I awoke on a mattress in a concrete cell. A sickly yellow light buzzed above me, somehow both too dark to illuminate the room and yet too bright for the sweet lull of darkness. A heavy blanket had been thrown over me. Sweat caked my naked body, and I was burning. I tried to throw the thick cover off, but I found that I was too weak.

  Turning my head, I noticed a bowl of water and a loaf of bread placed near me. I leaned forward. Though I was tempted to lick from the bowl, the ways of my School made me pause. I reached my shaking hand into the cool water and brought it to my lips. I did this four or five times before I was unable to continue. After I rested some more, I tasted the loaf, chewing slowly and eating as much as possible.

  Once I was satisfied of food and drink, I could do naught much more than stare at the ceiling and shut my eyes in the uncomfortable light. I noticed a door on the other side of the small room, not that I had the strength to clamber up—let alone try to open it. I was now firmly at my captor’s mercy. I turned so that my cheek rested against the pillow, and I tried to go back to sleep.

  But there is what the mind desires and what the body demands, and I have found the thoughtless comforts unfortunately fall in the latter’s domain. So, I entertained myself with conjectures, prone as I am to such musings.

  I have often walked in the realms of dreaming and waking, and I do not think in the usual manner. I remember my dreams as if I had lived them, and my dreams come to me even in the day. There have been occasions when I have mistaken dream for memory and forgotten the world for the eye of its beholder.

  As I teetered between these two realms, I came to ponder the third. There is a certain space between waking and slumber where thoughts come unbidden and leave just as suddenly. In this place, you do not exist, at least not as you understand yourself. It is not the dream but the darkness beneath it, the abyss below before surfacing again—on either side.

  Some people claim that this void is the real version of yourself, the lowest layer of our being from whence everything springs forth. Having recalled my many travels there, I think this is folly. So many try to plunge into darkness seeking light, delving into chaos for order. To always travel downward does not mean that you will get at the heart of things. After all, to understand a tree, you would not look only at its roots. And if you were to truly understand the forest, you must look at the woodland above with the same mystery as you would below.

  Such strange thoughts and more, I pondered until I woke again.

  …

  I was still feverish and weak, but at least I was stronger than before. The infection raged within me, but I was more concerned about my wounds. Should I stay in this condition, I would not be able to resume my journey for many months. I knew what had to be done, but I was scared of doing it.

  “You’re in bad shape.”

  Startled, I clutched at the blanket, realizing there was a man sitting next to me. In his hands, he held the same mask he had worn earlier. It sloughed away in his hands as if a snake was shedding the wrong skin. Though from this man’s appearance, I could tell he was no snake.

  A measure of sandy hair crested his head. His features were that of a noble soldier who had fought far too long, a portrait for the end of youth. While he still commanded high cheeks and a sturdy jaw, the skin was drawn around his tired, blue eyes. His thin frame spoke of hardship and lean muscle. There were no wrinkles or greying hair, but I knew this man was old in a way that went beyond mere flesh.

  He picked at his mask curiously, weighing it unfamiliar in his hands. “Was it a wolf?” he finally asked, looking up.

  I hesitantly nodded.

  “You’re lucky then.”

  “Where are my possessions?” I asked, immediately fearful for the book.

  The man didn’t answer. He stared at me with crooked eyes. There was an unsettling light behind them, as if he knew things he shouldn’t.

  “Who are you?” I changed the question.

  “A soldier. Same as you. You’re safe, for now. You’re at an old supply cache. We used these once for scouting parties.”

  “How far am I from Terminus?”

  He glanced away. “Close enough, I wager.”

  “I need to get there.”

  He chuckled. “That shouldn’t concern you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I haven’t decided whether or not to kill you.”

  I considered this gravely and thought on my answer. “Very well, but I should inform you that I’ve sworn not to die until I reach my destination.”

  The man’s chuckle grew into a hoarse laughter. “Those are bold words. For that, I shall counsel you with my thoughts so that you may have some say in my dilemma.”

  I had never been more attentive to another’s speech in my life.

  The man began. “The secrecy of these caches is paramount, as there are many enemies who wish to plunder them. In light of this, I was ordered by my commander to kill anyone who stumbles upon them. It is just as well, for no one travels these lands who is not a warrior and prepared to meet a warrior’s end.”

  “But you spared me,” I ventured.

  “It is not honorable to murder a wounded man begging for aid,” the man replied. “Additionally, keeping you alive meant I had more time to ponder the situation until I could make a more permanent decision.”

  The stranger’s eyes dug into me. “I ask you, what would you do in my place? Should I disregard my commander and abandon the duty assigned to me? Or perhaps should I keep my oath and forever soil my hands with your blood?”

  I knew that no plea for my life or my quest would reach the man’s ears. Only honor had stayed his hand, and only by honor would he allow me to live. And I myself pondered whether it was honorable that I should walk from this room. Death here would be a strange end to my mission, but not the worst one, I think.

  I sat upright and opened my mouth—though you should know I planned no contrivance in my speech. I wanted to know whether the Potentate would let me die, even after all that I had done.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “The question… is one of authority,” I proposed. “A prince’s decree can be overruled by a king. So too, can one law take precedence over another. So I ask you, which of the two is higher in this case?”

  “I swore no oath to the laws of honor or the common decency of man. And soldiers are permitted to do those things that are taboo to defend their countrymen. It seems to me that my commander’s order is higher.”

  “That may be.” I did not rush to my words, and I think that is what saved me. “But your commander is still bound by that law unless he would forsake his vocation and become but a bandit and a thief. His authority to kill rests solely on the authority of the Potentate, otherwise we would find him evil. The moral law is higher than your commander’s.”

  The soldier grinned. “That is the correct answer,” he spoke with a certainty that told me he had come to that conclusion long before.

  I stared at him in question.

  “You might be surprised, but these situations have happened before, and many guards have come up with riddles to test those who stumble upon our caches. I prefer this one because I find the most honest faces are those faced with a threat of death. If you had proven to be a man of the law—or at least of honor, then there was little risk in letting you live.”

  “And if I had proven to be a savage?”

  The man’s eyes grew a little cold. “I would’ve nursed you back to health still. But I am not obligated to defend such men, nor am I responsible for them once they leave my shelter. I will tell you that there is only one path out of this bunker and dozens lead to the tunnels deep below.”

  From his tone, I realized I did not want to know what dwelt in the deep tunnels.

  “But what if I was a charlatan who only used my knowledge of the law for my own ends?”

  The soldier scoffed. “Then the wolf would’ve gotten you. Know this, these lands are home to many things and many peoples, but it is not kind to those who are dishonest. Men are dishonest to hide their weakness, and this land swallows weak men with an unquenchable thirst.”

  I nodded, and I relaxed, leaning back on the cot, contemplating all that had happened.

  The stranger stood up from the corner. “I had one other assurance. I looked through your satchel, and I saw the manuscript. Stories say that the Schools once sent couriers to Calrathia to store all knowledge. But I have heard of none attempting the trek in centuries. Let me advise you, go back. The road is far too dangerous. After Terminus, there will be no respite. There is only the cold and the things that lurk within it. You barely survived a wolf.”

  “I was taken by surprise,” I cooly responded.

  This elicited another snort from the stranger. “If you don’t perish, you will be allowed to stay until you get your strength back. After that, I can feed you no longer.”

  “I’ll leave in a few hours.”

  The stranger turned at that. “You’re very ill. You can’t even walk.”

  “Bring me my possessions,” I told him, “and a vial of anesthetic.”

  …

  Looking over my bandages, I realized that they had been changed regularly. The stranger had done an adequate job of stitching my wounds, though red streaks of infection spread out from where the wolf had bitten my arm and leg. Had I left these to their natural course, I suspect I would’ve eventually lost them to amputation, or never been able to walk without a limp again.

  The man returned with my clothes and satchel. Strapped on his back was my sword, although he soon placed it in the corner with the rest. I dug through my satchel until I found a crimson vial. Thankfully, it was unbroken.

  “I know your wounds ache, but stopping the pain will not help you.” The man pulled out some anesthesia and a syringe.

  “It isn’t for my wounds,” I responded as I held out my hand.

  He handed me the syringe, and I began measuring out the doses for the anesthesia and the red liquid.

  There are certain concoctions warriors are apt to use—at least those who live near the Alchemists. One of these is the Bene Tincture. With the Astronomers, I was taught in its careful application. Too much, and the flesh becomes a cancerous tumor unto itself. Too little, and the flesh heals partly, but necrotizes soon after. I took the needle and first numbed the area around the wounds with the anesthesia. Even so, my hands were shaking as I reached for the blood-red vial.

  They say Bene does not heal you so much as replaces your flesh with itself, that with every passing use, you lose more and more of yourself. I personally cannot attest to this tall tale. I have seen the healed wounds and could not discern any difference. Also, it has been used on me on several occasions, although each time, I was thankfully first put asleep. But that was precisely the reason I was so afraid, knowing the pain it would cause.

  I pulled the plunger on the syringe, slowly filling it with the crimson fluid. Using the graduations on the syringe, I measured the right amount. I rested the needle on the vein of my wounded arm and looked up at the man. “It would be best to leave this room for a while.”

  He nodded and exited out into the hall, closing the door behind him. I pushed the needle into my arm and pressed down on the plunger.

  Of what followed next, I shall refrain from reporting to you. The laws of nature are not ignored so easily. The rapid growth of flesh, even in wounds as superficial as mine, did not conform well with the Law of the Conservation of Mass. All you need to know is that I needed nothing to bite down on. I would’ve bitten through any cloth, and my tongue would regrow back anyway.

  …

  I stepped out from the door an hour later, fully clothed and accoutered. I shivered, though I was not cold. Strength had returned to a weak body, and health would come soon enough.

  The stranger looked me up and down in shock. He stepped back. “I confess I did not believe you. I have only heard stories of such miracles.”

  “I have seen many things within the curved lands of Zodiak, and many more on my travels. This one I would rather not talk about.”

  The stranger nodded grimly.

  “I do not wish to burden you any more than I already have, but may I ask one more favor? I haven’t had a good meal in several days.”

  He led me down the hall into another concrete room. This time, the walls were lined with shelves stocked with goods. Much of it was canned food, but my eyes wandered to a shelf in the corner that held several rusted firearms. Perhaps they had seen battle a long time ago, however, they were now relics of a bygone era. I was offered such a weapon to aid me in my exile, but I refused it. I am normally not a superstitious man, but even I feared calling upon the spirits of the wrathful dead.

  In the center was a lone table made of thin wood. There were four stools, though I had neither seen nor heard a trace of any other men besides my newfound host. I sat down while the soldier brought some canned meat and two cups. Reaching to the shelf beside us, he placed a dark brown bottle on the table. Taking the cork out, he poured a double shot in each.

  We both did our own prayers before supping.

  “If you do not mind a few questions.” The man tore into a chunk of meat. “Why are you making this journey? In the past, great ships could take you from Terminus to Calrathia in a few hours. When they finally fell into disrepair, most gave up. Even the faithful who pressed on with ice skimmers had to desist once the winters grew worse and the cannibals acquired a taste for their flesh. I tell you now, conditions surely have not improved in the intervening centuries.”

  “It is… the last thing I can do for my School. I am banished from Zodiak and cannot return under pain of death.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, but he had the sense not to pry into the reasons behind my exile, though doubtless he guessed at them.

  “And if you reach Calrathia? Only then will they permit you to return to the School?”

  I was silent for a moment. “No.”

  The man nodded solemnly. “I do not wish to tempt you from your path, but many men would’ve abandoned this road.”

  I took a deep breath and drank some of the liquor. “According to our custom, an Astronomer may be sent into exile. He may be stripped of his mantle and abandoned to earth, but he may never cease to be an Astronomer. It is so with many of the Schools. I am still bound by law to deliver the manuscript as a condition of my exile. I cannot stray from this path.”

  The man thought this over, and we ate in silence for a time. Once, I would’ve considered this meal to be rather lacking. However, after many days of travel, any food was delicious. It is another of those contradictions one encounters in life. Food is far more enjoyed by the man who fasts rather than the man who has plenty.

  “I have come to a decision,” the soldier announced. “I will accompany you to Terminus. The city is not without its dangers, and I would not see you come to harm before your true journey begins.”

  “That is most generous, but who will guard this shelter? I have not seen anyone else.”

  “It will not be long. Terminus is a day’s journey, and it should be a short order to acquire what you need for the road south.”

  “Then I shall gladly accept your help,” and I took one last bite before standing up.

  We departed not long after.