Warm, heavy rain beats down on Mirsal’s stoic brow as she carefully climbs the jagged, black rocks of Pallomo Pass. Her fingers cling tightly to the porous stone as she swiftly ascends the steep, narrow gorge, north of the mouth of the Curtain River.

“Bayo! Bayo!” cries Mirsal, squinting into the salty mist that sprays off the rock face above her.

Reaching the summit, appearing oblivious to Mirsal’s perilous pursuit, Abayo clambers on. Easily scaling the steep gorge, the weathered old man wears a stern, urgent look of determination as he finally reaches the grasslands.

“Bayo!” cries Mirsal once more, reaching the summit before she begins racing through the long grass towards him. “Stop!” She pleads, grabbing hold of the old man by his shoulder. Abayo stops and turns to Mirsal, his long beard tangled in his thick, heavy robes.

“What?” snaps Abayo, scowling into Mirsal’s eyes.

“Are we not in this together?” asks Mirsal.

“What are you talking about?” snarls Abayo, turning sharply and resuming his hurried strides through the long grass. Mirsal follows close behind, glancing over her shoulder as an obscured group of figures, climb up onto the grasslands behind them.

“We could be making a huge mistake,” says Mirsal, raising her voice over the hiss of wind and rain. “Please Bayo, I want to make it back… to my son.”

Abayo slows his strides until, gradually, he comes to a stop. “We would all like to see our children one more time,” says Abayo.

Mirsal hangs her head, burdened by the weight of Abayo’s words. Catching her breath, she lifts her head skyward, closing her eyes as the rain washes the sweat from her face.

Mirsal is joined by seven others, five men and two women, each of them wearing the same worn out, brown robes.

“Fallen,” says Abayo. “Must I remind you, our purpose far outweighs our desires.”

“Captain,” says Hatich, the smallest of the men. “I must agree with Mirsal. We should go back… consult the General… explain what we’ve found.”

“To return with word of all we haven’t found would be a mistake,” says Abayo.

“Agreed,” says Cohe, the largest of them all. “The captain is right. How would we serve our purpose if we return empty handed?”

“We’re not,” says Mirsal, “We know at least two of the holds are empty, that can only mean one thing.”

“I’m not so sure,” says Hatich, “I’d say it could mean two things. Either they’re keeping them somewhere else, or, they’re not keeping them at all.

“Either way,” says Cohe. “Our mission is to find them.”

“But this isn’t the answer,” says Mirsal, “We don’t even know if we can get inside.”

Before anyone can weigh in on the debate, all eyes turn towards a figure up ahead who rushes through the grasslands towards them. The figure slows down and stops before Abayo, leaning over and catching his breath. Abayo looks down expectantly at Mako, his most trusted scout.

“Captain,” says Mako, still breathing heavily, “It is not as we foresaw.”

“What do you mean?” asks Abayo.

“Something really guts-up is going on here!” says Mako as Mirsal turns to Cohe, a look of ominous despair in her eyes.

The Fallen continue north, out of the long grass and across the half lands, until they reach the brow of a small hill. They stop and look out over a shallow valley that stretches just short of the horizon. At the foot of the hill, a dense forest stands between them and the centre of the valley. The forest curves away from the hill and appears to form a ring of darkness around the moonlit grassland.

“It’s there,” says Mako, “Right at the centre.”

“I don’t see anything,” says Mirsal.

“You won’t,” says Mako, “The entire structure appears to be underground. There’s a slight depression beyond the foundations. It’s huge.”

“This is becoming more costly at every step,” says Hatich. “For the sake of the gods, Bayo…”

“Lead the way,” says Abayo, nodding at Mako.

“Gut me sideways,” says Hatich before he and the Fallen follow Mako down the hill towards the forest.

As they near the inner edge of the forest, a sharp, pungent odour fills the night air.

“Is that what I think it is?” asks Mirsal, curling her lip and cringing in disgust.

Just as they emerge from the trees, Mako raises his hand. “Stop,” he says, peering out into the valley. “Before we cross, we’ll need one haddah of a plan, Captain.”

“Cross?” says Hatich, stepping forward in search of their obstruction, “Cross what?” Hatich holds his breath, his words cut short. He grimaces as he gazes down in disbelief at a wide trench that appears to surround the grasslands. The trench is almost full of dead bodies, infested with terragins, grasskans, and  large insects which feed on the blanket of bloodworms that chew their way through the rotting remains.

“How, in all the light that shines, are we supposed to get across there?” asks Mirsal.

“We climb down, walk across, and climb up,” says Mako, demonstrating with sarcastic hand gestures.

“And once we get there?” asks Cohe.

“Mako?” says Abayo.

Mako inhales deeply before he lets out a short sigh. “It doesn’t appear heavily guarded, but, nobody has come or gone in all the time I was here. And in that time, I counted six guard changes, ten guards in each, none appeared to be the same.”

“You’re sure?” asks Abayo.

“I didn’t take my eyes off the entrance for nine hours,” says Mako, “And there’s nothing to the north but half-lands.”

“Then could it be,” says Abayo, “This could be where they’re keeping them all.”

“Well, I’m not having many doubts,” says Hatich, glancing into the trench.

“We’ll need to separate the guard, take them out slowly,” says Abayo, “We can use one of them to get inside.”

“Ahh, it’s gonna be a little bit more difficult than that,” says Mako. “They’re not Arn guard. As far as I can tell, they’re Mardern.”

The Fallen look upon each other with concern, their confidence scarred by the significance of Mako’s words.

Abayo looks Mako in the eyes.

“Then I will go in alone,” he says, looking each of them sternly in the eye.

“There’s no way I’m letting that happen,” says Mirsal, stepping between them.

“It is I who gives the orders, Mirsal,” says Abayo.

“Even together we could not fend off sixty Mardern!” says Mirsal. “Now is not the time for needless sacrifice, Bayo. We don’t even know if they have any.”

Abayo turns and looks out at the centre of the valley, a hopeful yet confident shimmer in his eyes. “I have to,” he says, untying his backpack. “It is my purpose, and my responsibility.”

Mirsal takes a deep breath as Abayo’s backpack hits the ground. “Say something,” she says, turning to Cohe. The wet robes on Cohe’s huge shoulders sparkle in the moonlight as he hangs his head and looks down at Mirsal, a despondent crease across his brow. “He is our Captain,” says Cohe. “And I trust him.”

“Well, I don’t like it, Captain,” says Hatich. “For this to work out, you’ll need to get inside. And if you ask me, it doesn’t look like they’re handing out invitations.”

“I’m not asking, Hatich,” says Abayo. “For all the laws and judgement that the Mardern pass, for all the loyalty and allegiances that they hold dear, there is one thing that binds us both… We are mere mortals, ravenous for the love that we are denied by merciless gods.”

Cohe steps forward. “How will you get inside?” he asks.

“I need only one,” says Abayo. “They cannot suffer loss, without justification. If I can reduce their number, they will surely seek my capture.”

“And what if your body is all they need?” asks Mirsal.

“Then I will try and stay alive, long enough to kill as many as I can,” says Abayo.

At the centre of the valley, surrounded by putrid mud, a deep hole in the ground, lined with stone, surrounds the heavy, metal gates of Lockhold. Around the hole, ten cloaked Mardern guards pace back and forth, looking out over the grasslands. One of them stops and peers out at what appears to be a flashing light.

“What is that?” says the guard, stepping towards it, his heavy boots sinking into the soft, black mud.

A second guard stops and joins him. “It matters not,” he mumbles, resuming his monotonous march.

A third guard turns towards the light, only to see a second light begin to flash. More lights begin to blink in the distance, gradually drawing the attention of all the guards.

“You two,” says the lead guard, “Go and take a closer look. But, don’t get too close to the trench, it could be woverak.”

The two guards glance at each other before making their way through the mud, out onto the grass.

“How in haddah could that be Woverak?” asks the smaller guard.

The larger guard grunts in acknowledgement. They look at each other before they draw their daggers, and continue cautiously towards the forest.

“Wait,” says the smaller guard as he stops, “D’you hear that?”

The larger guard stops beside him, and turns his ear toward the forest. He looks at the smaller guard and shakes his head.

“Listen,” says the smaller guard, lowering his ear, “It’s getting louder.”

The smaller guard is frozen in place by a popping, crunching sound. With a loud thud, the larger guard crumples to the ground. The smaller guard glances over his shoulder. His comrade lies face down in the grass, a long bow staff impaled through his head. The smaller guard turns from side to side, frantically seeking out the noise as it grows louder. He lifts his head, but it is too late. Out of nowhere, a dagger slices through the guards throat before Abayo skids through the grass to a stop. He wipes the blade on his robes before sheathing his dagger and removing a coil of rope from his shoulder.

Mirsal peers out across the grasslands as Mako rushes towards her.

“He did it,” says Mako, with wide eyed confidence. “He took out two guards like they were training dummies.”

“The captain has many years on us all,” says Cohe.

“Let us hope his experience can keep him alive,” says Mirsal, “He still has to make it inside. Call to us when he has, Cohe will hear you.”

“If he doesn’t make it?” asks Mako.

“Then the very same,” says Mirsal before Mako turns and rushes back towards Lockhold.

Before the wide, stone staircase, stand the remaining eight Mardern guard. Awaiting their comrades, their backs to the huge gates below, the Mardern peer out across the grassland.

“Something’s coming,” says one of the guards.

The moonlight reveals the shape of a solitary figure as Abayo trudges towards them. Holding tight to the rope, Abayo drags the dead Mardern behind him. As he draws near, the remaining Mardern begin to march towards him, their daggers drawn.

They stop before Abayo, their faces obscured by the black cloth wrapped around there heads, beneath their heavy hoods.

“You’re stepping on restricted ground, old man,” says one of the Mardern.

“Is this not the half lands?” asks Abayo.

“You’ve passed the half lands,” says another Mardern. “It’s time to turn around and go back.”

Abayo removes his hood. Long, stray hairs dance across his face as he looks each Mardern in the eyes. He tightens his grip around his staff, running his thumb over the two names carved deep into the forged Arn core. Lifting his chin with a confidence beneath his furrowed brow, Abayo takes a step forward. He lets go of the rope, and tosses his staff to the ground.

“I think I’ll keep going,” he says through a slight, wrinkled smile. A welcome tingle of anticipation fills Abayo’s lungs, his confidence carefully disguised by a well practiced and stubborn paralysis.

Blood pours from Abayo’s sinister grin as he watches the grass pass beneath him. Six of the Mardern carry his seasoned soul down the steps, towards the formidable confines of Lockhold. The moons throw a pale, blue glow over the black stone, as heavy prison gates crash against the walls. A trail of blood follows Abayo’s limp body as he’s dragged through the narrow stone corridors. He turns his head slightly, opening one eye. Met only by the sight of empty cells, Abayo turns his vacant gaze towards the ground. However, unknown to Abayo, Lockhold has one more occupant.

A young boy named Sohng, sits cross legged, his eyes closed, comfortably acquainted with the bitter cold inside his dark cell. The hairs on his skin stand up as the filthy, torn cloth around his waist does little to protect him from an even cooler gust of wind. His ribs protrude beneath his chest as he inhales deeply, tasting the crisp, salty air that swirls through the tight corridors for the first time in over two hundred days. The floral notes carried by the gentle breeze, his only indication that New Season has finally arrived.

Sohng leaps down from his stone block, and  crawls over to the front of his cell. As he presses his face against the cold metal bars, Sohng can only imagine what the season might bring, for he has no knowledge of night nor day, let alone the cycles of the outside world. He closes his eyes, calmed by the scent of freedom, while the desperate, silent cries of hopeful prisoners drown each other in ghostly echoes.

Sohng steps away from the bars, and climbs back onto the stone block on the back wall. He takes a long, slow, deep breath, closing his eyes as he leans into a dream he has conjured so well and so frequently. Just as images of light and movement begin to emerge, something pulls Sohng from the warm embrace of his imagination. He opens his eyes and rushes back to the front of his cell, pressing his ear through the bars, listening intensely.

The prison gates clang shut and the large metal bars scrape loudly across the stone walls as the deadlocks are sealed. Desperate to enjoy something other than the shape of his own shadow, Sohng’s heart races. His dry mouth hangs open, and everything around him rings louder and shines brighter. Recognising the absence of familiarity, Sohng’s hunger remains to arrive, replaced by an insatiable curiosity.

It isn’t those above him, nor is his mind playing tricks. Someone else is down here with him. But who, what, and why? Sohng scurries to the side of his cell and pulls the small stone from the wall once more. He taps the stone gently against one of the bars, causing it to ring like a tall, muted bell. He waits as the cell gradually falls silent.

“Well, that was brief. I was expecting a tune to follow,” says Abayo, as he steps to the back of the cell at the other end of the corridor.

Sohng stumbles back, his eyes widen in amazement. He falls to his knees, clutching tightly to the bars. His eyes begin to sting, and each breath he takes is broken by a hesitant urgency. “Well,” says Sohng, bluntly.

“Well what?” asks Abayo, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. “When can we expect water? A thirst is already upon me.”

“Thirst,” says Sohng.

“I see you are not hard of hearing,” says Abayo.

“Water,” says Sohng, grasping the bars once more.

“That’s right,” says Abayo. “If you’ll forgive me, I’m going to assume you have a limited vocabulary.”

“Thirst. Thirst,” says Sohng, licking his dry, cracked lips. But his warm, rough tongue does nothing to moisten them.

Abayo closes his eyes. He quickly attunes to the subtle vibrations in the air, the walls, and the ground beneath his feet. He reaches far and wide, high up above him, until the cold wind throws a chill down the back of his neck. Abayo opens his eyes.

“What in haddah,” he says quietly, widening his gaze. “How can this be?”

A faint echo is followed by a small stone that rolls and bounces down the corridor and rests before the bars of Abayo’s cell. He tilts his head and peers down at the stone before chuckling to himself.

“I see you’ve begun to make your escape,” says Abayo, lying down and resting his head on his hands.

“No,” says Sohng, “No escape.”

“You believe you’re never going to escape?” asks Abayo.

“Sohng, no escape,” says Sohng.

“Sohng, is that your name? My name is Abayo, and escape is my very intention. I’d be happy to take you with me.”

Abayo awaits Sohng’s response, but the corridor falls silent. “How long have you been here?”

“No escape,” says Sohng.

Abayo sits up and leans forward, his mouth falling open. “Are you telling me you’ve never been outside?”

“No, no escape, no outside.” says Sohng.

“Unspeakable,” says Abayo softly, “We will send them all to eternal haddah.” Abayo reaches out for his staff, wishing to hold it, if only to bring him comfort. But his weapon lies beyond his reach, high up in the prison hold, nestled amongst the many spoils of his captors. Abayo stands and approaches the thick metal bars. As he places two fingertips upon one of the bars just above his head, Abayo narrows his gaze and inhales deeply. Sohng turns to listen before jumping backward as a loud snap rings through the corridor. He stumbles back, falling to the ground. Again there is a snap followed by a loud bang as one of the bars from Abayo’s cell clangs and rattles against the stone floor.

Sohng looks up as Abayo appears before him.

“It’s almost time,” says Abayo, placing his fingertips against one of the bars.

His eyes wider than they’ve ever been, Sohng holds his breath as he witnesses a miracle even his dreams are yet to muster. Abayo strikes the bar gently. The metal snaps, both halves breaking apart like a stretched strand of hair. Sohng, quickly crawls back out of the way as the bar falls to the ground.

“Come, we have little time,” says Abayo, holding out his hand.

Sohng gasps for air, breathing heavily as he shakes his head with urgency. He climbs onto the stone block, nervously leaning away from the heavy scowl that emerges across Abayo’s face.

“If you do not come with us… you will die here,” says Abayo, glancing up the corridor as the echo of hurried footsteps begins to swell.

“Come on child. It’s out there with us, or in here alone!”

Sohng shakes his head once more, every part of him stinging as he balances on the sharp edge of a choice he cannot bare to make. With no knowledge of anything beyond his cell and the corridor, Sohng’s imagination betrays him. His heart thuds beneath his throat. Certain he is safe only in the world that he knows, Sohng turns his head away and stares at the wall behind him.

Abayo, sighs as the footsteps ring clearer. Sohng remains still, listening as Abayo walks away and loud voices begin to clamber over one another. The sting in Sohng’s eyes is quelled slightly by tears that roll down his face, not for the first time, yet he cannot remember the last.

“Break the seal!” cries a voice from the other end of the corridor.

Sohng slowly turns his head to look towards the bars. Abayo is gone, but two inanimate bodies lie on the ground. Having never seen another person sleep, Sohng’s curiosity pulls him towards the bodies. He climbs down slowly and carefully while the cries and footsteps drift further away. As he passes the broken metal bar, he reaches down and touches the end of it to find it is still warm. Sohng leans his head through the gap in the bars and looks up the corridor. The dead bodies of Mardern lie strewn over the ground. A large metal door creaks and squeaks as it swings ajar at the end of the corridor. Sohng turns his attention to the two bodies before him and climbs through the bars. He crouches beside one of the men, slowly tilting his head to match the twisted grimace on the mans face. Sohng reaches out to touch the body. Before he can, the ground rumbles beneath Sohng’s feet as an explosion booms all around him.

Sohng looks down as water begins to rise out of the cracks between the huge square stones in the ground. He quickly stands, his breaths short and hurried. Sohng turns his head as he watches water begin to flood the corridor. The icy water tingles as it quickly rises past his ankles, his knees, his waist. Sohng wades as fast as he can, into his cell, and climbs up onto the stone block. The dead bodies rise and drift below the surface of the water while others fall slowly to the ground. Sohng lifts his chin as high as he can, standing on his tip toes. But, the water continues to rise. As it passes his mouth, Sohng’s panicked gasps for air make it impossible for him to hold his breath. Violently sucking water into his lungs, Sohng’s throat burns and his chest stings as if packed tightly by needle thorn. While his eyes are wide open, Sohng can no longer see. His world is black, silent, swallowed whole by an empty dream.

The torches hiss as the water rises above the flames. Sohng’s body wilts and softly falls to the ground. Small bubbles trickle out of his ears as his body rolls onto its front. With the torches extinguished, the cell and the corridor are pitch black. Like an ember drifting through the night, a faint sound moves through the water towards Sohng, before something takes tight hold of the sash around his waist.

The Fallen, race across the half lands. Cohe carries Sohng’s body on his massive shoulders, while Abayo follows closely behind. They climb over the Arren Crest, a rocky cliff that stretches from the lands of Arren in the west, to the Dengall river to the east. Behind the Arren Crest, the scattered forests of Nom stretch all the way to the great forest in the north, beside the arid grasslands at the edges of the Gorran desert.

They make their way through the forests and arrive at what appears to be a huge rock face. Without breaking stride, they leap up onto a high ledge, not visible from the ground. Mirsal turns around and lowers a rope, wrapping it around her waist and leaning back away from the edge. Cohe takes hold of the rope with one hand while holding onto Sohng’s body with the other. He places one foot onto the rock face, and as Mirsal hoists the rope, Cohe climbs up towards the ledge.

They march into a tunnel, through the rock, and emerge on a ledge that overlooks a small valley. Before them lies a small hidden village comprised of wooden huts and walkways, most suspended around and between the tall trees.

As they stride down the path into the village, people smile and greet them, stopping to bow as they pass. Jollo rushes towards them and leaps at Mirsal who catches the young boy in her arms before hugging him tightly, burying her face in his soft, purple robes.

“My boy,” says Mirsal.

“Welcome, mother,” says Jollo.

“Jollo,” says Cohe as he strides past, his huge shadow engulfing Jollo, who looks curiously at Sohng’s body.

“Allow me to speak to the general,” says Abayo, turning to Cohe who stops, carefully lifts Sohng’s body off his shoulders and holds him in his arms.

“Leave the boy in my hut.” says Abayo. “Mirsal, stay with them, until I return.”

Mirsal steps forward, lowering her son to the ground before he scurries away towards an elder woman. Mirsal follows Cohe as Abayo strides across the village.

Abayo stops just shy of the roots of a huge tree, the trunk more than six men wide. He tightens his sash before leaping up onto branches before landing on the kawa. The walkway surrounds the wooden hut, carved and mounted high up into the side of the tree. Abayo turns to look out over the network of walkways that connect the village huts. His dusty, dry skin glows in the dying sunlight that cuts through the swaying leaves of the dense canopy. Behind him, Yudan, the General of the Fallen, steps out of his hut and walks towards him.

“How many are the fallen?” asks Yudan.

“All remain,” says Abayo, “Although the guard were not Arn, but Mardern.”

“Mardern!” says Yudan in a splutter, “Why would Mardern be guarding a prison? How many have you freed?”

“One,” says Abayo.

“One!” says Yudan, turning his eyes to the back of Abayo’s head. “How many were you forced to leave behind?”

“There was only one,” says Abayo, turning to face his General.

“You have him?” asks Yudan.

Abayo nods.

“Then take me to him,” says Yudan, pointing to the door with his open hand.

A heavy thud rumbles beneath the splash of a giant footstep as a nathoron stops before the flooded gates of Lockhold. The enormous, four legged, lizard-like creature, towers ten feet above the wide stone entry. On its back sits a cloaked figure who peers down beneath his furrowed brow at the many dead bodies that surround the steps. The figure leaps from the nathoron, splashing down into the sodden mud beside it. As he walks by, the figure pats his hand against the Nathoron’s enormous leg. He crouches down, turning one of the bodies onto its back, revealing the fatal wounds. The nathoron stands in wait as the figure walks around the prison walls. He kneels down in the mud on the northern side and examines the imprints in the mud. He squints his eyes at the trail of footprints and follows them until his narrow gaze meets the horizon. The nathoron growls as the figure returns to it. He leaps back into the saddle before the nathoron spins on its hind legs and gallops back the way they came.

Torchlight flickers above the walkways of the hidden village. Abayo and Yudan step into Abayo’s hut. Cohe stands, before he and Mirsal step outside, nodding at their general as they pass him. Sohng lies inanimate, atop a wooden bed that hangs from the wall.

Yudan curls his mouth as he steps towards him. “Is he wounded?” he asks.

“He is only unconscious,” says Abayo. “The prison had a kill trap, it filled with water before we could get him out.”

“He drowned?” asks Yudan.

“No, when I got to him he was still breathing. The shock must have knocked him out.”

Yudan steps closer to Sohng, leaning over to take a look at his face. “So he is huido, but is he strong?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” says Abayo. “He appears to have spent his life in a cell that one of our youngest disciples could have escaped.”

“And he was the only one?” asks Yudan.

“They expended an entire prison and sixty Mardern to keep him there,” says Abayo, turning towards the doorway.

“No matter the reason, we cannot take the risk,” says Yudan.

“What risk?” asks Abayo.

“He cannot stay here!” says Yudan, swinging his hand across his body.

“He will not survive on his own,” says Abayo. “He knows nothing of this world.”

“Then that will be his fate,” says Yudan, turning to Abayo, looking down at him past his swelling chest.

“You’re asking me to throw a helpless child into haddah,” says Abayo.

“No, I’m asking you to protect our people,” says Yudan, looking into the stubborn eyes of his finest warrior. “I’m asking you to consider the lives of the people we have sworn to protect.”

“Is his life not just as valuable?” asks Abayo.

“He may be more valuable than all of us, which is why he cannot stay here,” says Yudan, striding past Abayo towards the doorway.

“Who exactly do you think he is?” asks Abayo.

“I think that is not of our concern,” says Yudan.

“The Fallen must rest,” says Abayo.

“Then I will give you till nightfall,” says Yudan before he steps out into the darkness.

Sohng peels open his eyes. The cool, fresh air burns, forcing him to blink and wipe away his tears. Having grown accustomed to the dark, Sohng is almost blinded by the glow of sunlight that bleeds through the cracks of the window and beneath the door. He sits up on the bed and looks to his left to see Abayo, asleep on a chair before a wooden table, his head hung heavily over his chest.

“He is awake,” says Cohe, stepping out of the dark corner at the end of the bed.

Sohng leaps back into the opposite corner, his eyes fixed on the huge silhouette of Cohe who towers above him.

Abayo gasps as he wakes, reaching for the back of his neck and leaning on the table.

“Please, do not be afraid young one,” says Cohe, holding up his outstretched hands.

“Be careful, Cohe,” says Abayo, taking hold of Cohe’s arm. “He knows nothing of the world outside of his cell.”

Sohng attempts to catch his breath, calmed by the familiar face of Abayo drawing near him.

“He and I…” says Abayo, pointing his hand at Cohe, “are friends.” Abayo folds his hands together. “You and I, are friends,” says Abayo through a soft smile. “Cohe. Water.”

As Cohe pushes open the door, sunlight fills the room. Sohng flinches and cowers behind his arm. As the door swings shut, Sohng squints as he peers into Abayo’s eyes.

“It is bright now, but do not worry,” says Abayo, “Our eyes are born for the sun.” The door swings open as Cohe returns. This time, Sohng merely closes his eyes, allowing the warm light to smother his face. A warmth swells in Sohng’s chest. He relaxes his shoulders, crossing his legs and slowly beginning to smile on one side of his face. Abayo glances at Cohe who smiles back at him. The huge, muscular warrior reaches out and holds a wooden cup filled with water before Sohng’s chest.

“Here,” says Cohe. “You must drink.”

Sohng takes the water and gulps it down before taking a long deep breath. The cool liquid soothes his tender throat, reviving the fragile fibres of his stomach and his chest.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” asks Abayo.

The old man’s words are clear and familiar to Sohng, but with so many questions, he cannot find the words to express himself. With so very many things he wishes to learn and share, Sohng is held hostage by an indecisive silence. He nods his head.

“I see,” says Abayo. “So, it’s speaking that you find difficult.”

Sohng nods once more.

“Understandable. I will take you to see somebody who should be able to help.” says Abayo, stepping towards the doorway. “Can you walk?”

Sohng glances at Abayo before sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. He lowers himself towards the ground until the cold stone presses against the soles of his dry, narrow feet. Sohng stands and nods his head at Abayo.

“Good,” says Abayo, “Come, we do not have much time.”

Sohng ambles across the room and follows Abayo through the doorway out into the morning sun. Squinting his eyes once more as he looks around, Sohng is taken by the splendour of the village as it emerges before him. He rubs his hair between his fingers as he gazes up at the delicate fibres twisted into ropes that suspend the heavy wooden logs that make the walkways. Dazzled by the many colours of flowers that protrude from the patches of bright green grass, Sohng’s eyes overflow with the wonder and enchantment of a small child.

They arrive at a small hut, surrounded by a beautifully crafted garden. The prismatic plants sit suspended in large wooden troughs, each one atop two broad wooden stumps.

“Come in, come in,” says an elderly, jovial voice as Abayo approaches the door. As they step inside, Sohng gazes upon a hunched over old lady who sits on a stack of woven blankets in a deep, armchair made of woven branches.

“Sit sit sit,” says the woman, flapping her hands, a gleeful smile across her wrinkled face. They sit on the large blanket in the middle of the room as the old lady shuffles forwards in her chair.

“So, this is the lock hold child,” says the old lady. Abayo twists his brow, causing the old lady to close her eyes and shake her head.

“You know how fast news travels among children,” says the old lady raising her finger.

“This is Hepta,” says Abayo, turning to Sohng. “She speaks many tongues.”

“Come come come, let me see you,” says Hepta, beckoning Sohng towards her. Song shuffles forward and kneels before Hepta. He glances over his shoulder at Abayo who nods reassuringly.

“You are wise to trust the captain,” says Hepta, reaching towards Sohng’s face. “My my, your skin has barely seen the sun.” She examines Sohng’s skin, teeth, eyes and hair, gently pressing the slender muscles that fail to cover his bones. Hepta takes hold of Sohng’s hand, closely inspecting his rough, chipped fingernails. Sohng’s cheeks are warmed by Hepta’s small, plump palms as she gently squeezes his face.

“Sohng,” says Hepta, still smiling from ear to ear, “I’m going to ask you some simple questions. You need only answer, yes or no. You can nod for yes, and shake your head for no. When you are ready to speak, you are free to do so. Do you understand?”

Sohng nods his head.

“I thought so,” says Hepta. “Tell me… do you know how old you are?” she asks.

Sohng shakes his head, unable to remember the last time he had even considered his own age.

“Do you know how long you were locked inside your cell?” asks Hepta.

Sohng shakes his head.

“Do you know any of the names of the people who kept you there?” asks Hepta.

Sohng shakes his head once more.

“Did they give you food?” she asks.

Sohng shakes his head.

“Did they give you water?”

Again Sohng shakes his head. Cohe glances across at Abayo, but Abayo’s gaze is firmly fixed upon Hepta who glances over at Abayo.

“Do you know how you have survived so long?” she asks.

Sohng shakes his head. Hepta takes a deep breath.

“Do you know who your family are?” she asks.

Sohng’s gaze drifts as he hangs his head in search of any semblance of ancestry. Sohng has always been alone, for as long as he can remember. Yet, family is a word that resonates in Sohng’s chest like a battle gong in a castle courtyard. He shakes his head, lifting his weary gaze. Hepta looks down at Sohng with a sympathetic wrinkle in her brow. Still smiling, she reaches out and places her hand on Sohng’s head.

“I have never met a child with huido so strong,” says Hepta, closing her eyes.

“What do you mean?” asks Abayo.

Hepta opens her eyes and looks over Sohng’s shoulder. “There are no words with more meaning,” she says, removing her hand from Sohng’s head. “You don’t feel it ,do you?”

Sohng shakes his head. What is he supposed to feel? Even now, Sohng’s body is weak, his head weighs heavy on his slender neck and narrow shoulders.

“You may have rescued this boy from his prison…” says Hepta, glancing over Sohng’s shoulder. “But, until he speaks his mind and chooses his own path, he will never be free. Now… I need my rest. I hope I will see you again, young Sohng.”

A large heavy hand rests gently on Sohng’s shoulder.

“Come,” says Cohe.

Abayo stands as Cohe leads Sohng outside.

“Captain,” says Hepta.

Abayo stops at the doorway and looks over his shoulder.

“I know that you will not believe me,” says Hepta. “But, it would be remiss of me not to speak my mind. That boy is not what you think he is. Be careful.”

“Thank you for your time,” says Abayo before the door swings shut behind him.

“What does she mean, captain?” asks Cohe as Abayo strides toward them. “What is she not telling us?”

Sohng looks into Abayo’s eyes, anxiously awaiting his answer.

“She has told us all that we need to know,” says Abayo. “Take him to camp. Let him eat. I must replace my weapon.”

A shadow of doubt creeps over Sohng’s newly found optimism as Abayo walks away.

“Follow me,” says Cohe. “The captain will meet us there.”

At the west corner of the diamond shaped village, Mako, a member of the Fallen, sits at a large wet stone. Behind him stands Jollo, leaning over Mako’s shoulder. The young boy watches as Mako runs the blade of his dagger across the stone, dipping it in and out of a small pool of water.

Jollo looks up as Abayo strides past and walks straight into the weapon hold. Mako maintains his attention on his blade, rubbing it slowly but firmly against the wet stone.

“The captain must have lost his weapon,” says Jollo.

“It matters not,” says Mako.

“Why?” asks Jollo.

“The Captain doesn’t bond with weapons like most,” says Mako. “To him, weapons are like the air we breathe, we borrow them briefly, and in return, they give us life.”

“Air?” says Jollo.

“It is a figure of speech,” says Mako, before Abayo emerges from the hold, a new staff in his hand.

Abayo draws his dagger and crouches down beside the weapon hold, leaning back against the wall. Holding the staff tightly in his hand, Abayo carefully begins cutting into the side of the handle.

“What’s he doing?” asks Jollo.

Mako stops. He glances over at Abayo for a moment before continuing to sharpen his blade. “When you have gained your masters trust, you too will carve their name into your chosen weapon. It is a sign of a disciples respect.”

“But, Bayo is a master, I can’t imagine him having one,” says Jollo. “Who was he?”

“Nobody knows,” says Mako.

“But you know his name,” says Jollo.

“No, I do not,” says Mako, turning his attention to Abayo once more. “The names on Bayo’s staff are the names of his wife and child.”

“Bayo… has a child?” says Jollo, his mouth hung open behind his words.

“Had,” says Mako. “A son,” he sighs as he stands. Jollo steps back and looks over at Abayo as Mako ambles away towards the centre of the village.

As Sohng is welcomed into the Fallen camp, he cannot escape the questions he regretfully didn’t ask. Did Hepta consider him strong, only because he was able to survive? Is the huido she spoke of something only Sohng has? Surrounded by tall and powerful warriors, Sohng may not be as free as the old woman claimed he could be. But, such hospitality is not only welcoming, it also returns to Sohng a feeling he thought he had left behind.

“Have a seat, young-one,” says Cohe, pointing his open hand at a wooden bench behind a long wooden table. Sohng sits down before Cohe pats him on the shoulder and disappears beyond the trees behind them. Sohng looks out over the broad shallow ditch in which some of the fallen have hung their wet robes. As he admires the wooden huts and tall trees that surround the ditch, Sohng’s attention is snatched by Mirsal as she approaches.

“Here, you’ll like these,” says Mirsal, placing a parcel of large leaves onto the table. She sits down opposite Sohng  and unwraps the leaves, revealing a collection of pink and purple fruits. “Jollo can eat these all day,” says Mirsal, picking one up and taking a bite out of it. “Try one. They’re sweet.”

Sohng picks up one of the pink fruits, squeezing it gently in his hand. The skin looks smooth and firm but is actually a little fuzzy and soft. He touches the fruit to his lips while inhaling deeply.

“You’ll smell it once you’ve bitten into it,” says Mirsal. Sohng stomach growls. His mouth moistens before he bites into the fruit and chews the soft, sweet, tangy flesh.

“We call it; Ponmi,” says Mirsal, taking another bite. “But, in the north, they call it; Poi-fruit. Just don’t eat them when they’re green or brown.”

Sohng swallows the delicious fruit before immediately taking another bite. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” says Mirsal. “We’ve gotta get some meat on those bones, so… you eat as many as you like.”

“Thank you, thank you,” says Sohng, picking up another as he stuffs the remainder of his second into his mouth.

“Where did you learn such good manners?” asks Mirsal.

“I listened to guards…” says Sohng, still chewing the ponmi. “Talked to others… in my dreams.”

“In your dreams?” says Mirsal. “What could you dream of when you haven’t seen the world?”

“People. Places,” says Sohng. “Many things.”

“Tell me about one of your dreams,” says Mirsal.

Sohng continues chewing, looking down at the table in deep concentration. While his dreams were always vivid and extremely detailed, Sohng need not remember them.

“I forget,” says Sohng, taking another bite of yet another of the ponmi.

“So do I,” says Mirsal.

Sohng spends the rest of the day getting to know The Fallen. His thirst is quenched. His hunger is satiated. His nails are shaved. His skin is scrubbed and bathed. His hair is washed, brushed and braided. His robes are burned and replaced. Sohng feels nothing like the prisoner he once was. Witnessing each of their quirks and the various ways The Fallen communicate with each other, Sohng embraces each and every moment as the sun quickly drifts across the sky. With his senses overwhelmed by so many new experiences, Sohng has already begun to forget some of the things he thought he would never.

While the village is enveloped by the black of night, the winding paths and wooden walkways are rattled by the footsteps of playful children.

Abayo packs a small bag, while Sohng inspects his new dark, purple robes, those worn by the disciples, young students of the Fallen. Sohng steps outside the hut. Abayo, Cohe, Mirsal, and another of the Fallen, named, Hatich, stand in wait. The five of them make their way out of the hidden village, around the rock face and through the forest. They travel in silence, barely visible to each other in their black robes and hooded, black gowns. Even while Sohng, sits upon Cohe’s shoulders, the mighty huido’s feet barely make a sound.

As they reach the edge of the forest, Sohng looks up at the thin canopy. He squints his eyes as the bright moons shine down upon them. They travel north, keeping a short distance from the edge of the forest, until finally they arrive at a large rocky mound atop a small hill. Cohe kneels, and Sohng climbs down from his shoulders.

“We are here,” says Abayo, his fists pressed against his hips, taking a deep breath as he admires the huge rock formation.

Sohng steps beside him and admires the rocks for himself. To his fascination, the jagged stone surface creates stark contrasts, reflecting the moonlight, casting perfect black shadows. Sohng turns to share his enthusiasm, but only his bag rests in the grass behind him. He picks it up, looking down the hill to see Cohe, Mirsal and Hatich walking back towards the forest. Sohng raises his hand slightly but knows not what to say. Having known them for almost a day, Sohng has begun to feel an unfamiliar warmth, a kinship he has unknowingly longed for. But only now, at the moment that kinship appears to have past, does Sohng feel the true value, and the suffocating gravity of its absence.

“Sohng,” says Abayo, looking down at the boy with a solemn brow. “You are to stay here, at Palm Rock. This place has kept me safe many times. Now it is yours. Come.”

Abayo leads Sohng around the rocks. They climb up to a small crevice, and lower theirselves inside. Abayo lights two small torches, showing Sohng how it’s done before handing one to him.

“It will burn you, I trust you understand,” says Abayo. “Please, sit.”

Sohng and Abayo sit on two large stones at the centre of a small cave-like opening beneath the rocks.

“This is where you will stay. For now, you must use the grass for warmth, no fires! Do you understand?”

Sohng nods his head, an uncertain fold between his eyes.

“Do not light any fires,” says Abayo before pointing to the torches. “Torchlight only. You make smoke, you’ll be dead within days. Understand?”

Sohng nods, “No fires.”

“That’s right, no fires,” says Abayo as he stands. “I’ll be back in a few days. Until then, sleep… look around, but don’t go far! Understand?”

Sohng nods vigorously before Abayo climbs out of the cave.

Alone once more, comforted by the confines of his new home, Sohng stands and slowly paces around in a circle, running his hand along the jagged walls. His inexperience of the outside world proving as formidable as the thick walls of Lockhold, Sohng quickly adheres to his new surroundings. He leans on the reliable solace beyond the ever open door to his imagination. But while the details of the outside world cling to his attention, Sohng can think of nothing more than all he has witness thus far, since his brief encounter with death.

Sohng steps on the edge of the grass pile. He picks up some of the dry grass and rubs it between his fingers. He is almost certain that it is the same as the grass in the fields outside, but somehow it differs. As the grass begins to crumble between his fingers, Sohng recalls Abayo’s words. He collects armfuls of the dry grass and piles it up in the corner, before nestling down into it, like a virriad in its nest.

As Sohng settles in his new dwelling, Hatich follows Mirsal as Cohe leads them through the trees, on their way back to the hidden village. Aware of the many dangers that lurk beneath the dense canopy, each of them moves quietly, their senses tuned to the dulcet tones of the forest. Quickly Hatich skids to a stop.

“What is it?” asks Mirsal, gradually slowing to a stand still.

Cohe approaches and looks Hatich in the eyes. “I hear it too,” he says softly.

“Glad to see you’re on your guard,” bellows Abayo, bursting through the branches above them and landing softly on the ground behind Hatich. Mirsal smiles as Hatich turns around to face Abayo.

“What’s the matter Hatich, you look tense,” says Abayo.

Mirsal chuckles. She walks by Hatich giving him a narrow glance before they follow Abayo and continue through the forest.

South of the Arren crest, half way between Lockhold and the small town of Arren, lies the Eastern Southern temple, home to the sixth faction of Mardern. Around the huge, pyramid shaped temple, atop the forty foot, pitched, black stone walls, masked Mardern stand watch, looking out across the half-lands. Towards them strides a huge Nathoron, a Mardern perched upon its back. They ride slowly over the temple bridge as the huge, black, Arn core gates rumble as they begin to open.

Inside the temple, high up in the second sector, Ekrid, the elder Mardern, sits opposite Fotren, his second in command. Fotren leans over a large square board and moves one of the small, carved wooden pieces forward.

Ekrid leans back in his chair, looking carefully at the pieces on the board. “You move well,” he says, leaning forward and reaching for one of the larger pieces. “But strategy soon falters, once revealed.” Ekrid moves the carved, wooden Grangor forward, removing one of Fotren’s pieces from the board.

Fotren takes a deep breath. “Then I must move without strategy, or play into your hands. Either way, it appears I am beaten.”

As Ekrid places the wooden Kyaph down amongst his other pieces, a knock on the door rings loudly around the tall chamber. The Mardern beside the door turns towards it as it opens. A second Mardern speaks quietly to the first, peering through the gap before softly closing the door. Fotren glances towards the Mardern who walks towards them.

“Master Ekrid,” says the Mardern. “Master Agoza has returned, he brings news.”

“Go-on,” says Ekrid, still focused on the Koss board.

“Lockhold has been breached. The guard and the Mardern are dead. The prisoner is gone.”

“Escaped?” asks Ekrid.

“He appears to have been extracted.”

“Is that all?” asks Ekrid.

“Master,” says the Mardern, bowing his head slightly before returning to his post beside the door.

“Please,” says Fotren, “Allow me to resolve this situation.”

“How do you intend to do that?” asks Ekrid.

“I know a hunter, in Arren. I have employed him as a scout many times. His tracking is impeccable.”

“He is huido?” asks Ekrid.

“No, he is… was, Nenji,” says Fotren.

“Nenji?” says Ekrid, “Nenji work only for kings.”

“Not this one,” says Fotren.

“Why?” asks Ekrid.

“When the leader of his clan met his day, Wio’s younger brother, Icho, won leadership. Wio would not lean to the will of his brother, and so he left the clan.”

“It is my understanding,” says Ekrid, “That one does not simply leave a Nenji clan.”

“Of course. That is why he resides in Arren. Should they find him and he refuse to serve them, they will remove his head and his heart.”

“How does he travel?” asks Ekrid.

“In the wind, as the legends.”

“I have always wanted to see a Nenji fall from the sky,” says Ekrid.

“I have seen it with my own eyes,” says Fotren. “He will find the boy.”

“Then have him bring the boy here,” says Ekrid. “It is time to be reacquainted.”