– – – – – – – – – –

  Fairworth (Maltia)

  13 November 2355

  Ethan’s 23rd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Weather-worn steps allow us to descend into what seems like an underground building, and through them we arrive in the middle of a corridor not far below ground. It is half-flooded, as if water had gathered there from recent rains.

  “The four of us this way,” Samuel directs, speaking to his siblings and me.

  Then he turns to three men who, lighting their way with a torch, have come down with us.

  “You head the other way.”

  The two groups move off in opposite directions along the corridor.

  “Have they got a philosopher with them?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Antony says without looking at me. “Otherwise they’d be of little use.”

  That almost sounds like a compliment. I imagine he gave it by mistake.

  Some of the guys I saw upstairs haven’t come down. I assume they’ve stayed behind on guard.

  “What’s the artefact supposed to look like?” Dawn asks.

  “We don’t know,” Samuel replies. “Funny, isn’t it? We’re counting on the philosophers to recognise it, but I’ve no idea how they possibly could.”

  “I agree,” I comment.

  We continue along the corridor, then take a right-angled turn. The carved stone making up the walls and low ceiling is worn and covered in moss. The ground beneath the water’s surface, moreover, is very slippery. I also notice a kind of algae built up along the edges of the passage.

  This place must be flooded most of the time. I’m thankful to be wearing waterproof boots.

  Suddenly, Antony raises his hand to halt us.

  “What is it?” Samuel asks.

  “Didn’t you hear it?” his brother replies. “It sounded like… gunfire.”

  We strain our ears, but hear absolutely nothing. After several seconds of listening, we all look at one another in puzzlement.

  “I must have been mistaken,” mutters the junior sergeant.

  He has barely finished saying it when a sudden roar reaches us, making us jump. Fearing a structural collapse, I look up at the ceiling, but everything remains in place.

  “Back the way we came,” Antony orders, frowning. “Weapons ready.”

  Oh, no… not again?

  I draw my pistol and, with the Sanders siblings, retrace the corridor. When we reach the stairway we descended, we find the other team of rebels there as well.

  “A cave-in?” Samuel says.

  My heart leaps into my throat: the gap through which we entered the ruins is blocked by a heap of debris!

  “There’s a smell of explosives,” says a lanky fellow from the second group. “And someone fired shots just now.”

  “Is that possible?” the pilot exclaims. “Have they discovered us? Or is this betrayal?”

  “Maybe both,” mutters the lanky fellow.

  “Any other exits?” Samuel asks.

  “None that we know of.”

  “Shit!”

  While the others argue, Antony goes up to the rubble blocking the way.

  “Hey, out there!” he shouts.

  He waits a few seconds, but there’s no reply.

  “Is anyone out there?” Still nothing. Outside, all is silent.

  ???

  First of all, we finish exploring the underground building. It isn’t very large, and it’s no great surprise to find that it contains no artefact. As for further exits, not a trace.

  Once the search is over, the group made up of the Sanders siblings and me rejoin the three rebels trapped down here with us. Keeping not too far from the collapsed entrance, we take stock of the situation.

  “It’s anyone’s guess how, but it seems the Republic knew we were here,” says Antony. “Those shots earlier must have been soldiers attacking our comrades who stayed on guard. For some reason, the men in the village didn’t warn us. Once they took the entrance, the soldiers blew it up with explosives.”

  “Why didn’t they just wait until we came out to kill us?” I ask.

  I’m strangely calm. Somehow, being in difficulty makes me sharper than ever.

  “Because perhaps they don’t mean to kill us… but to trap us. It’s not the most orthodox approach for Republicans, but… I suspect they want to wear us down by keeping us here for a while.”

  “Ah, that won’t be hard,” says a burly man with a booming voice, who seems to go by the name Sisoes. “I checked the water: it has a strange smell. I doubt it’s drinkable.”

  Seriously? Are there really people who can figure that out just by smell?

  “Poison?” Hilarion, the lanky man, suggests. “So do they want us dead or not?”

  “It’s unlikely the soldiers are behind it,” Samuel reasons. “This water must be quite old and stagnant.”

  “Either way, it’s certainly not a good idea to drink it,” his brother states. “That way, in a few days we’ll surrender without putting up a fight, and the Republicans will be able to interrogate us.”

  “Shouldn’t they already be demanding our surrender? We’re surrounded—why wait?” I remark.

  “They know we in the Resistance aren’t fond of laying down our arms. They might not want to risk it… or they’re waiting for orders from above.”

  “Ah, I see…”

  Silence falls. We’re in a truly bad situation.

  “As for the artefact?” asks the philosopher with us, a certain Kendeas.

  “Since it isn’t here, there are two possibilities,” Antony declares. “Either it was never here, or the Republic has already taken it.”

  “I don’t believe it was ever here,” says the philosopher, tilting his head slightly, sending faint glints off his ash-blond hair. “The place doesn’t match the descriptions.”

  I prick up my ears. Descriptions?

  “Even if we assume it was never here, the question remains how much the Republicans know about these ruins: do they simply think they’re some vaguely significant place for us, or do they know what was meant to be hidden here?” Antony considers. “In the first case, one must ask how they learned of our arrival. In the second, that question doesn’t arise, since after the theft of the map they probably assume we too are after the artefact. The real question would then be another: how did they know of this place as a potential site for the artefact? We have the map, and I don’t believe they had the time or the means to study it before we stole it back.”

  “If we can get our hands on them, we’ll ask,” Sisoes declares.

  “That would be nice,” Hilarion comments.

  “We need to think of a way out,” says Samuel, looking up. “We’re not too deep underground, but this place is in poor condition. It’s a wonder the ceiling didn’t collapse with the explosion. I wouldn’t want to put its stability to the test by starting to dig.”

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  “There’s too much rubble, and it’s too big,” adds Sisoes. “And even if we did manage to clear it, we’d have several gun barrels pointed at our faces the moment we stuck our heads out.”

  “What do the philosophers say?” Hilarion asks.

  “I’m working on it,” Kendeas replies.

  His brow is furrowed, showing a marked thinker’s wrinkle. In truth, the man – I’d say between thirty and forty – seems to wear such expressions often. Since we arrived here, he has been very serious, almost disagreeable. Yet I can sense he’s genuinely applying himself.

  I too am racking my brains for a way out of here. I have no wish to endure hunger and thirst for days, and besides, nothing guarantees all of us will survive for as long as the Republicans deem sufficient to break us. And even if I did get out alive, they certainly wouldn’t treat me kindly: I’ll be taken as part of the Resistance.

  “What’s our situation with mages?” Kendeas asks. “Which of you are one?”

  “I know a little mayea,” Dawn replies.

  “You’re the only one?”

  I notice several eyes turn towards me, but then Samuel says:

  “The only one who can actually make use of it.”

  “Hmm… so… could you purify the water?” the philosopher asks.

  “Separation of substances?” she says. “I don’t know… I could try, but…”

  “I take it you’re not very experienced,” Kendeas cuts in, with that slightly irritating tone of someone who knows better. “If you can’t act with great precision, it won’t do any good.”

  “She could try,” Samuel suggests.

  “And you’ll be the one to taste the result of her experiment? I’ve no medical knowledge, I wouldn’t know what to do if you poisoned yourself and collapsed dying. Frankly, even if I could use mayea, I wouldn’t risk attempting it without being skilled in that sort of operation.”

  Wouldn’t it be enough to boil the water with some fire mayea, or something like that, and then collect the purified vapour? I wonder. Hm… better not say it just yet. Tempers are a bit too heated. Let’s wait until they’re calmer and more inclined to listen to the last wheel on the cart… namely, yours truly. Besides, if something goes wrong and we poison ourselves, it’ll be my fault, so it’s wiser to keep my idea as the very last resort.

  A sort of rumble reaches us from outside, reverberating through the rock. Everyone looks up. It doesn’t sound like an explosion.

  “Thunder?” Sisoes says.

  “So it seems,” Hilarion replies.

  ???

  We make another inspection of the ruins, but discover nothing more than before. Meanwhile, the sound of further thunder reaches us, coming ever closer. At a certain point, we also begin to hear the downpour of rain.

  “It’s rather strong,” Dawn observes.

  In the end, we gave up on our explorations and returned to the sealed exit. There we found some stone blocks that must have fallen from the ceiling who knows when, and we sat down upon them.

  I don’t know how much time has passed. I imagine we’ve been here for many hours now. My stomach is beginning to give the first grumbles of discontent.

  A pity I no longer have a working watch…

  “They’ll need to call in skilled mages,” Sisoes comments. “Otherwise shifting all that debris will take a long time.”

  “That only makes things harder,” Hilarion asserts.

  No one adds anything further. The silences are becoming more frequent: by now we’re out of ideas on how to free ourselves. Compared with earlier, I’m now feeling a little anxious, though I still manage to keep a measure of control.

  “Maybe you’d have been better off away from the Resistance, eh?” Dawn jokes.

  She and I are sitting on the same block of rock, well lit by the symbol of the universe of the girl. The other rebels are scattered within a few metres around us.

  I give a wistful smile.

  “Well,” I reply. “Maybe it would have been worse if I’d been left alone. Someone like me, used to walking across an entire planet, wouldn’t get far in a fragmented world without a bit of help.”

  “It must be strange, living on a world like yours,” the girl remarks.

  I stare at her, and she hastens to clarify:

  “I didn’t say I believe in the existence of the place you claim to come from, all right? I’m speaking… hypothetically, yes.”

  “Uh-huh,” I retort.

  “I mean it!”

  “All right, all right.”

  I suppose it’s the truth. There’s no reason Dawn should have started to accept my origins.

  “Who did you leave there?” the rebel asks.

  “Eh?”

  “Your family, I don’t know…”

  “Oh…”

  My gaze fixes on the void. Memories take shape in my mind.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Stanstead St Margarets (England)

  20 October 20XX

  2 days until Ethan’s disappearance

  – – – – – – – – – –

  “What lessons have you got today?”

  A bit annoyed, I lift my eyes from my bacon and eggs. I’ve already got little time for breakfast; if I start answering my mum, I risk having to gobble everything down in a rush.

  “I’ll tell you when I get back, all right?”

  “As you prefer.”

  I’m in a foul mood: I woke up with an annoying headache, and discovered with dismay that we’re out of medicine at home to deal with it. For now I can endure it easily enough, but soon the pain will get worse.

  Looks like a rotten day ahead.

  Once breakfast is done, I grab my bike and head to school. The ride takes me far longer than usual: my rucksack is especially heavy, and the wind’s against me too.

  Someone’s out to get me today.

  I arrive at my destination dripping with sweat. After chaining my bike to a post, I make my way to the classroom for the first lesson.

  “Morning, Ethan,” greets Nate, chatting with a mate near my desk.

  “Hi,” I reply with a faint smile.

  I let my gaze wander around the room. Spotting who I’m after, I pull a bundle of papers from my bag. I swallow, then I brace myself and march over to a girl seated on the far side of the class.

  “Lizzie,” I call.

  The girl turns, giving me a curious look.

  “Erm… the notes you asked for,” I say, handing her the papers.

  “Oh… thanks a lot,” Lizzie says, taking them. “I’ll give them back tomorrow, promise.”

  “If you need them longer, that’s fine,” I assure her, my voice a little hesitant.

  “Okay… thanks.”

  “Erm… you’re welcome.”

  Pathetic, I scold myself, heading back to my seat.

  These ought to be golden opportunities to try and talk to her. Instead, I just can’t manage to behave like an affable person.

  I must have seemed really odd to her.

  “Good choice,” Nate says approvingly.

  “No comment.”

  I sit wearily, my fingers rubbing at my throbbing temples.

  “Hi!” says Maggie, coming over.

  “Hi.”

  “Ordered the book?”

  “Yes. It should arrive in three or four days.”

  “Brilliant! You’ll see… you’ll be gobsmacked when Z1 wins the machine war.”

  “What…?” I exclaim, eyes bulging. “But… what on earth are you thinking? Don’t—”

  “What is it?”

  “No spoilerrrrs!” I burst out.

  My protest is cut short by a sudden blow to the head. I turn, already knowing who it must have been. Naturally, it’s Justin, clutching a hefty book in his hands; judging by the feel of it, he must have struck me with that.

  “What is it you don’t want spoiled?” Justin asks. “I’m even willing to read it, just so I can tell you more. What is it, Maggie?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  “Oh, come on! Well, never mind.”

  And once again the boy brings the book down on my head. I’m already in a foul mood. Normally I’d put up with a couple of knocks… I’ve had worse. But right now my anger is rising.

  Every single day I have to put up with this idiot…

  I’m bracing myself for one more blow, just one, before I snap. But it never comes: distracted by something, Justin has moved away.

  I’m left here, seething, breathing hard with rage.

  “All right?” Nate asks me.

  I don’t answer. Irritated, I bury my face in my hands and rest my elbows on the desk. I let the anger drain away, along with the adrenaline that had surged at the prospect of a fight.

  I shouldn’t have lost my temper so easily.

  That’s not like me. Usually, outwardly, I always keep my composure. But it seems that, if pushed past a certain point, even I feel the urge to explode.

  I need to be careful.

  I sense that, if my state of mind stays like this, I could find myself on the brink of another outburst the next time someone pushes me too far.

  On top of it all, the headache has got worse. Painful throbs pound my skull with every beat of my heart, still a little too fast from the anger just now.

  “Ethan, you should complain to the teachers,” Maggie observes.

  “No,” Nate says. “The teachers wouldn’t do much, except stop fights that break out right in front of them. Ethan has to stand up for himself… teaming up with someone would help, you know?”

  “I don’t like the idea,” I reply. “It feels like… making friends for convenience.”

  “Isn’t that all right?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What a sweet sense of morals!” Maggie chuckles.

  She doesn’t sound as though she’s mocking me. And even if she were, it doesn’t matter. I may be poor at socialising, but I firmly believe that bonds like friendship shouldn’t be built on ulterior motives. And that’s not something I’m willing to compromise on.

  Better to remain alone, really.

  “It’s all right for you to think that way,” Nate asserts. “But generally speaking, you don’t make any kind of friends. You always keep to yourself.”

  “Could I do otherwise, with my unusual interests?” I counter. “Few people like the things that attract me… what am I supposed to talk about with others? Sport? The gym? I’ve no interest in any of that, and they don’t care about books or comics… there aren’t even any keen on video games, except the sports ones I couldn’t care less about.”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Nate says. “Considering the age we live in, you’d expect there to be some.”

  We don’t say any more. I’m lost in my thoughts. Nate and Maggie exchange a glance and then, with a shrug, move away. I notice, and it stings a little.

  I know it’s my detached attitude that drives people off. But what can I do? I became like this with adolescence. And in the end, I’m almost comfortable living in my own little inner world. Almost. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I must have been born in the wrong era… or in the wrong place.

  For a while now, I’ve been living practically only for the books I read and the fantasies I indulge in before I fall asleep. I imagine going to different places, like those in the novels I read, and living a life I would actually enjoy. I’d be more than happy to be dragged into another world and never come home again…

  … yes, I’d like that.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Fairworth (Maltia)

  13 November 2355

  Ethan’s 23rd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Well, who would have thought it would actually happen? I think. Now I really am in another world.

  I’ve told Dawn a little about my life on Earth, omitting wherever I could my occasional bouts of inner whining, but letting her understand that there’s very little I truly long to be reunited with. Not that I don’t want to go home, but as I’ve reflected more than once in recent weeks, after some time on Tersain the longing has grown less urgent.

  “Well… I’m sorry,” the girl says. “In the end, you still miss your home, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Especially right now, maybe,” she adds with a little laugh.

  I shrug, as if to say I hadn’t really been thinking about it.

  “I haven’t seen my mother in ages,” Dawn states.

  “No?”

  “No… her situation is ‘particular’, and for her own good it was better not to follow my father to the fragment where he and I lived. But she wanted me to stay with Dad, so I could get in touch with the Resistance.”

  “Why couldn’t she come with you?”

  “She works at the Podium of Mayea,” the girl explains. “She teaches mayea. Since the Podium is an institution of the Republic, it’s best for her to avoid any contact with the Resistance, even though she secretly sympathises with it.”

  “I see.”

  I assume this Podium is some sort of school, or academy.

  The rush of water is clearly audible through the ceiling and the soil separating us from the outside. It’s rather cold down here, and standing with boots soaking in water doesn’t help in the long run. Not to mention a dripping that has been coming from above for a while now.

  “Mmh?” I mutter suddenly.

  “What is it?” Dawn asks.

  “The water… wasn’t it lower before?”

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