grin for his sake, but then she gave 
a rather horrible look toward Irelynn, and the girl stepped into Curen’ shadow without word.
     Wind gusted in again, whistling a cold song, a silent old song, the wind carrying with it the 
history it had blown over just the same during Varick and Goldeh’s joining, when love was 
put above law and even foreseen destiny. Curen, his lips pursed, his thoughts distant by 
design, slowly looked toward the timid Irelynn. Her long blond hair had been pulled back as 
M’ellie’s had been, showing her short cropped Letton ears. Her earthy colored gown was 
long and many-layered, fashioned with many rough cloths and soft silks, covering her from 
neck to foot, which was a strange sight among the Lette. During a Letton wedding, the bride 
and groom were most superior and respected, wearing the most clothing.
     Monotone and swift, Tevye began. Irelynn’s cold gloved hand took Curen’ at some point, 
but he was looking far away, looking longingly toward the central road with the tiny skeleton 
tree, and beyond all that, looking toward the stars: those distant, watching stars. . .
     
     
     
     The ceremony took little time even in the life of Men, and it ended as expected: a kiss, a 
praise of Azyr, and Tevye emotionlessly left the disconsolate Irelynn away to her room. No 
words were spoken, and Curen’ heart froze when the door slammed behind him. 
     Standing uncomfortable and alone before his glaring mother, a small point in the cold 
stone audience chamber, Curen felt he was expected to do something, but he had no idea 
what.
     “What now?” he finally asked, glancing up to Goldeh.
     “You must now guarantee the continuity of the Holy Daynn line, my son. Go to your wife,” 
Goldeh mumbled standing. “Great evil would befall Outspace if you were to die in Choria 
with no heir, no child; if Azyr’s chosen ended with you. We have provided for your union.”
     “But mother-” said Curen, his own voice’s booming anger taking him aback. He calmed, 
“You can’t expect me to. . .”
     Golden nodded her head sadly, then turned to go behind her curtains. But before 
disappearing, she stopped. “Tevye can use her technology to force it upon you, son. Please, 
just do as we request, in the name of the Well, of the Lette of Azyr, and Outspace. For me. 
Please, enough pain lives in this land already--force no more upon us.” Then Marin Queen 
Goldeh slipped behind her curtains and headed silently toward her garden, leaving Curen 
alone to deal with the press of the Outspace and the struggle in his head.
     
     
     
     
     “Awake, lord Curen,” a salty feminine voice whispered in his ear. The sun was high in the 
red morning sky now, and the wind and stars had been cleared away. The sound of talking, 
of birds, of singing, and the gentle murmur of the Ragged Face filled Curen’ ears. “Come, 
lord, your night has ended at last.” Then he felt the warmth of his blanket ripped away and 
he shot up in bed, naked and suddenly cold.
     And there stood Jerren, looking down on him with a crocked grin, “Jerren?” Curen 
mumbled, snatching his blanket away from her. She was already dressed in her leather 
duster, he dark hair pulled back. “Ended at last, indeed! I only went to sleep hours ago,” he 
said, sluggishly wrapping the blanket around himself.
     Jerren Kyl gave him an analyzing side-glare, then lowered herself elegantly to the 
bedside. She looked around for a second, and picked up a necklace off the floor. “Letton 
marriage necklace. . .Irelynn’s I suppose--they only wear them when they’re virgins you 
know.”
     “Really?” Curen asked, snatching it away. He put it on.
     “Then they give it to their husbands. ..you do know that you are in Marin Boston’s bed this 
morning, do you not?”
     “Yes, Jerren, I do. . .” Curen mumbled, the night before sinking in at last. “I do.” He 
flopped down in a big padded chair beside the window, looking down at the necklace with a 
frown. “What have I done, Jerren? What am I going to do?” he asked, shaking his head 
mournfully.
     Jerren put her hands on her knees and looked at Curen carefully, a curious look in her 
eyes. “You love her afterall, don’t you?”
     “Irelynn?”
     “No!” Jerren shouted abruptly. “Certainly not! Of course you don’t love Irelynn. It’s M’ellie. 
. .you love M’ellie! The both of you would like to deny it: you’re just aquaintances, I know; just 
brought together by destiny, I suppose. Just too good of friends to be in love? You’re too 
close to her now, what would it have been like, thought, ah?” Jerren stood suddenly, looking 
away from Curen. She walked over to the window and gazed out. “I had it easy. Stasie and I 
fell very conveniently in with one another, but that’s just not your lot in Outspace’s never 
ending love story. You love the irrepressible Lette, on multiple levels. But you haven’t any 
experience with love, living alone out there?” said Jerren distantly, watching people passing 
by below.
     “I don’t know what to do.”
     “Well--” Jerren snapped, turning to him again. “You obviously didn’t last night! The 
Highers’ selfish concerns have you now, don’t they? Magic and a little convincing has gotten 
them a healthy girl holding the of the Hero, no matter how natural their methods of assuring 
it were.”
     “Jerren-”
     “Azyr has plans for Irelynn, Curen. I’m afraid he has grand plans for her and your 
mystically insured son. . .and his plans for you are beyond me. You want advice from me? 
Ha! Well, that’s certainly not going to be my place in this. I may be the wise old wizard, but 
I’m not the decrepit town cleric yet!” Jerren turned with a swoosh and headed for the door. 
She stopped though, looking away, her hand clasping the handle.
     “I know you want great words from me Curen. . .you want me to make the choice you 
should choose clear. Should you go to fight in Choria? What about the marriage? Irelynn? 
Goldeh? Tevye? And, oh yes, what should M’ellie be told, and will she care? You hope so. . 
.want me to tell her, do you? War, destiny, love, and sex: a complex game we play, isn’t it my 
poor Curen?” Jerren quietly turned the knob. “Here’s a clue. I’m as lost as you. Now! solve 
your problems your dear self. And goodday!”
     Then she left, leaving the door open behind her.
     Curen bit his lip till he tasted blood and tore the necklace off his neck. He stood and 
kicked the door closed and threw the necklace out the window so hard he hurt his arm. Kyl 
wanted to play games, but Curen still needed better answers then that: he needed real 
guidance.
     He dressed swiftly, putting his holy gowns back on, smelling the previous night’s wind still 
on them, and he marched out of the Female Living Quarters, not noticing Jerren watching 
him with a grin from the stood of an adjacent building. He then headed toward the Higher’s 
chamber filled with rage, love, regret, sorrow, and over powering confusion. But mostly love, 
regret, and confusion: three feeling that would ultimately follow him to his grave.
     
     
     
     The sun was high and the winds shifted in the morning, blowing in gently from the north 
now, coming down from Drid with the air of damp mist. It smelled of a storm, on the Letton 
plateau, and so soon after one had just passed. It spelled more then bad weather on the 
horizon: it spelled a rising of something that had not be awaken for over a millennia, 
something that had left Outspace for countless years as long as the life of a Lette, 
somewhere out there, over the horizon, beyond the stars, darkness was strengthening. The 
menacing moist weight of the south-coming gales along with the eastern rising sun’s yellow 
light was strong as Curen let the crisp white ivory-coated gates of the Higher’s courtyard 
creak quietly closed behind. He branched off from the main grass carpeted aisle and 
marched up a well-trodden, thin, gray dirt path that wound off behind a patch of white 
flowering thick trees. He pushed passed the purple flowered vines of a great bush away from 
his face, and there he saw Goldeh, looking out over the Ragged Face. She stood at a lush 
green cliff-side, looking out over a bottomless void of royal blue that reached off into the 
misty surroundings. Hundreds upon hundreds of miles away was land.
     “Curen?” she asked, quietly glancing toward him. “What is it son? Are you not leaving 
shortly?”
     Curen came up beside her. He looked out over the lake, but he did not see what drew his 
mother to that place. Only endless blue, so endless and pure a blue that seperation between 
sky and sea was only the red line of the sun’s light. “I have come four your council, mother. 
There are difficult times,” he said.
     “They most certainly are, Curen. Never since the Great Storm have we seen such coming 
terror growing in our land. Joanna has long been cleaned of its ancient horrors, for good had 
overcome here, for a time. But now evil rise yet once again. . .I wonder Curen, can this 
struggle even be done? Can good ever really overcome?”
“Certainly, mother, if the answer is beyond your grasp, it is far from mine,” said he. “And I 
am here seeking answers to my questions, for you are the only one who remains who can 
hope to answer them.”
     “Jerren turned you away, did she?”
     “Yes,” he said, looking out across the waters.
     “I cannot answer your questions better then she or you, Curen,” she said, glancing toward 
him for an instant, then looking away again. “Since the day we banished you and your father, 
we knew we truly need you. We knew evil was to rise under any ruler less equipped, a ruler 
such as myself. . .Curen, I have seen the rise of the Undring Lords who killed millions 
everyday and quashed religions; I have seen the Great Storm that took this place when 
Reighk Rom fled the Well, dividing our people, throwing the Humarians to the underground, 
Edenians to the shores, Daygoon to their kingdoms fortified from floods; I watched when the 
Quarry was torn from the earth; I watched when Jerress Kyl was made ready to take Reighk 
Rom; and I have seen the ruin of the worlds of Freedom. I have seen all these things, Curen, 
but none have pressed on me like this that is coming now. Powers inconceivable are 
building, and Reighk Rom has taken his foot-hold for sure. Loosening his grip will be more 
difficult then anything we can imagine. We see him in Naf, and his armies are released like a 
pox on long peaceful lands. The Montain: gone. My people: divided. Our future: no brighter 
then that northern stormy sky. Never have I seen such doom power swelling, Curen. I can no 
longer preach from experience. I have no further wisdom. Tomorrow is in the hands of the 
chosen. In the hands of the Hero. In your hands, Curen.” She turned, and took his hands in 
hers.
“The Montain have been our crutch, and now those born to protect have gone, their sad 
calls are absent in Jouna’s nights. You must take Nethereth-Kazon, for no one else has hope 
to guard it, and you must protect the Key Pieces in Choria, in Nesolus, in Drid. I only wish I 
could offer you more wisdom. I only wish I could offer you more hope. But you are our hope, 
Curen. Our armies, though infinitely mighty, are small. The followers of Naf are limitless. 
Protect Choria, protect Nesolus and Drid, protect the Well. Then, return to us alive.”
     “And what kind of solution, may I ask, is that?” a boisterous woman’s voice called over 
the wind. Jerren walked calmly up the gray-sanded path, her now unbound hair and dusty 
long coat whipping in the gusts. “Curen,” she said, acknowledging him with a nod.
     “Jerren,” he replied.
     “Marin Queen,” she said, curtseying rather ridiculously. Still in a bow, Jerren’s eyes shot 
up. “You’ll excuse me if I do not disrobe for your honorable highness, but it is particularly 
chilly in the wind.”
     “What do you want, Kyl?” the Queen snapped, sounding offended and surprised at once. 
“Or have you come here just to mock our ways?”
     “I apologize, Queen, that did not come out as I had wished. It was in no way meant as 
insulting, merely as informing.” Jerren stood straight and shrugged her coat off.
     “No Kyl, no need. What do you want?” she said, calming a bit.
     Jerren fixed her coat, then went on. “Not meaning to further bother you, Marin Queen, but 
I am questioning your plans in this grave time. Surely a Queen of the ageless Higher Lette 
should be more foresighted then yourself.”
     “Jerren, since you arrive you have come to me to question me endlessly. Need you do 
things so sporadically? Could you not just ask me all your questioning and fill me full of all 
your opinions and insults all at one time, like any respectable Letton would kindly do?”
     “Unfortunately, your answers of late last night only boiled up to my ultimate point after 
allowed to sit on my minds burner, if you take my meaning. I did not want to hit you with it so 
late, I requite a well considered response,” Jerren said, grinning smugly. “And late last night--
or perhaps it was more early this morning--I had only the slightest doubt in your usually 
superior abilities. I understand that such extreme hours-”
     “Enough, please. . .” the Queen whispered, sighing. She shot a quick glance to Curen, 
read his calm expression, then spun around to face Jerren. “What grand flaw have you 
detected now?”
     “Queen Goldeh--I know you plan to gather the Key Pieces to this place, and I have already 
brought it to your attention that this is detrimental to Azyr’s wishes upon separating them, 
but as you insist, under these circumstances. You plan to beat Naf’s army down as best you 
can, an then bring the Pieces here to guard them more carefully, since the Montain have 
flown. But certainly, you have further plans! That does not defeat Reighk Rom in the 
slightest. You yourself said his forces were limitless. Soon they can break even the walls of 
this plateau. They will be as relentless as the tides in their pursuits, and even the power of 
the Lette, of the Azyrians, of the Higher and the Aeyelon cannot stop the tides. You must 
destroy the sea at its source, my Queen, you must defeat the spring itself.”
     “Your words suggest that we must destroy Naf himself, the captain of these forces. But, 
Jerren, have you forgotten, that is your self-appointed mission.”
     “Such limited sight for such wide eyes!” Jerren laughed.
“Speak your piece Kyl! You have disturbed my peace in my garden once already, and now 
you have come upon my look out and disturbed my son and me! Now, be quick and be 
gone.”
     “A thousand apologies, my clothing insulting you. I know, but Queen, see! Naf is surely 
not the root of evil! You must stop that from which even Naf sprang, for he is nothing unique. 
More can spring!” she said.
     “So you suggest I kill Reighk Rom himself? That is absurd!”
     “No! You must destroy what Reighk Rom sprang from!”
     “What are you suggesting Kyl?!”
     “You know!”
     “Silence then!” Goldeh screamed, sure of Kyl’s madness now. “Though you may believe 
otherwise, Kyl,, you do not know all! I will never consider such dark, underhanded things!”
     “As I expected,” she mumbled.
     “Quite enough!” Goldeh stamped forward. “I am not Azyr’s chosen Kyl, and my patience 
has limits! You will speak no further disrespect, you will cease your smugness and fall 
humbly to your knees! I speak from the words of a millennia of studying Azyr’s texts, a 
millennia of consulting His Well, a millennia of prayer and insight and council. I speak in the 
name of Varick Daynn, and I tell you that YOU are wrong, Jerren Kyl. You are wrong. Now, 
take those cloths off and show the Queen of the Highest of Azyr’s race the respect she 
deserves!”
     No reluctance in her, Jerren fell to her knees and looked humbly up at Goldeh. She pulled 
her scarf off and slowly pealed her coat away. “Now, Marin Queen,” she said, her head 
bowed as she unlaced and pulled away her shirt, “I will show respect. . .for now it is 
deserved.”
     And Curen watched in partial horror and partial fascination as the great, unconquerable, 
awe inspiring Jerren Kyl, who had pulled through the fire of Reighk Rom, who had far 
surpassed any Azyrian Wizard in existence, humbly through her cloths aside and kneeled at 
Goldeh’s feet. Curen was amazed by the power of the Higher and the Lette, but in his heart, 
he still wondered who was right.
     Then, to his utter horror, Kyl kissed his hand and kneeled.
     Never before had Curen felt such responsibility crushing him.
     
     
     
     
     
     Evening was falling clean and cool; the storm staying yet away; and the sky cast a 
blueness on all the Earth, pitching purple shades, but down by the sea docks, tucked away 
behind a mountain path, where Jerren and M’ellie stood and waited, torches lit at post tops 
sent out domes of orange and yellow, reflecting in the rippled lake’s dark water below. 
Jerren, in her usual coat, a bag slung under her arm, stood at the plank of their sailing 
vessel. M’ellie, now wearing a flowing black dress and small black undergarment beneath a 
translucent purple shirt of loose, light material, was beginning to feel impatient. It was much 
chillier now, a cold too warm to dress heavier, but too cool to be comfortable. In the Ragged 
Face Lake, weather so inhospitable was more then a bother: it was an omen of darker things 
to come.
     “A’mok should have already arrived,” Jerren finally said, annoyance in her voice. A bell 
rang softly on the huge fifty foot ship behind, the planks creaked, and the endless murmur 
of the lake’s water went on, a persistent nose so near silence it was more disquieting then 
true silence. It was an eerie night, something more like a dream.
     “I thought he was rushing Curen a morn’n ago,” said M’ellie after another long pause of 
silent, uncomfortable waiting.
     “Curen had. . .other matters to attend to this morning. But I have also paid frequent visit 
to A’mok, in the night passed, and his words were toward this day at noon,” said she. “It is 
now on the hour of six.”
     “Night ‘as fallen early.”
     “To be expected of such times,” said Jerren, “however, A’mok’s actions are less expected. 
Though our wise Marin Queen did not originally realize the importance of destroying Naf and 
preventing the passing of Reighk Rom to my son, a permanent host, A’mok found it foremost 
in our needs. His lateness is not acceptable.” She crossed her arms, ducking her chin to her 
breast, blocking against watery gusts of chill.
“Goldeh did command ‘im to decree the goodness o’the Edenians this day. Mayhaps ‘e’s still 
about on that task. It shouldn’t be an easy one.”
     “Tell me, M’ellie, from what parts were you born to have such a wild accent to your 
Tulunayn? I notice you loose it when you speak Letton.”
     “Ah, a perceptive woman who can tell the difference between Letton and his ‘ome 
tongue.”
     “Letton is one of my home tongues.”
     “I see,” she said, slightly impressed. “I was taught Tulunayn by one from Nesolus. Many 
of those that dwell in those parts have such strange ways of talking. I suppose that I could 
loose it, if I put my mind to it, but it helps me know which language I’m speaking, 
considering the way of Letton and all.”
     “I see.”
     “And who is this?! A’mok comes at last.” M’ellie whispered then, pointing to one of the 
cobblestone streets that led down from the mountain pass, off to their right. “All dressed in 
black robes like an Undring or something, ‘e is. Oh, look alive, Jerren.”
     “Suggestion taken,” said Jerren looking up and uncrossing her arms. She stepped 
forward, “A’mok! You have come at long last’s end!”
     He nodded and looked the two over. “You both have your things?”
     “We do.”
     “You’ve talked to the captain and seen his crew, I suppose?”
     “Yes,” said Jerren.
     “Then under night’s ebony vale, we sail!” A’mok said quickly, walking up the plank. Jerren 
followed swiftly behind. M’ellie came last.
     “Night ebony vale, A’mok? A cloak of darkness from the forces of the night? Does this not 
seem more a time for a captain among Naf’s fell forces to leave, instead of a Higher, an Azyr 
Wizard, and a Lette?”
     “Symbolically, perhaps, Kyl.” A’mok said, pausing at the ship’s edge. “However, 
practically, no better a south wind or a clearer night can be hoped with this storm watching 
over us. We leave.” A’mok turned toward the ship’s bow. “Captain Statof, let us be off at your 
soonest ability, sir!”
     “Understood, Higher,” strongly said a tall, thin, young Letton male with a short blond 
beard. “Before the night runs out of darkness!”
     “Very good, Statof, get about it. Sir, Farid sir?” A’mok said, uncharacteristically courteous 
to the crew. “Farid, show these ladies their quarters. I will take their things to he cargo hold,” 
said A’mok turned back to Jerren and M’ellie. “Then I will join you.”
     “Very good!” Farid, another young blond sailor, said bowing.
     “Then you be about it yourself!” Then A’mok grasped a box beside him, took M’ellie’s 
chest and Jerren’s satchel, and he headed off to the cargo hold. Farid, quiet and nervous, 
led the two women to their quarters as the crew scurried at Captain Statof’s command to 
cast off.
     “You’ll find your quarters particularly large,” Farid said, opening a door beside the 
captain’s quarters. “As large as the captain’s room, in fact, Marin, larger.” Inside was a 
square room, gray, dark, and dismal. Two bunks hung on the inside wall, a cot beneath the 
portholes on the outer wall, a central table, a small mirror, and a trap door in the floor. The 
room was at the bottom of a short flight of creaking wooden stairs. “Satisfactory?”
     Though M’ellie’s mind ran with questions of discomfort, Jerren smiles and patted Farid on 
the back. “Most satisfactory, my dear Farid. My compliments to Captain Statof. I have long 
wanted to sail the waters in a cramped sailing ship. And you, my boy, have brought a very old 
man’s dreams true!” said Jerren, very jolly, breathing in the molded misty air.
     “Young woman,” M’ellie reminded Jerren with a grin. “You’re a young woman.”
     “Oh, yes. Well, thank you beside, Farid. Be about, if I should need you, would you?”
     “Of course Marin-”
     “Kyl, Marin Kyl.”
     “Yes, of course. Now, if you would excuse me, Marin Kyl, I am needed to assist in cast 
off.” Farid bowed and started to back out as M’ellie curiously stamped on the trap door.
     “Hold it,” she snapped, “where does this go?”
     “To the cargo hold, Marin. Now, if you’ll-”
     “Yes, yes, go!” M’ellie said, looking in the mirror with a frown. 
     Then Farid ducked out, closing the door softly behind him. Jerren stood at the stair still, 
her hand held upon her chest, breathing in deeply with a crooked grin. M’ellie flopped down 
on the bed.
     “The seas, M’ellie,” said Jerren, coming down the stairs with a bounce. “Long I’ve sailed 
though space in sterile, controlled space-ships, Void Skiffs, and almost as long I’ve wished 
for the romance, the adventure, of the rough seas. Fate plays you like cards out here. It is 
quite enlivening to place you life in Azyr’s hands, instead of Life Support and Horizontal 
Stabilizers. I’m old, M’ellie, and my mind has long needed something new to keep me alive!”
     “And so,” M’ellie said, falling back, breathing deep sighs as she gazed at the ceiling, “we 
find our dreams are quite reversed.”
     Within the hour, the sailing ship Akicheve sailed away from the Letton port, heading out 
toward an unknown island called Thorenlaird and the horrible Naf. And those aboard were to 
never see the Letton Plateau the same again. . .