A feather-light sensation against his skin. A pin prick. A pinch.

Esmiel opened his eyes and drew his hand to his chest.

Another pinch. He thrust out his arm. Something black, the size of a pebble, had attached itself just below his index finger. He flicked his wrist. The creature flew off. A dot of blood pooled at Esmiel’s knuckle.

He heard waves crashing against rocks. The smell of sea air. Kelp. Rotting fish. A burning sensation raced up his throat. Vomit spewed onto grains of sand, the yellowish blend of colors a disgusting shade of muck.

“He’s awake,” a voice called out, over Esmiel’s left shoulder. Though his vision was blurred, Esmiel could make out a foot, three toenails bruised.

“Tobiah!” the voice shouted. “He’s finally awake!” The voice cracked. A young boy?

“I’m Nicolai,” the voice said. “This is Īberenth.”

“Let him catch his breath,” another voice said. Was it Īberenth? Or Tobiah? Who were these people? Where was he? What had bit his hand?

“Father?” Esmiel rolled onto his side. He scrambled to his knees. The world swayed. “Where is my father?”

His surroundings slowly came into focus. An expanse of beach before him. To his right, a cove, and beyond that the remains of a stone structure, surrounded by tall grass. A boy, about fourteen, walked closer to him. His brown pants were torn at the hem. His beige shirt, ripped at the right shoulder, was stained with drops of blood. He pressed his thumb into his chest. “Nicolai.” He jerked his thumb at another boy next to him. “Īberenth.”

“Hi,” Īberenth said.

They looked like twins. Almost. The same facial features, but Nicolai’s hair fell below his ears, in wild curls. Īberenth’s was short, parted to the right. Īberenth’s white shirt was shredded on one side, and a leg of his blue pants missing entirely.

“Where are we?” Esmiel asked.

“That’s what the hell we’re trying to figure out,” a deep voice said.

Esmiel looked up beyond Īberenth. A tall, lanky boy with a mop of brown hair approached. He was probably sixteen. A scowl tightened his face. He grasped a large stick in his left hand. His gray pants and light blue shirt were damp, yet they showed little wear and tear.

Just as Esmiel thought it, Nicolai said, “This is Tobiah.”

Esmiel studied Tobiah just as closely as Tobiah studied him. Esmiel didn’t like the expression on Tobiah’s face. It reminded him of the stares so many people gave him on the streets, in shops, in school. They seemed not to be able to fathom his mocha skin, his black hair, the flatness of his nose, and his steel blue eyes. He could hear all their thoughts. Mixed parentage. Bizarre blend of features. What exactly is this creature?

“You were on the bridge,” Esmiel said.

Tobiah scrunched his eyebrows together.

“Above the river. The policeman yelled at you to get off the bridge.”

The boys all seemed so unmoved.

“He’s from the capital city!” Esmiel said, dividing his glances between Nicolai and Īberenth, trying to make them understand. To see the significance. I’m not alone in this. There’s someone else from my home region here! Wherever this “here” happens to be...

“Doesn’t matter,” Tobiah muttered. “We’re not exactly in the capital city now, are we?”

“Where were you when the earthquake hit?” Esmiel asked Īberenth, then glanced over at Nicolai.

“Earthquake?” Īberenth said. “You mean here? I didn’t feel—”

“No, no. The… where Tobiah and I…” He trailed off. First of all, it felt strange pairing himself with Tobiah. Then he realized that he’d just assumed that Nicolai and Īberenth were from somewhere in the Logan-Landerstallt.

“We were on the ship,” Nicolai said. “In a storm. The ship was taking on water.”

Esmiel stared out at the sea. “What ship?”

“The one we fell off of, obviously,” Īberenth said. He smirked.

Esmiel chewed on his lip, his eyes darting back and forth. How could the boy possibly crack jokes given the situation they were in? “I fell down, running. I got pulled under by the river,” Esmiel said. He looked to Tobiah. “Is that what happened to you?”

Tobiah threw down the stick. He nodded.

Esmiel thought of his father. Where did his father end up? Was he still alive? And what about his mother? Had she been let out of her cell before the quake struck? He looked out to the sea again. How he wished he could spot a ship.

 “We thought maybe you were on board with us,” Nicolai said. “It was a pretty big ship, after all.”

Īberenth clucked his tongue. “What my brother means is that we were stowed away. In hiding, far belowdecks. So we didn’t exactly see any of the other passengers who—”

“Quiet!” A quick jab to his ribs sent Īberenth stumbling backward.

“Ouch, Nicolai! Who cares? What are they going to do? Call the authorities? It’s a little late for that.”

 “Anyway, when I woke up on the beach, all four of us were just… here,” Nicolai said. “The three of you were still sleeping.”

“You mean knocked out cold,” Tobiah said. “You don’t have to sugar-coat things.”

“I…I didn’t…that’s not what I was trying to do.” Nicolai stared at his bruised toenails. “Actually, I haven’t said anything yet, because I wondered if I was dreaming it, but I remember someone… or something…scooping me out of the water.”

“Like what?” Tobiah asked. “A sea monster?”

“No. A woman. White as porcelain.”

“Porcelain woman.” Tobiah rolled his eyes. “We don’t want to hear your fantasies.”

Had Nicolai really seen something like that? It sounded like a fable to Esmiel. A folk tale. His grandmother’s voice popped into his head. Verify your words. She always insisted that was his mother’s problem. Spouting off lies and half-truths. Still, who’s to say it wasn’t possible?

“I don’t have fantasies like that,” Nicolai said.

“Nobody wants to hear any of your fantasies. Trust me.”

Esmiel wanted to throw something at Tobiah. Just something small. Something that wouldn’t really hurt him. Maybe just sting. He was bothered by Tobiah’s foul and doubting attitude. The same attitude his father often expressed.

“I hate this!” Tobiah shouted, looking out to the sea, then up to the sky. “Is anyone here? Anyone? Hello?”

Īberenth sat down, near Esmiel. He ran his finger through the sand. He made an oval. He added a curved line for a mouth. A small circle with two dots for a snout-like nose. And two x’s for the eyes. He nudged Esmiel’s arm, then pointed to Tobiah’s pacing form. Esmiel bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Then he felt guilty for allowing himself any degree of levity. This was not a humorous situation.

“I wonder who built that ruined building?” Nicolai asked. “Someone was here once.”

Tobiah plucked a shell from the sand and flung it into the ocean. Esmiel admired his athletic grace. There were some enviable things about Tobiah. He was handsome. Like a prince in stories his mother used to read to him. Esmiel wish he looked more like Tobiah rather than a half-breed.

“I’m sure they’re probably still around,” Tobiah said. “Right over there, maybe, beneath the ground. A jumbled pile of bones.”

Esmiel stood. He scanned the environs. “I know this building is old, but what if…they could still be alive. What if it’s still someone’s home? I bet they’ll come back. Maybe they’re off fishing. Or gathering wood. Or food.”

“How old are you?” Tobiah asked.

Esmiel paused. His birthday was three weeks away. He’d go with the higher number. “Ten.”

Tobiah picked up the stick. He started for the stone structure. He whacked the stick on the ground as he walked, in an angry rhythm. “Grow up,” he said, without turning around.

*   *   *

Smoke curled up to the sky. Yellow-orange flames danced from a pile of logs arranged conically. Tobiah had managed to start a roaring fire with twigs he rubbed furiously against the jagged surface of a rock.

Darkness hadn’t yet descended upon them, but the air grew colder once the sun began to set.

“So that’s west,” Īberenth observed, pointing to the sunset.

“Inaccurate,” Tobiah mumbled.

“Prove it,” Īberenth said. Undeterred by the dwindling temperature, he’d taken off his torn shirt and tied it about his waist. The ragged garment flapped in the breeze.

“What good does any direction do for us?” Tobiah said. “Even if we can figure out where we should head, to get back to some kind of civilization, how are we supposed to do it? Fly?”

Nicolai walked along the top of what remained of a stone wall, his arms outstretched for balance. “Besides that,” Nicolai said, “we aren’t even from the same place. What’s home to you? I never heard of where you and Esmiel came from. The Logan Lean-something or other? That could be south of here. We could be from the east.”

“It’s the Logan-Landerstallt,” Esmiel said softly.

Tobiah sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He can call it Shit-Land if he wants. We’ll never see it again.” He crouched near the fire, poking at the small logs he’d gathered from the other side of the hill that rose in the distance, while Esmiel, Īberenth, and Nicolai had busied themselves picking berries from a patch just north of the cove.

“Are you sure they’re not poisonous?” Īberenth asked.

Nicolai bit off half of a large berry. He puckered his lips at first, then he smiled. “Sweet and delicious.”

“So that must be east,” Īberenth said, pointing opposite the sunset.

Tobiah looked up, but just as his mouth opened, Īberenth burst out laughing. “I really am brilliant, aren’t I?”

Tobiah scowled.

Esmiel bit his tongue again. How could he keep having this urge to laugh? He shouldn’t even so much as smile. He replayed everything in his mind. The café. The earthquake. The wall of water. His father floating away. His mother possibly entombed in Regional Prison Number Eight.

The smoke changed direction. Esmiel covered his nose. He coughed. He closed his eyes. He coughed again.

“Move, stupid,” Tobiah said, trying to fan the smoke in the other direction.

Esmiel buried his face in the crook of his arm. He stayed where he was.

*   *   *

Late into the night, the fire was nothing but charred wood and ash, a few sparks floating upward only to fizzle. A gentle breeze blew. Two full moons graced the sky.

Esmiel stirred. The embers were like the eyes of creatures that lived below a curtain of smoke. Esmiel turned away. He lifted his hand. It felt like lead. He sat up, and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Cracked and dry. He examined his hand in the moonlight. A bump itched and burned.

A minute went by before Esmiel fully remembered all that had happened in the last several hours. He saw Īberenth, to his right, curled up in fetal position, his breathing soft and steady. Near the stone wall Tobiah lay, on his back, his right forearm over his eyes. His legs twitched. His breathing was erratic. Bad dream, Esmiel thought.

He looked about for Nicolai. He spotted a silhouette. He breathed a gentle sigh of relief, then stood up, his legs wobbly. His throat was so parched. His stomach growled. He rubbed his knuckles along the rough surface of his pant legs, but that did little to relieve the itchiness, so he dug in with his fingernails. When the skin broke, he winced.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Nicolai asked as Esmiel approached, his footprints creating miniature canyons in the wet sand.

Nicolai’s gaze was fixed on the stars. Millions of twinkling dots, a snowfall frozen in place, pearls floating on the surface of an endless black sea.

“Guess I slept a little,” Esmiel said, dropping to his knees next to the large rock that Nicolai sat atop. “I had some nightmares.”

“You must still be asleep then,” Nicolai whispered. He glanced at Esmiel. He squeezed Esmiel’s shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t really mean that.”

Yes you did, Esmiel thought. And you’re right.

Nicolai slid his hand down Esmiel’s arm. He took hold of his wrist. “Would you believe me if I told you I saw someone a little while ago?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “In the sky.”

A rising hope in Esmiel died. “Oh. You mean in your own nightmare.”

“No, I mean…I really saw it. I was awake.”

Esmiel looked above.

“Not a bird,” Nicolai said. He somehow read Esmiel’s mind.

“But what?” Esmiel asked. “How?”

Nicolai drew his hand away. “I didn’t want to wake any of you.” He glanced back at Tobiah’s sleeping form. “Or be ridiculed.”

Esmiel thought of his demon that lived in the trees, raining down destruction. He thought of his father, floating past him, out of reach. His mother, trapped in a prison cell. “Do you see demons?” Esmiel asked, at once regretting he said it out loud.

Nicolai shifted to his side, his hip nestling in a crook of the rock. He was posed as a mermaid. A mer-boy. He searched Esmiel’s face. “What do you mean?”

Esmiel stared at the moonlight glistening on the ocean’s surface. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t imaginary. Trust me, Esmiel.”

All the while thinking I want to go home, I want to go home Esmiel asked, “Are we safe?”

Nicolai closed his eyes. “I heard you humming earlier.”

Yes. He had been. It was the “The Stonemason’s Song.” The song he used for last month’s parade. The one he imagined holding in honor of the new bridge over the ravine west of town. “Sorry.”

“Hum for me, Esmiel.” Nicolai’s eyes were still closed. “I like your voice. Sing for me.”

“I can’t sing that well,” Esmiel said.

Nicolai opened his eyes. He sat up. “And people can’t fly.” He outstretched his arms, palms upward. He wiggled his fingers. “Right?”

The thumping of the waves. The night breeze blowing past them. The remoteness of it all.

Esmiel and Nicolai stared at one another.

“Don’t look up,” Nicolai whispered. “I’ll be scared for both of us.”

*   *   *

Thick clouds shrouded the sunrise. The gentle night breeze had grown to a fierce wind.

Īberenth spun around and around. His feet displaced the dirt on the stone floor, forming capricious patterns until the rushing ocean air swept it all away.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Tobiah said, his knees drawn to his chest as he braced himself against the stone wall, a few feet from where Esmiel did the same.

“That’s doubtful,” Īberenth answered back, voice raised, a fierce gust all but drowning him out. “I don’t think you’re glad at all.”

Nicolai appeared on the hill, waving his arms. Esmiel poked Tobiah’s thigh. “Look!”

Tobiah tensed, and slid out of Esmiel’s reach. “Don’t touch me.”

“It’s Nicolai!” Esmiel said, pointing. The three of them watched as Nicolai eagerly motioned them to join him. He was calling out, but his words couldn’t be heard over the howling of the wind.

Īberenth’s voice was tinged with optimism “He must have found shelter!” He started up the hill toward his brother, through a sudden driving rain.

Esmiel followed. He glanced over his shoulder at Tobiah, who remained seated on the stone floor.

Tobiah blinked furiously as drops pelted him. His focus meandered from sky to ocean, ocean to sky.

Esmiel stopped when he heard a strange sound: a gasp, a shriek, something choking. He turned to face Tobiah, who now scrambled to his feet and took several steps backward, away from the ocean.

Esmiel spotted it—her—just then, rising from the water. Her black hair, pressed against her face, cascaded down like moss hanging off tree limbs. Her skin was chartreuse, with blushes of the faintest orange. She rode the crest of a wave with the grace of a dolphin or a porpoise, then glided onto the beach and sat upon her knees as though she’d been sculpted from sand in that exact moment. She wore a shimmering gown of deep green and turquoise, her feet bare and covered in scales.

Esmiel stood wide-eyed. Tobiah tripped over himself, then turned and sprinted toward Esmiel.

“What is that?” Esmiel whispered.

“I...I don’t know.” Tobiah’s eyes darted in all directions. “Where did those damn twins go?”

“Look,” Esmiel said, barely able to find his voice.

Tobiah followed the direction of Esmiel’s pointing finger, up to the sky.

A woman circled above them. Her face the color of ivory, her lips black, and long strands of deep purple hair were highlighted by a gold gown with a red-orange sash that draped from her right shoulder to her left hip. Yet to Esmeil the most fascinating—and haunting—aspect were the large black wings unfurled from her shoulder blades and covered with drops of rain that resembled silver beads. She held a bundle of black cloth in her arms.

“Run!” Tobiah shouted. He grabbed Esmiel’s wrist and tugged him up the muddied slope.

The winged woman swooped down in front of them. Her feet, wrapped in brown strips of cloth, dangled just inches from the ground. Her wings flapped with a rhythmic whoosh.

“Faahr aronclact,” she said, and the words that followed became an indecipherable sing-song. She pointed back to the ocean. She moved with the gusting wind.

Esmiel and Tobiah turned. The water woman dove back into the surf. Where’d she knelt lay the crumpled heap of black cloth. The winged woman rose up and soared away.

Esmiel nudged Tobiah’s arm. “Do you see that, down there?”

The bundle rolled.

Tobiah brushed past Esmiel. He spotted a large branch twice the length of his arm and as wide as his thigh. “Keep watching the sky,” he told Esmiel.

The rain fell harder, pounding the ground, the sound like hundreds of miniature hooves scurrying through the mud.

Esmiel kept his eye on Tobiah more than he did the sky. What was he planning to do with the branch? What was the thing on the beach? Could it be an animal? Another strange sea or sky woman? No; it was smaller. It moved so strangely. Was Tobiah going to strike it? Kill it?

“Hey! Boys from Logan-Place-or-other! Are you going to join us?” Īberenth stood at the top of the hill, his hands on his hips. He stared at Esmiel. Then at Tobiah. He covered his mouth. He gasped. “What is that?”

Tobiah grabbed a rock and sent it soaring toward the crumpled form. It landed mere inches short of the target.

“Don’t!” Esmiel sprinted over to Tobiah. “Don’t hurt it!”

“Back away,” Tobiah said, moving cautiously toward the surf.

“You don’t know what it is. Don’t hurt it,” Esmiel pleaded, grabbing at Tobiah’s sleeve. “It could be—”

“You don’t know what it is either!” Tobiah shouted. “It could be another freak!”

Īberenth ran up from behind. “Is it a fish?”

Whatever it was let out a muffled moan. Tobiah picked up another rock. Esmiel grabbed Tobiah’s wrist. In the blink of an eye Esmiel hit the ground, landing on his tailbone, his ears ringing.

“Back off, you stupid little sarnther-anh! Do you want to die? Do you want us all to die?”

A butterfly emerging form a cocoon. That’s what Esmiel thought when the black cloth fell away and a pale white child, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, with wild hair the color of clouds, sat up. Esmiel couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl.

“Drop that rock,” Īberenth said.

Esmiel felt relief that someone else had some sense.

Īberenth took a few steps forward. “The poor thing looks injured.”

“Attacked, more likely,” Tobiah said, searching the sky.

Īberenth jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We have shelter, over the hill. Let’s all hurry there. Nicolai is waiting for us.”

The wind gusted. A spray of water swept over the new arrival.

Tobiah paced nervously. He brushed raindrops from his forehead. He scrunched his hair into a clump then furiously drew his fingers along his scalp, back and forth, back and forth. “This is a cruel joke.” It seemed as though here were talking to the sky. Or some invisible form. “Die at the hands of a sea creature or flying demon, or be stranded in a shelter with a group of…mutants.”

The voice was weak, yet somehow sounded clear and precise, slicing through the patter of raindrops. “I’m no mutant. You may call me Amelme. But not ‘mutant.’”

Esmiel bristled at that awful word. Mutant. He didn’t think of any of them that way. He’d been called that, and other hurtful things, too many times. He wanted to shout at Tobiah. We’re not mutants! How dare you? Then again, there was the sea woman and the sky woman, who were the oddest things he’d ever seen.

“Out there…a ship,” Amelme continued, gasping for air. “I was…on it...”

“Was it the Tribunta?” Īberenth asked. “Were you able to jump off, too, before it capsized?”

Amelme’s voice grew weaker. “No. Another ship. Still afloat. I think. It’s probably near here. I jumped.”

Īberenth clapped. He shuffled his feet, and clumps of sand and mud flew up. “We’re saved!”

Tobiah shook his head. He drew his lips together. He needn’t express what he was thinking. It was clear to Esmiel. Mutants.

“Not saved,” Amelme said, drawing a last ounce of strength. “We have to hide. We’re dead if they find us.”

Amelme, whether a he or she, or neither or both, fell sideways, eyes fluttering, body convulsing.

If indeed Tobiah thought strangely of Amelme, he was nevertheless the first to run to the rescue.

*   *   *

They huddled together, in a bluish-black cave that Nicolai had discovered three-hundred or so feet below the top of the hill. Its low ceiling forced Tobiah—the tallest of them all by a good four inches—to lie on his side.

The rain had stopped. The clouds momentarily parted. Moonlight streamed into the cave.

Nicolai had tended to the gashes on Amelme’s forehead. He sponged them with rainwater, and used strips of cloth from his own shirt as a bandage, since there was just barely enough left of Amelme’s silks to provide cover. Drops of blood dotted a sky blue fillet around the head, and mud stained a strip of light purple cloth wrapped beneath the armpits and over the back of the neck. Loose lavender silk covered the rest of the body.

With a trembling hand, Amelme pointed to the group, one by one. “Īberenth. Nicolai. Esmiel. And Tobiah.”

“I’m Nicolai,” Īberenth said.

Nicolai nudged his brother’s arm. “Stop. I’m Nicolai. Longer hair.”

Tobiah rolled onto his back, heaving a sigh. “Are you a boy or a girl?” Tobiah asked, his eyes fixated on the too-low ceiling.

“Yes,” Amelme said.

Tobiah heaved another sigh. “Well, that clears up any confusion.”

“Your clothes were the first clue,” Amelme said, “then the accent. But that attitude confirms you’re not from the Commonwealth.”

Īberenth placed a hand over his chest. A mock squeal of shock echoed throughout the cave. “Our Tobiah? Has an attitude?”

Ignoring Īberenth, Tobiah narrowed his focus on Amelme. “So if you come from this so-called Commonwealth, it’s somehow forbidden to tell us if you’re male or female?”

“Why must I be one or the other?”

“Because that’s the way it is.”

“Not where I come from. But if it will make things easier for you, I’m more of a boy. Today, anyway.”

Tobiah looked to the ceiling once more. “I really hope I wake up from this soon.”

Amelme glanced at Esmiel’s hand. “You got bit.”

 “A dark…thing. Shaped like a pebble.”

“The good news is you won’t die,” Amelme said, “but you should drain it.”

Esmiel winced. “Do you know what bit me?”

“Has to have been a sand crymp.”

“How do you…drain it?”

“Cut the wheal open.” Amelme glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe my noble rescuer will do it for you.”

Tobiah made no sound. No movement. Were it not for the hue of his clothing, he might have blended into the stone wall.

“It was very noble of him to have carried you all the way up here from the beach,” Īberenth said. “Then again he’s the eldest, tallest, and strongest of us all. So…makes everything so much less dramatic, doesn’t it? A little bit? Just my humble opinion.”

Tobiah heaved a sigh. “Freak.”

“Why did you jump from your ship?” Esmiel asked.

Amelme lowered his eyes. He drew his arms close to his side. He was silent. Was he searching for the words? Or afraid of them?

“The raids,” he whispered, after a long pause.

Esmiel sat up straight, glancing at the cave entrance, then back to Amelme. “Raids?”

Amelme nodded. His expression seemed to say surely you’ve heard of them.

Nicolai adjusted one of the bandages that had loosened on Amelme’s forehead. “Do these…raids…have anything to do with those strange women you all saw?”

“No,” Amelme said with a firm shake of his head. “I don’t know what those were. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Nicolai glanced at Tobiah. “I wonder if it was all just someone’s fantasy.”

Tobiah, as before, was still. He glared at the ceiling, perhaps assessing the best way to chip away at it so he could sit up.

“Who’s raiding, and for what?” Īberenth asked.

“The Erikian cult. They steal practically everything. Gold. Jewels. Food.” Amelme swallowed hard. He stared at the drenched world outside. “And…us.”

Īberenth tilted his head, like a woodland creature hearing a new sound. “Us?”

“Us,” Amelme repeated. He moved his hand to indicate the entire group. “Children.”

“For…for what?” Īberenth asked.

“To force us to believe in the cause. The Erikia Movement. And to hurt those who refuse.” Amelme tapped his chest. “I’m a refuser.” He looked out past the group once more, beyond the cave entrance, and the gathering mist. “And now an escapee.”

*   *   *

They’d dared not venture too far from the cave. A few hundred feet.

Amelme suggested someone should keep watch. “Just in case.”

“I can never sleep,” Nicolai said. “I’ll do it.”

Esmiel volunteered to accompany him. He liked chatting with Nicolai.

“Do you want me to drain your bite?” Nicolai asked, in-between catching with his tongue an occasional raindrop that fell from a limb above them. They’d gotten settled on a log, under a grove. A fairly decent vantage point for sentinel duty.

Esmiel shook his head. “Not yet. It doesn’t hurt that bad. It itches mostly.”

“We shouldn’t wait too long.”

“Soon. I promise. But…not now. Not yet.”

Nicolai brushed Esmiel’s arm. Esmiel liked it. It made him feel…reassured. Like someone actually cared. Not since his mother was around had anyone really acted as if they cared.

“Tell me something about where you came from,” Nicolai said.

You mean what’s left of it? Esmiel thought. If anything? His heart ached when he pictured his parents. His stomach sank when he remembered his hateful grandmother. Yet he felt guilty that he had so often imagined the old woman being swept away by the water. He’d actually wished aloud for some kind of harm to befall her. He’d pleaded to the sky. And the sky reminded him of…earlier. “Those colors today, Nicolai. They were so…strange. Purple hair. Light green skin with orange. Black lips. They were…so…”

“Scary?” Nicolai said. “It’s scary to me. I don’t want to think about them coming back.”

But Esmiel couldn’t stop thinking about them. The color of their skin. Their hair. Their eyes. If Nicolai really wanted to know more about his home, Esmiel would have to mention how people shamed him. Taunted him. Hit, kicked, and spit upon him. My own grandmother hated me. All because of colors.

“Where were you going on your ship?” Esmiel asked. “Why did you stow away?”

Nicolai dug his heel into the ground. He formed a small channel in the mud. Water seeped into it. “Far, far away,” he whispered. “As far away as we could go.”

Esmiel wanted to ask why. Yet something inside told him not to. What would Nicolai think if Esmiel confessed that his own was mother was a convict? Along with his being a half-breed, what could be worse than all that?

“There were three of us,” Nicolai said suddenly, his voice shaky. “We were identical. Almost identical, except for our hair. I think Īberenth is…he’s funnier. He makes people laugh. But Brantheur was…he had something…some kind aura. Everyone was so captivated by him. The puppy that would always stand out in the litter; and be picked out first. That’s why...why he….” Nicolai’s voice trailed off. He looked up at the sky. “Why that stinking old bastard came in each night…I wish I could have…I should have done something.”

Esmiel wasn’t sure if Nicolai was addressing him or talking to himself.

Nicolai looked out toward the ocean. “Yesterday I was hoping to see another ship out there. Now I’m scared to death to see one.”

The rain stopped. The clouds began to part, slowly revealing the moons.

Nicolai drew a sharp breath. “Esmiel, I have to show you something.”

Before Esmiel could respond, Nicolai lifted the bottom of his torn shirt, rolling it up to his breastbone. “Look at my back,” he said.

Though it was deep into the night, there was now just enough moonlight to see the detail. Esmiel felt he was staring at the wooden slats of a trellis, criss-crossed, and interspersed with vines. “Oh Nicolai. What happened? What is that?”

Nicolai rolled his shirt back down. “That’s why Īberenth and I were on a ship. Dirty stowaways on a large beautiful ship.” He stared at Esmiel. His eyes welled with tears. “The proctor. To him, I guess, Īberenth was like any other student. Not all that interesting. He could have been a chair, or a tree in the courtyard. But…that never made sense to me. Since we all looked so similar. Maybe Īberenth’s personality was too strong. Maybe it intimidated him. But the proctor…he came for Brantheur. Then, when Brantheur disappeared one night, without telling anyone—not even us—where he was headed, the proctor came for me. Demanding I tell him where my brother went. I didn’t know. Īberenth didn’t know. Brantheur disappeared. He never said a word to us. If he ran away, that’s just how much pain he was in. How scared he was.” Nicolai stood up. He bent at the waist. His body shook as he tried to suppress the sobs. “We had to flee,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his words like the rustle of grass in a gentle breeze. “There was no choice.” He fell to his knees. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”

Esmiel caressed Nicolai’s arm. But there was no sound loud enough to muffle his anguish.

Until…

A series of screams cut through the night. Not one voice, but several. From all directions.

Esmiel stood.

Nicolai sat up on his knees. Wide-eyed, he pointed to the sky.

Three…four…no, five! Their wings fluttered discordantly, producing a sound akin to crumpling parchment, thundering feet, and bursts of air.

“Go, go!” Nicolai shouted, pushing Esmiel forward.

Esmiel raced toward the cave, his head pounding each time one of his feet struck the ground.

“I’m right behind you.” Nicolai’s voice, strained and breathless, reassured Esmiel. Kept him moving. Forward forward forward as the winged women flew in circles above them.

Amelme stood at the cave entrance. His eyes flicked between Esmiel and Nicolai, and the sky women.

“No, oh no,” Amelme said. He raised a hand just as Esmiel reached him. “Tobiah said not to come in.”

Nicolai sprinted up behind Esmiel, bumping him, as specks of mud landed on Amelme. Nicolai  nudged Esmiel. “Get inside! Go!”

Amelme raised his arms to block them.

“What are you doing?” Esmiel pushed on Amelme’s forearms. “Let us in!”

Tears streamed down Amelme’s cheeks. “Tobiah! It’s no use. We have to come in.”

Nicolai reared up and pushed past Esmiel. He grabbed hold of Amelme’s right arm and jerked him to the side. Amelme fell to the ground. Nicolai bent down, stepped over Amelme’s legs, and maneuvered his way into the cave.

Esmiel followed.

Tobiah lay on his stomach, far in the corner, his torso barely visible in the faint swatch of moonlight that fell in.

“Why the hell were you—” Nicloai stopped. “Oh no. Please no! Īberenth!”

Tobiah took hold of Nicolai’s arm. “It just…opened up. Collapsed in. All the rain, I think. I don’t know how far down it goes.”

Nicolai’s lips quivered. “Īberenth…”

Esmiel stared at the collapsed wall, and the hole in the cave floor, and a piece of Īberenth’s shirt dangling from the sharp edge of a stone. We’re all doomed. Esmiel tried to stop his mind from repeating the word. Doomed, doomed, doomed. Īberenth—was he still alive? The winged women—did they mean to hurt them? Or worse, kill them?

“I’m going down there,” Nicolai said, choking back tears.

Tobiah tightened his grip on Nicolai’s arm. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Let go of me.”

“What do we do,” Amelme whispered to him. “I don’t know what we should do.”

Esmiel turned away as Tobiah and Nicolai pushed and pulled at one another. He craned his neck just enough to peer up at the sky. Why did the women simply fly in circles?

Graceful and determined, like a seed pod twirling to the ground, one of the winged women touched down before the cave entrance so quickly that Esmiel had no time to react. She reached in. She took hold of Esmiel’s hand. Esmiel spun on his right foot, losing his balance. His head hit the wall as he swayed backward. The force of his fall freed his hand.

 A voice, haunting in its cacophony—as though several differently pitched creatures spoke at once—echoed throughout the cave, and sent a chill down Esmiel’s spine.

Allars por strachtent. Allars har strachti.

What did it mean? Was Esmiel even hearing it correctly?

Amelme gasped.

Allars por strachtent. Allars har strachti.

His eyes lit up. “I know that dialect!”

The hand came toward Esmiel again. He rolled to his side, just out of reach. Earlier he’d considered the dimensions of the cave a nuisance. Now he was so thankful that its height was too shallow for these tall creatures to worm their way inside.

“Ans-ortact!” Amelme shouted.

Several feet hit the ground outside, in succession, as precise as a musical measure.

Tobiah and Nicolai continued to kick up dust and dirt, wild animals in a struggle for dominance.

“Can’t…stop…me…” Nicolai said through gritted teeth.

“They’re here to take us to a safe place. A sort of commune,” Amelme said, ducking to avoid Nicolai’s left foot just in time. “It’s a dialect similar to one my great-grandfather used to tell us stories when I was very little.”

Tobiah grunted. “Calm down, Nicolai!”

A hand reached in again. Esmiel kicked it.

“What kind of commune?” Esmiel asked. “Tell them we want to go home!”

“I…I can’t speak it very well. But I can understand a lot of the words.”

The raspy voice echoed through the cave one more.

“They’re collecting…no, no…they saved us. Not here…not here to do harm.” Amelme tilted his head. “Safety. They keep saying safety.”

“We want to go home!” Esmiel shouted. He punched the hand that kept reaching in, the skin pallid, the nails like small knife blades.

“Offron-ot…uh…offron-it plunta,” Amelme called out.

Esmiel searched Amelme’s face. “What did you tell them? What are they saying?”

“Damn you Nicolai,” Tobiah said in an angry drawl. “Settle…the…hell…down.”

“They said…” Amelme swallowed hard. “They said they save children who have no homes to return to.”

The hand dug into Esmiel’s ankle. Before he knew it, he was being dragged through mud. His stomach fluttered as he felt himself rising. His heart raced as the ground faded from his view and the cold air bit into him. He hung by his feet, swinging like a wind-blown lamp suspended by a chain. The ground was up, the sky down. He was too panicked to shout. His head pounded. His lungs pressed together. His throat tightened. The thwap thwap thwap of the woman’s wings drowned out all other sounds around him.

He was over the water now, the shoreline fading away from him.

Esmiel realized if he didn’t act right away, he’d lose Tobiah, the twins, and Amelme forever. And there was no way of knowing where he was being taken. A mad surge coursed through him, deep into his bones. He swung like a pendulum, faster, stronger, until he could bend at his waist, and twist to his side. He continued the motion until the woman lost her forward momentum. She faltered in flight, directing more energy to her wing movement than to her grip on Esmiel’s calves.

Esmiel twisted, writhed, tugged at her wrists. Scratched and swayed.

A dreamlike sensation overcame him as he fell toward the sea. Nothing seemed real. But lucidity, logic, instinct—they all united and emerged from his subconscious or maybe it was some spiritual force; regardless, he snapped back to the present moment. Within seconds he realized he had to do something to cushion the impact. He curled inward, outstretched his arm, and—smack!

The pain reverberated throughout his body. The roar of waves was muffled by the intense ringing in his ears. The sea foam resembled bubbling clouds through his blurred vision.

Swim, swim Esmiel! Focus on reaching the shore!

He sliced through the waves. He counted out in fours. A parade at sea. He knew he had to hold back every few minutes. He had to let the current to carry him. Otherwise, the water would keep fighting him, exhaust him, pull him down. He would be absorbed. This was his chance to do what he couldn’t before, when the river spilled over the wall.

I won’t lose control this time.

The dilapidated stone wall became his target. If he kept that in sight, he’d know he wasn’t drifting too far.

Esmiel hit his stride, going under, resurfacing, and repeating the pattern, praying his constant movement would prevent the sky women from intercepting him.

Then he felt it. The arms enveloping his waist. A water woman!

Like a dolphin skimming the surface at top speed, Esmiel was carried to shore. On the sand, he rolled, kicked, beat the woman’s arm until she released him.

“Child, there’s no need for all that bluster.”

A normal voice. A pleasing, calm voice. She spoke the common tongue, unlike his winged and water tormentors. Esmiel looked up.

Standing behind him, a woman not of the sky or the sea. Clad in a sparkling purple and white tunic, her orange hair flowed down the length of her back, and her stunning green eyes glowed in the moonlight. She smiled.

Esmiel doubted the sincerity. He kicked sand at her feet. “Get away from me!”

“You’ve misjudged us. I have a ship on the eastern shore. I’d like to take you—all of you—to a place with food, water, shelter, and warmth.”

“I only want to go home,” Esmiel replied, scooching backward, searching for an escape.

“What’s your name, child?”

Esmiel sent another spray of sand in her direction.

“My name is Carliss.” She bent down on one knee. “The Falerthai and Tunleeh, they mean you no harm. In fact, they saved you from drowning. It’s their task. Their reason for being. Someone called them on our behalf.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

Carliss’s eyes sparkled as she scanned Esmiel’s face. “You must understand, young man. Your home was destroyed. Otherwise, they would have brought you back there, instead of here.”

“Where is here?”

“Here is safety.”

Esmiel stood, slipping several times before gaining his balance. “Answer my question!”

Carliss reached out and clutched Esmiel’s wrist. With her free hand, she slid a blade from a sash around her waist.

Esmiel cried out. The blade pricked his wheal, and a yellow pus with traces of blood flowed over his knuckles and fingers.

“We only want to help,” Carliss said.

A clanking sound. Esmiel glanced to his right. A towering man with broad shoulders approached. He wore a red cloak that flowed like ocean waves as he walked. In his hand, a chain, with cuffs.

Carliss barked out something to the man in dialect.

Esmiel took this moment to wrest himself free of her clutch. He sprinted toward the only place he knew was safe. The cave.

Faster than he’d ever run before, he zig-zagged up the hill, panting, sweating, blocking out all thoughts but the image of the cave entrance.

The instant he was in range he ducked down and rolled inside.

The cave stood empty. It wasn’t possible! Had they taken Tobiah, Nicolai, and Amelme? He thought of Īberenth, and a sudden flash of hope swept over him. Could all of them have possibly…

“Tobiah!” His voice echoed throughout whatever strange terrain lay beneath the cave’s surface. He peered down. So dark, so cold. He could decipher nothing.

Commotion from outside. Carliss and her cohorts were drawing close.

“Tobiah! Nicolai!” No answer.

If he allowed himself to be cuffed and chained, then what? Would he be tortured and killed? His only choice was to dive down into a cold oblivion. He’d have to risk it.

His heart beat wildly, and his hands were were ice. He closed his eyes. He thought of his mother. He sat at the edge of the hole. Carliss’s form came into view. The clanking of the chain hurt his ears. The exact opposite of the beautiful music of the carillons.

Esmiel inched forward. He held his breath. He dropped down into the hole.

A nightmare, come to life.

Next Chapter: Below