PITCH

  Six Years Ago

  Slice. Slice. Slice.

  My fingers stayed out of the blade’s way as the knife slid through identical lines of red peppers. No more mistakes! My left thumb already bore a bandage from an earlier slip, black glove keeping the food separated from the wound.

  Slice. Slice. Slice.

  Perfect. Into a bowl went the peppers. Next? Markiz fruit. Tricky to peel, jelly-like inside, and too tart to eat alone. But it wasn’t for me. Chef set the menu, and we apprentices did as commanded.

  I had my reasons for learning knife work at the proverbial knee of Chef Andre at Encore, and my mom supported me. School? Finished it on stream a while back. Apprenticeship suited me more than Uni, so I learned culinary skills and worked part-time for Known Cosmos Earth Press in my free time. Not a bad life, if you asked me.

  No one ever did.

  When my shift was over, I bowed to chef, put my grey apron in the laundry hamper, and trotted home for what I’d been wanting all day: a nap.

  Mom wasn’t there, so I downed a fish salad sandwich, chased it with an ice berry ade, and headed upstairs to my room.

  Throwing back the covers, I slid into comfort and steadied my breath. Stillness came quickly, and I let sleep take me into dreams.

  If I opened my eyes, I knew what I’d see. Ruby lake. Crimson blooms on the grass. Golden light filling the air. I inhaled.

  Spice.

  Frankincense and orange. My lungs gulped it down like it was all I wanted.

  It sort of was. But I couldn’t let myself merge with the spiced golden air, or I’d get lost in the one I really wanted.

  She wasn’t why I was here.

  I needed the next story. All I had to do was wish for it, and the scent on the breeze shifted. The spice disappeared.

  Fruit. Melon of my Grandma Rory’s home world. I let the costamelon come closer, and she was there. Her presence sat next to me on the edge of the lake, posture mirroring mine: cross legged. Relaxed. As though we hadn’t a care in the world.

  Hi, Pitch, Ryst Nova said into my mind.

  I needn’t reply; she felt my welcome.

  You got Nayth’s story already?

  She knew the answer to the question without me saying anything.

  I’ll tell you my version, she sent. Then. . . uncertainty from her.

  I sent her the feeling of welcome again. Whatever she wanted to tell me, I’d record.

  Nodding. Alright then. But fair warning. I have a way of talking sometimes . . . I’ll try to keep it consecutive. Make it as story-like as I can. Like the last time I showed you what you needed to see.

  Go on, Ryst. No need to apologize for being yourself, I did not say. She felt what I meant. That was the way of dreams and people who met in them.

  You asked for it, you got it, she laughed, and the sound was like chimes. It filled my whole being, and my mind overflowed with the story she told.

  RYST

  Renallah turned out to be the perfect training ground.

  What did Nayth and I need to learn? How to exist in two places at once.

  Sounds easy, right? Henh heh.

  You see, when we went to Mellemer, we weren’t truly there like the mer, but we didn’t know it at the time.

  The merfolk like Selles anchored us to their world with sensory information: touch, sound, and taste. But it was like a voice singing without any words. A song not fully formed.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  We weren’t a part of their world, so we couldn’t stay.

  In hindsight, that quick trip was everything we needed. Remember how at the end we went up that huge gold spiral, mostly disoriented? Something odd happened.

  Nayth felt a painful need.

  Before that, we’d both forgotten pain.

  You see, when we left the Known Cosmos, Nayth and I left suffering and discomfort behind completely. We forgot what it’s like to hurt. To need.

  Then we created a whole new world just for the two of us here in the Unknown Cosmos. I think we needed that after what we’d been through in the 9 Galaxies—space from that difficult life. It was good for us.

  Forgetting.

  But we made our new world with altered memories.

  If you forgot the concept of pain entirely, what part of your life would you remember?

  For me, it was only Peydran, Ren, Euri, and Dwinlyn. They were solidified in my memories so deep, I couldn’t get them out if I wanted to. That’s what love does, and there’s nothing painful about that.

  My found family’s love kept reaching out to me from the Known Cosmos, and I reached back. You know those phrases “the ties that bind” or “heartstrings?” That’s an apt metaphor.

  Love was a connection across realities. Neither Nayth nor I wanted to be separated from the Crieve-Madranos, so we remembered them, and love kept us connected.

  Neither of us realized that Dwin and Euri’s concert nearly brought Centre stadium to the ground. We’d forgotten that humans could be harmed by things like earthquakes.

  Everything changed when we went to Mellemer.

  We came into contact with other people, and their minds made an impact on ours.

  After that quick brush with the mer, we wanted to go adventuring through the Unknown Cosmos, but we needed a direction. Our meal with Selles and her people reminded us of community. Family.

  And we wanted more of it.

  The heartstrings inside us flared to life, and Nayth grabbed hold of them with all he was—connecting to our lives in Andromeda. And he didn’t let go.

  Something pulled us, and it was so powerful, it hurt Nayth.

  That pain amplified the tether between us and our family in the Known Cosmos, drawing us towards them in a round-about way. A ruby light appeared, and when we focused on it, Renallah drew us close.

  It was the anchor.

  Renallah tethered us to physical existence, but the only way to get to there was to let it pull us it like a magnet. And once we did, everything changed.

  Our love for Peydran and Ren was a lock inside of us, and the key that matched it was the ruby world. As soon as we touched Renallah, click! The door of remembrance unlocked.

  Pain.

  Memories of our family back in the Known Cosmos. And not just them. . . everything.

  But we had to earn that change. Getting our memories back was a process. Renallah helped, but it couldn’t simply give memories to us. We had to choose to make them a part of us.

  Can you indulge me a minute while I explain something ridiculously esoteric?

  Nayth and I have more than one form. That’s what I meant earlier about us learning to exist in two places at once.

  We’ve been learning this lesson a long time. As you recall, when we lived on Shurwinn, we kept experiencing ourselves as something more than two small people on a sphere in Andromeda.

  Vast Ryst and Great Nayth—remember them?

  Try and think of it like this: there’s a version of us that’s infinite. Like a liquid pool of all that is.

  When we want to, that giant version of us can become a single drop and fall into existence in a defined reality like Andromeda.

  Continuing the pool analogy, Andromeda itself is a pool. But it’s not infinite. It’s limited by definitions. Like a checklist. Here’s the rules for this reality: 1) Have ten fingers and toes. 2) Be born as an infant then grow up. 3) Experience time. And so on.

  In order to be humans in Andromeda, we had to adopt those definitions as our identities. That’s right, being born meant conforming to Andromeda’s rules: be a human girl with green eyes and olive skin. Cry when you have a dirty nappy. Grow up. All the mundanity you are ever-so familiar with from your own life.

  Eventually, when I wanted to, I identified with more than mundanity. I remembered the infinity pool. I became Vast Ryst temporarily in dreams, daydreams, and ecstatic visions.

  But I remembered my small, human self during those moments too. I slowly learned how to be two places at once.

  Now I’m doing the inverse. Being Vast Ryst and learning how to exist as a smaller, limited self at the same time. Renallah is the perfect place for that.

  Andromeda doesn’t define me anymore, but for the moment, Renallah does. Because I’m letting it. At the same time, I can remember everything else about all the other places I’ve existed.

  When Nayth and I first arrived here, we became the world. We had to. That’s how we got to exist here, and it helped us. Gave us attributes. Something that was physical.

  And reminded us of everything we’d forgotten.

  Why?

  When we were in the 9 Galaxies, the two of us were apart for a long time, dreaming of each other. Longing. Unquenchable thirst to find one another again. Awful, but something neither of us wanted to forget permanently. Because it’s such a vital part of who we are together.

  I don’t want to forget Nayth, so I don’t want to lose my memories of the pain of being parted from him.

  Renallah helped us seal that experience into our identities. And all the other times we’d suffered in the Known Cosmos.

  Why?

  Because that’s what the people here want: to know every part of themselves, without forgetting. And their desires are the scaffolding on which their world is built. The people make the definitions.

  Is Renallah a land of suffering?

  No.

  Renallah is a world of identity.

  Because the people wish it to be. And those of us who need a little help with our identities are drawn here. At the same time, you can’t exist on Renallah if you don’t know who you are.

  That’s why it was so important for us to come here: to know ourselves fully. The small us and the Vast us at the same time.

  We had no idea that knowledge would give us a purpose we didn’t have before.

  Nayth and I looked back at our lives in Andromeda, and what did we find? People reaching out to us.

  We reached back.

  But we had a lot to learn about that. About what we could affect, and what we couldn’t. Remember the winds that Euridyne had to calm? The earthquake at Delphi? At first we thought that meant we needed switch gears—to back off and be subtle.

  Scents on the breeze. Gentle whispers, not shouts.

  Eventually, Pitch’s life showed us so much more was going on. We didn’t cause the earthquakes! It was the hearts of the Known Cosmos reaching for us that shook the ground under their feet. We were simply witnesses. Support on the sidelines.

  Figuring that out was part of our learning process here on Renallah. And we aren’t the only ones trying to help.

  There are others here who know the pain of the 9 Galaxies. It took us a while to find them. You’ve had glimpses of one dancing amongst the pages for several books now. And she’s ready to make a grand entrance.

  You might not hear from me and Nayth for a while because someone else wants to take the center stage. It’s time for a new scene, don’t you think?

  But know this: Nayth and I remember. We hear you.

  The hearts of the Known Cosmos are calling out, singing their wants, needs, and endless desires—an echo of our own lives lived there.

  And Renallah is listening.