Firefall

By

Marcus Malone

Copyright © 1992 by Marcus Malone

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Marcus Malone.

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1, Barney's Place

- Chapter 2, The Morning After

- Chapter 3, The Legend of Hur

- Chapter 4, Forest of Mure

- Chapter 5, Edge of the World

- Chapter 6, Got a Match?

- Chapter 7, Nightmares

- Chapter 8, Great One

- Chapter 9, Poison

- Chapter 10, The Lilly Pond

Chapter 1, Barney's Place

The clear, Wisconsin night seemed unnaturally blurred and distorted through Jacob's alcohol-tainted eyes. He struggled to maintain a weak hold on consciousness as he looked out the side window of Tom's rust-infested Ford. The dim, moon-lit scenery passed by much too quickly to make any sense to his altered state of mind. A lighted sign managed to draw a sluggish response from his otherwise empty gaze—but the sign's message was as much a mystery as the rest of the scenery.

Jacob Rowlin knew that he was in the back seat of his friend's car, and that he was drunk, but every other fact or circumstance surrounding that fateful night seemed to elude him. He was not even sure of how many people were in the car with him, although he knew that the car was packed to capacity. He leaned his head against the passenger-side window and mindlessly watched the delineators zip by. A frequent jolt of Tom's noisy car often caused him to bump his head against the glass; it was a nuisance, but not nearly as much hassle as trying to keep his head erect.

"Are you OK, Jake?"

Jacob lifted his head and looked toward the front of the car as he tried to keep his eyes focused on whoever was talking. Alcohol's cruel joke caused his eyes to jitter, as did the image of nondescript people, roadway, and headlights.

What, he thought, is someone talking about me?

"Yeah, he's OK."

Jacob returned to his previous posture of resting his head against the window. He struggled to keep his eyes open and maintain consciousness. His stomach had begun to harass him, but he took little notice of the discomfort.

A voice with high expectations shouted from the front seat, "Just wait 'till we get to Barney's place!"

"I'm hip!" someone replied, then several people began to laugh in a hardy, taunting manner.

The Ford turned down a crude dirt road, which battered Jacob's head against the glass with intolerable frequency. Jacob tried to hold his head upright for a short time, but the task seemed to require excessive effort. He finally gave up and leaned his head against the back of the seat, only to discover that a fierce, overpowering dizziness had begun to set in. His sight quickly dimmed—then his persistent battle to maintain consciousness ended in defeat.

Jacob was not in the habit of getting dangerously drunk on a frequent basis—just once every other year or so. He was in his mid-thirties and, for the most part, a responsible individual: well educated, law-abiding, resourceful, and thrifty. In any given crowd, Jacob was the one who was most likely to keep a cool head and maintain some wits about him. On that particular night, however, his gift of intelligence and reasoning had been purged by a careless celebration to commemorate a fleeting reunion between himself and a long-forgotten friend named Tom. He had no way of knowing that that carelessness would invoke a major change in his life and forever alter the course of his destiny.

Jacob managed to regain a foggy glimpse of consciousness sometime later that night. He found himself alone in the back of the car; the door was open and several people were standing around the vehicle. He suddenly became aware of someone shaking and harassing him.

"Get up, Jake! We're here!"

The words seemed to be nothing more than a disjointed series of sounds. Jacob tried to focus his eyes on the intruder, who was apparently leaning in through the open door. He could not get his eyes to center on an image and, consequently, was unable to recognize the man's face. He felt someone pull on his shoulder.

"C'mon!"

Jacob felt a sharp jerk as his body lurched toward the door.

The intruder let out a sigh of disgust, then turned his head and spoke quietly to someone nearby, "Give me a hand—they'll be here soon."

The reply was in an uneasy, concerned tone of voice, "I don't like this—it's spooky."

"Shut up and give me a hand."

"I've never done anything this low before," he said as he leaned into the car to secure a grip on Jacob.

"If you don't have any stomach for this, then walk—but don't be hang'n around when we divvy the take."

"I'm cool—let's just get this over with." The two men struggled for a moment as they worked Jacob's 150-pound frame toward the edge of the seat. Jacob had his eyes open but was basically oblivious to everything around him. One of the men stooped down, drew Jacob's arm around his shoulder, then rose to a standing position as he pulled Jacob out of the car.

Jacob never managed to gain his feet; his legs and body hung limp from the man's shoulder. The other man, who had at least shown some trace of a conscience, quickly grabbed Jacob's other arm, then drew it around his shoulder. He made several nervous glances across the clear, night sky, "When are they coming?"

"Soon." He nodded toward a crude log cabin not more than twenty yards from the car, "Lets get him in Barney's place before they show."

They started walking toward the cabin with Jacob's legs trailing behind them.

The man with a conscience looked across the star-covered sky once again, "What do these guys look like? I mean, are they gross or what?"

"Hell if I know," he retorted.

"I don't know if I like this; out here in the sticks an' all."

"Shut up for a while—he might hear you!"

"He's gone, man. He don't hear shit," his eyes made another nervous glance across the night sky.

The exchange between the two men continued, though it made absolutely no sense to Jacob. He finally began to realize that he was out of the car and on the move, but somehow overlooked the fact that he was being carried by two men.

He lifted his head and noticed shaky silhouettes of tall pine trees towering high above him. He struggled to focus on his surroundings but his eyes seemed to insist on wandering erratically. He could vaguely see images, but had little control over where his eyes were pointing. Pictures seemed to flash by his eyes at an alarming rate: the moon; trees; a cabin; then ultimately, the ground.

"Can't you hold up your end?"

"Somethin' spooked me!" He nervously watched the bushes, which formed a dark barrier at the edge of the trees.

"Pussy! Help me pick him up!"

Jacob slowly became aware of a harsh, dull ache in his head. The pain started out slow and was lost in the numbness of his head like a whisper lost in a crowd, then gradually grew to frightening, almost biblical proportions. It was not until the men began to pick him up that he realized he had fallen and, apparently, struck his head on the ground. He decided that he had better concentrate and try to maintain his balance before he injured himself seriously.

Jacob made several futile efforts to get his feet underneath him, but the men were carrying him much faster than he could manage. After several botched attempts, he finally gave up on trying to stand and channeled his concentration on focusing his eyes. He found that it was much too difficult to lift his head and just settled for looking at whatever his eyes were pointed at; it appeared to be a ratty, wooden door set in a crooked, log frame.

"Open the door, moron—I got my hands full!"

The door rattled and shook vigorously but did not open. There was a moment of silence, then a loud clunk as the door flew open and flooded his face with light. He closed his eyes for a moment, then squinted in an attempt to see what might be inside. There was a man on the other side of the threshold who spoke, but Jacob had no idea of what he was saying.

"You're late!"

"I know. Help me get him in."

Jacob found himself passing through the door with relative ease. Once inside, he finally managed to get his feet underneath him, though several people continued to hold him up. He squinted and made a feeble attempt to look around; the place was small, lacked furnishings, and seemed to be somewhat crowded.

"He's... He's bombed!"

"No shit, Einstein! What do you think took so long?"

"You mean—he doesn't know?"

"Fuck no he don't know—you think he's just goin' to let us sell him; no problem?"

"They might not take him wasted like that. Can he stand on his own?"

"I don'no, let's see."

Jacob looked across the array of strange faces staring at him and wondered what kind of party this was going to turn out to be. A moment later, he toppled and, again, found himself looking at the ground from a rather close perspective.

"Good one, ace! Now pick him up and set him against a wall somewhere."

"You pick him up—we had to haul him from the car!"

Jacob looked across the dirt floor of the cabin, which was littered with beer cans, burger wrappers, and spent condoms. A moment later, an intense, pure-white light shone in through a broken window and gradually swept across the garbage on the floor.

"Shit! They're here already!"

Several people quickly crowded around the window as they pushed and shoved to get a look at the visitors.

"Yup, it's them alright!" He chuckled, then did a poor ET imitation, "ET phone home!"

"Knock it off, man—they might hear you!"

"This is weird, guys. I say give 'em what they want and don't piss 'em off!"

The rest of the night was a clouded mystery to Jacob; it was filled with strange, willowy figures that moved with puppet-like antics, and shrouded by whispers that were prudently kept far from his ears. At one point he found himself laughing at a monkey, who was wearing a dinner jacket and smoking a pipe. He was sure that it was either someone's pet, or something that just looked like a monkey when viewed through his feeble, distorted eyes.

Jacob laughed at the monkey's human-like antics; it would take a puff off of its pipe, then shake its head as if it were passing judgment over a pitiful creature. Jacob's laughter escalated with the monkey's antics, and the monkey's show of disgust became more pronounced with Jacob's laughter.

The last thing Jacob remembered seeing was a pair of large, black, almond-shaped eyes that almost seemed to penetrate deep into the soul. He found the eyes frightening and, for a brief moment, felt a pronounced sense of helplessness and betrayal. He remembered nothing more.

Chapter 2, The Morning After

Jacob felt understandably ill when the morning light woke him from a numb, unconscious sleep. His head throbbed with relentless, pounding percussions and his stomach churned in tight, twisted spasms. He groaned, then rolled over to shelter his face from the morning sun, which seemed unusually harsh for that time of year.

Jacob was not sure whether to hold his head or his stomach, though either gesture would do little to soothe his discomfort. He managed to maintain some control over his stomach by taking slow, deep breaths, but there was nothing he could do to bring peace to his throbbing head.

Jacob suffered on the ground for quite some time before he finally began to question his whereabouts. With slow, painful movements, he lifted his squinting eyes to survey the strange surroundings. The bright, morning light burned at Jacob's bloodshot eyes, which were quickly sheltered by an upturned hand.

As Jacob's eyes adjusted to what seemed like a dazzling brilliance, he came to the realization that he was lying under a tree in a sizeable clearing. Because of the sun's intensity against his aching eyes, he could only make out the general gist of the terrain; it was a flat clearing surrounded on all sides by remarkably tall hardwoods.

Jacob gradually pushed himself to a sitting position, then groaned with a tone that seemed to mark a vendetta against all who might happen to cross him.

"Damn you Tom," he muttered.

He cradled his head in his hands in a futile attempt to dampen the persistent throbbing. He somehow knew that this was going to be one of those day-long hangovers; the kind that tends to make a person swear that they will never touch another drop of alcohol so long as they live. Jacob had always referred to this phenomenon as `the morning after syndrome'.

After wallowing in his self-inflicted misery for quite some time, Jacob lifted his head once again in an attempt to determine where he was—though nothing looked remotely familiar.

The clearing around him was filled with knee-high grasses, and lightly dotted with blue and violet flowers. Jacob could smell their gentle fragrance in the fresh morning air—it was a sweet fragrance, unlike any other he had ever experienced. The huge trees that surrounded the clearing towered high into the sky for at least 200 feet before the branchless trunks flared out into a flat, leafy crown. The forest was also filled with tall, featureless reeds, some of which reached nearly half-way to the canopy.

The twitter of birds filled the air and a gentle breeze whispered as it flowed across the soft grasses like waves on a pond. It was a beautiful, inviting place—though disturbingly strange.

Jacob took several deep breaths, then managed enough strength to crawl to the trunk of the tree. He pulled himself to a sitting position, then rested his back against the tree; he found that the bark was soft and tender, like moss. He leaned his head against the tree, then closed his eyes and tried to make sense out of the strange circumstances that surrounded him that morning.

Jacob had never seen such foliage in all the years that he lived in Wisconsin—however, his knowledge of nature was, admittedly, sadly lacking. He knew that Tom was a nature buff and well-versed in rare plants and animals. He also knew that Tom, unfortunately, had a fetish for practical jokes.

Jacob remembered some of Tom's practical jokes—back when he and Tom were close friends. One of Tom's classics was to haul a passed-out drunk deep into the wilderness, then leave them there to find their own way back to civilization. Jacob assumed that he was now the object of that cruel joke, and that he might have to spend most of the day searching for some sign of civilization.

He was hung-over, ill, weak, and in no shape to start gallivanting across the wilderness. Jacob just relaxed with his head against the tree—and let the songs of the birds lull him into a gentle, peaceful sleep.

The morning grew older, the sun climbed higher, and the birds concluded their morning session of songs.

Several miles away, a monkey-like willot, who went by the name of Chesoon, hurried down a path of plush clover. Although he was rushed, he took care to avoid brushing against the foliage at the edge of the path; to do so could prove to be fatal.

The natural path was hardly more than four feet wide and tightly tucked into the forest's incredibly thick foliage. Tall trees and reeds towered over the little path, as well as Chesoon's slender four-foot body. There were many such paths that wove their way through the forest of Mure. If it were not for the network of paths, the forest would be far too dangerous to cross.

Chesoon hurried along with a precarious wobble, which was a common characteristic of willots. Like most willots, Chesoon closely resembled a monkey; he was covered in coarse, dark brown hair, which thinned out at the face, hands, and feet. The features on his flesh-like face closely resembled those of an orangutan, while his overall build was spindly, like that of a large spider monkey. He also had a short stump of a tail, which barely hung out from underneath his fine blue jacket.

He muttered in a low, grumpy voice, "Late. Late. Late."

The wobble in Chesoon's walk coaxed the stem of a pipe to work its way up and out of his jacket pocket. A scant two or three steps later, the pipe fell to the ground with a subtle thud.

Chesoon heard the noise and stopped dead in his tracks. He froze, then turned only his eyes as he carefully looked across the forest; first to the right, then to the left. He saw no movement.

Chesoon stood motionless for quite some time; it was best to be prudent when confronting the forest. He did not relax his stance until he was completely satisfied that he was in no danger. He took a reassuring breath, then looked down at the ground to see what might have made the noise. It was then he realized that he had dropped his pipe.

Chesoon grumbled as he looked down at the pipe which, unfortunately, came to rest under the foliage at the edge of the path. Chesoon carefully lowered himself to his hands and knees as he peered under the bush to survey the problem; it was not as bad as it could be, but bad enough none-the-less. The pipe had landed under the foliage and was nearly touching several sprawling leaves—but it was still on the path and, therefore, within bounds for a fair retrieval.

"This too!" He shook his head, "What next?"

Chesoon carefully studied the prospect of retrieving his pipe. He did not want to abandon it because pipes were as hard to come by as the fire to light them. On the other hand, no pipe was worth death; the subject would require careful consideration.

After wrestling with the problem for quite some time, Chesoon decided to make an attempt at retrieving his pipe. He crouched down lower, then slowly worked his way toward the edge of the path. A nervous hand reached toward the pipe, taking care to touch nothing but the path's fresh clover.

Chesoon felt his heart pounding in his chest as his hand drew closer to the foliage. His fear and uneasiness rose as he slowly reached under the bush; he knew that one careless move—one brush of a leaf—could cost him his life.

Chesoon's ears were trained on the forest as he carefully listened for signs of danger. Using slow, cautious movements, he manage to stretch his arm under the foliage far enough to get a loose, two-finger grip on the pipe.

He slowly pulled the pipe toward him, being ever so careful to leave the forest undisturbed. He trusted his skill and steadiness, but something as simple as a sudden breeze could sway the plant and cause one of its leaves to brush against his hand—then all hell would break loose.

After a series of painfully slow movements, Chesoon finally managed to pull his pipe clear of the foliage. He stood up, smiled proudly, then pulled a small white cloth out of his pocket. He gently wrapped the pipe in the cloth, then carefully stuffed his most prized possession deep into a pocket where it would be less likely to fall out.

An aged, weathered voice echoed from somewhere down the path, "Chesoon!"

Chesoon looked down the path, "Late."

He quickly resumed his precarious waddle as he continued his journey down the path and toward the sound of the voice. He already had enough explaining to do, now he also had to offer an excuse for his tardiness. He quickened his pace.

Two Lily People waited for Chesoon at a place where the path split to encircle a tree. One was an old man of twenty-five years or so, whose name was Avet. Avet had led a full and proper life. He was well-respected among his people, strong, and approaching his prime. Avet's build was typical for his herd; he stood roughly five and one-half feet tall and was stocked with 195 pounds of solid, bulging muscle.

Avet's basic anatomy and features could have easily been mistaken for human, if it were not for his hair. Like all Lily People, Avet's long, thick black hair was not only rooted in the head, human-style: it was also rooted to the back of the neck, and down the length of the spine. In addition to the head, the scalp covered an area about four inches wide across the back of the neck, then tapered down his back to a fine point at the base of the spine. His hair was a shiny, shimmering black that ran completely down his golden tan back, over his bare buttocks, and ended somewhere around the nap of the knee. Like his entire herd, he wore no clothes, no jewelry, no adornments.

Avet, as well as most males of his kind, was so stocked with muscle that he could hardly straighten his legs and arms without excessive effort. He was bulky and stood with a subtle bent-over posture marked by a slight bend to the knees. Even his ankles and hands seemed to be bulging with muscle. In addition to his impressive physique, he had a clear, healthy complexion that covered his entire body, and facial features that were considered attractive by his kind—as well as by human standards.

Avet waited anxiously for Chesoon; not only because he wished to serve his people, but also because he wished to prolong his own life—which was scheduled to come to an end at the upcoming harvest.

The other man was unique among the Lily People; he was Elder Nep. Elder Nep was well into his eighties and considered incredibly ancient by his kind. His longevity was attributed to the fact that he was the Elder—the chief or leader of the Lily People—and, therefore, exempt from harvest. Everyone else in the herd would die when their scheduled time of harvest came due.

Elder Nep's arms and legs were thin, weathered, and accented by knobby, bony joints. He was thin overall, but had a fat little belly that hung well below his waist. Despite his age, his long grey hair was every bit as thick as Avet's, and very well kept. Grey hair was considered prestigious, as well as a sign of wisdom and emotional strength. It was often used as a basis for selecting a new elder when the old one passed away.

Elder Nep's face was weathered and wrinkled; his eyes, ears, and strength had begun to fade many years ago, but his overall health was still strong and impressive. Despite his aged, doddering appearance, he had a sharp, cunning mind and abundant wisdom. His pale blue eyes under his pronounced, weathered brow carefully watched the distant path in hopes of seeing his life-long plans come into being.

Both men stood deathly still and silent as they stared down the path in anticipation of Chesoon's arrival. Their eerie stillness, however, was not in any way attributed to the upcoming meeting with Chesoon; it was a survival tactic. The Lily People were highly reputed for their knowledge of the woodlands—and for their low fatality rate in the deadly forest of Mure.

Avet continued to stare down the path as he spoke in a quiet, barely audible voice. "Something went wrong."

"Patience," the Elder replied.

Hardly more than a minute or two passed before Avet spoke again.

"He comes; I hear the feet of a willot against the clover."

"Only the feet of a willot?" the Elder asked.

Avet nodded, "Yes, he comes alone."

Those words brought an uneasiness to Elder Nep. He, more so than any other elder before him, felt an intolerable pain as he watched each and every one of his young friends and subjects march off to harvest—knowing that they would never return. His most precious dream was that, someday, everyone in the herd could be free to live as old as he. He let out a deep sigh, then spoke quietly to Avet.

"I fear I have failed our people, Avet." He shook his head, "I should have known better than to trust Chesoon."

"Patience, Elder Nep. Perhaps the goods are yet to come." Avet felt uneasy speaking to the Elder in that fashion because his words were chosen strictly to bring comfort to the Elder—he did not actually believe them himself. Chesoon had a reputation for falling short of the mark.

Quite some time passed before Chesoon finally appeared at the distant bend in the path. Avet studied the willot's movements as he waddled up the path; he could tell that Chesoon had less than perfect progress to report. Avet had plenty that he wanted to say to the meddling little chiseler, but he would mind his place and let the Elder do all the speaking.

Chesoon propped up his face with a cordial smile then, with the most optimistic voice he could muster, shouted, "I bid you well, Elder Nep."

The Elder's response was flat and to the point.

"Your hands are empty, Chesoon. I see no wizard." The Elder waved his hands in front of him, as if to touch something elusive in the air. "Is he here, hidden in the breeze?"

Chesoon paused for just a moment before beginning his carefully rehearsed explanation—he knew that he had a lot of explaining to do if he expected to receive any pay at all.

"I searched for the great wizard, Hur, and have found him!" Chesoon smiled boldly, as if he expected a round of applause. The Lily People were not impressed.

"You have not brought him," the Elder insisted, "he is not here."

Chesoon had been practicing his response all morning; he knew that stories of the great Hur were nothing more than myths and legends; they were illusive, hopeful tales designed to provide comfort to youngsters—and to those who would die at harvest. Talk of the great, fictitious Hur often dominated gatherings and conversations over many generations until, ultimately, a legend was born.

Chesoon made several humbling gestures before he continued. He knew that this would be the most difficult con he had ever attempted: to sell a wizard that did not exist.

"I found Hur in a distant world, where he labors to deliver a herd from harvest..."

The Elder interrupted, "Then, he will help us when his work there is done?"

"Ah..." Chesoon was not quite prepared for an interruption in his rehearsed speech and had to take a moment to collect his thoughts. He wondered if he should answer the question or just politely ignore it and continue with his recital. He opted for the latter.

"I had to wait many days before he would grant me audience—his great magic takes much of his time."

"Will he help us!?" the Elder insisted.

Chesoon swallowed hard, then quickly continued.

"I explained your need—he listened. He said that his work on that distant world will take many years to finish—but he sympathizes with your need and said he will send his brother in his place." Chesoon smiled and nodded boldly, as if he had just delivered a king from bondage.

"His brother?" Elder Nep and Avet exchanged doubtful glances.

"Does Hur have a brother?" Avet asked the Elder.

"I heard no talk of a brother," the Elder replied flatly.

Avet's doubtful expression grew, "Do wizards even have brothers?"

Elder Nep thought about Avet's words for quite some time. After a long, carefully executed delay, he faced Chesoon, who had already begun to cower under his client's diminishing optimism.

"What name does this brother of Hur use?" the Elder asked.

"Jake."

"Jake?" Again, the Elder and Avet exchanged doubtful glances.

"Where is this Jake, brother of Hur?"

"Why—he is here, on Mure"

"Where?" Elder Nep insisted.

"He is in the grasses at the edge of the world."

Once again, Elder Nep and Avet exchanged doubtful glances.

Avet leaned toward the Elder and spoke quietly, "I know the place he speaks of: there are no paths there."

"Hmm..." Elder Nep thought for a moment, "Then, we cannot go to this wizard until morning—when the birds sing and the dangers of the forest are slow and unable to keep up with the fleet of foot."

Avet nodded.

The Elder continued, "Could it be, that there is no wizard—no Jake, brother of Hur?"

Chesoon began to worry about his pay. He already had plenty invested in this con and was not willing to walk away empty handed. In light of the Lily People's skepticism, Chesoon decided that it might become necessary to change strategies from hat-in-hand, to something a little more pushy.

"I have filled my part of the contract: I have brought a wizard to Mure. Now, you must fill your part of the contract and present my pay."

"You have not filled your part of the contract, Chesoon." Elder Nep paused for a moment or two to glare at the willot. He was hoping that Chesoon might say something to give away his true position, but the willot remained silent and firm. Elder Nep continued.

"You swore a contract to bring us the wizard Hur—not his brother."

"His brother is every bit as great—even more," Chesoon argued. "I should get twice my pay, yet I will honor our sworn contract."

"That is, of course, assuming Jake, brother of Hur, is actually here on Mure. You ask an arm and a leg for your wizard, yet I see no one here except for you—and your words." Elder Nep shook his head. "You will get no pay until we get a wizard with the power to deliver us from harvest."

"You must pay me!!" Chesoon snapped, "We had a bargain!"

Elder Nep stood unswayed. "We did—but I see no wizard. Bring forth your wizard and have him prove his worth—then you shall be granted your pay."

Chesoon growled, bore his teeth, then shook an angry finger at the Elder as he shouted at the top of his voice, "Do not provoke me Nep! I have influence in the tower! I can bring firefall on you and your people! Pay me now or suffer firefall! Pay me now or—"

A sudden sound of movement in the forest nearby caused all three contestants to immediately freeze like statues: Chesoon with his teeth bare and finger pointed in Elder Nep's face; Elder Nep with his diplomatic, unswayed expression; and Avet, with his warrior-like stance. No one moved a muscle, no one spoke, no one even drew a breath.

They heard the sound again; it was caused by a long, pale, leafless vine, which had shifted positions along the trunk of a massive tree not more than ten or twenty yards from the confrontation. The vine shifted several more times until it finally found a comfortable niche in the tree's deep, knotted bark. Shortly thereafter, the forest returned to silence.

The cold, inanimate posture of the willot and Lily People persisted for quite some time until, as if by an unspoken que, they simultaneously relaxed their posture and continued with the business at hand.

"Then bring firefall." Elder Nep said flatly, "But you will receive no pay until your wizard proves his worth."

"But, I have already paid the sister world to bring him here! I paid in good faith—now you wish to cheat me! I warn you Nep, I shall—"

"Be gone!" Avet shouted as he made a sharp gesture down the path. "The Elder has spoken: you will receive no pay until we get our wizard."

Chesoon looked up at the Elder and realized that he would not sway from his position—even under the threat of firefall. He grumbled, then turned his back to the Lily People as he started to waddle down the path.

"Very well," Chesoon shouted, "I will bring your wizard tomorrow when the dangers of the forest are slow. But you must pay me then—or suffer firefall!"

Chesoon waddled down the path at an angry pace; he knew that the trick to pulling off a con was in raking the take as quickly as possible. He would have liked to have presented his fictitious wizard at the confrontation with the Lily People but, unfortunately, the creatures from the sister world had dropped his imposter off in the most dangerous, impassible reaches of Mure.

Chesoon's original plan was to con Jacob into posing as a wizard in return for his passage home. However, that con would have to wait until morning when the forest was at least remotely passible. Chesoon shook his head at his rotten luck; leave it to the sister world to drop his wizard off in an isolated grassland surrounded by the most dangerous section of the deadly forest of Mure.

Realizing that there was nothing that he could do about the problem until morning, Chesoon decided to venture to the tower in search of a scrap of red meat, and perhaps a coal for his pipe.

The Lily People watched Chesoon waddle down the path until he was well beyond hearing range.

"I fear I have failed," the Elder said sadly.

Avet's heart went out to the Elder. During his short life he had seen the Elder struggle to do his best for the herd. It was unfortunate that Chesoon was their only means of contacting the sister world.

Avet thought about his words carefully before addressing the Elder:

"Great Elder Nep. I ask that I be permitted to travel to the edge of the world where this wizard waits." He drew an uneasy breath, "The arm and leg that Chesoon asks for his wizard will come from my body. I wish to meet this great wizard before parting with my limbs."

The Elder's reply was immediate, "So you shall, Avet. Venture there, then wait for morning—during the time of the singing birds. Find Jake, brother of Hur, and see if he has the power to deliver us from harvest. I pray he is everything that Chesoon would lead us to believe." His expression changed somewhat; he held up a finger, as if to mark a place in the conversation, then his eyes wandered as he thought about the matter at hand. After a moment or two, he lowered his finger, then continued.

"Be mindful of the legend, Avet. Remember—the wizard will test our strength and worthiness."

"I shall, Elder Nep."

"I have faith in you Avet. I would chose you, above all else, to speak in my place—you are worthy of this task."

"I shall not let you down, Elder Nep. Do you wish that I accompany you to the lily pond before my journey?"

The Elder looked down the path then thought for a moment. Although the path was relatively safe, the forest of Mure was still a dangerous place for a man with failing eyes and ears; Elder Nep seldom ventured into the forest without someone else to listen and watch for danger. Reluctantly, he shook his head.

"No, go now. It would be best to see this wizard before Chesoon has a chance to poison him with words. Take care, Avet, we know little of wizards."

"How shall I address him? Do I say 'Great wizard Jake, brother of Hur'?"

The Elder shook his head, "I do not know. But treat him with great respect—as if he were an elder's elder."

Avet nodded.

Elder Nep laid a caring hand on Avet's shoulder. "If this wizard is great enough to deliver us from harvest, then, Chesoon must be paid. He wants an arm and a leg to satisfy his craving for red meat. You need not give your limbs—I can find another to volunteer as you have."

Avet thought about the old man's words for quite some time before replying.

"No. Someone must pay him—and I wish to help our people. But..."

There was an awkward pause.

The Elder spoke gently, "Yes, Avet?"

"Perhaps you could find another to volunteer one limb—say an arm or a leg—then I shall give the other."

The old man nodded. "That I shall promise you, Avet. Take care in your journey. And remember, treat the great wizard Jake with respect; he is our only hope."

Chapter 3, The Legend of Hur

Quite some time passed as Jacob slept beneath the tree. By the time he awoke, the mid-day sun was directly overhead and burning with an intense fury. Jacob yawned, then took a few seconds to rub the last remnants of sleep from his eyes before getting up to face the world around him.

The temperature was something just over 100° and morning's gentle breeze had long since given way to stagnant, humid air. Jacob's head still hurt but his stomach had settled down somewhat and ached more from being empty than anything else. He was thirsty, tired, and ringing-wet from sweat that had accumulated all morning.

Reluctantly, Jacob stood up, stretched, then looked across the clearing for a logical direction in which to begin a search for civilization.

The clearing was roughly oval-shaped and completely void of any roads, trails, or paths. He did notice a stretch of trees, however, that looked noticeably thin, as if they stopped to give way to another clearing—or perhaps even a road! He removed his denim jacket and carelessly slung it over his shoulder before setting out across the clearing toward the thinner stretch of trees.

He shook his head, "Damn you Tom—where did you leave me?"

He had hardly covered more than four or five yards before he realized that he should take some kind of precaution to keep from walking in circles. He looked up at the sun to take note of its position—it was directly overhead.

Jacob let out a disgruntled sigh; with the sun directly overhead, he could hardly use it as a reference. He decided that he would just have to do his best at maintaining a constant direction for the next few hours until the sun moved from dead-center in the sky.

He was just about to resume walking when a disturbing thought came to him: the sun is never directly overhead in Wisconsin!

A puzzled, worried look came over him as he looked up at the sun.

The equator, he thought, I must be at the equator.

He could hardly imagine anyone flying a drunk to the equator as a simple practical joke. But the more he studied the problem, the more it began to make sense; the sun's position, the climate, and the strange foliage could all be explained by the equator. He shook his head in disbelief.

An uneasiness crept through him as he resumed his trek: what country was he in? How far was civilization? How will he get back to Wisconsin?

Without slowing his pace, he reached in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He quickly inventoried its contents; he had $34 in U.S. currency, two major credit cards, a Wisconsin driver's license, a social security card, and the usual junk such as pictures and business cards. Everything was as he had last seen it; there was no passport, entrance visa, immunization record, plane ticket—nothing that would suggest international travel. He began to wonder about Hawaii; was it close enough to the equator to account for the sun's position? Although his knowledge of geography was sketchy, he somehow doubted that this strange place was Hawaii. He nervously heightened his pace.

The soft grasses gently brushed across his pants as he pursued a brisk pace across the field. His eyes were focused on the trees ahead, but his thoughts were focused on the exploits of the previous night. He tried to recall as much detail as possible, though everything was sketchy at best. He remembered drinking with Tom and talking about going to Barney's place.

He stared at the ground ahead of his wandering feet as he slowly recalled more bits and pieces of the previous night. He remembered that they picked up some of Tom's friends, then rode for quite some distance in Tom's car. He also remembered a vague image of pine trees. He nervously furrowed his brow as he tried to recall more, but alcohol had stripped him of his memories.

"Fool," he muttered.

Jacob turned his attention to the trees. He had already covered three-quarters of the clearing and had a much closer view of the strange forest.

The trees were huge; especially at the base where a thirty-foot column of wood towered up out of the dense foliage for 200 feet or more. Their branchless trunks were covered with a thick, deep bark and most played host to numerous pale, leafless vines. Tall, brown reeds also towered out of the foliage and reached halfway between the forest's floor and the canopy. The remainder of the forest's vegetation consisted of smaller green reeds and an assortment of leafy brush.

As Jacob drew closer, he cautiously slowed his pace to look for signs of wildlife or movement. He stopped at the edge of the forest, then tilted his head and listened to the silence. An uneasy chill ran down his back as he realized that he was neither prepared nor equipped to confront a jungle.

The thought of a jungle jogged his memory; he vaguely remembered something from the night before about a monkey—in a dinner jacket—smoking a pipe! His bewilderment grew. He looked to the ground as he struggled to remember more about that obscure night.

Jacob held a finger up to his mouth as he tried to make sense out of the night before—as well as the morning after. He tried to concentrate on the vague image of a monkey but could hardly recall anything more than the fact that it wore a blue dinner jacket—and that it had somehow confronted him.

"What the hell was all that about," he muttered. He quickly snapped his head toward the canopy some 200 feet above him.

Jacob strained his eyes in hopes of seeing some detail of the treetops, but could make out nothing more than a uniform, green mass with an occasional branch. He wondered if, per chance, the forest harbored monkeys. Once again, he tilted his head and listened carefully to the forest. The forest was dead silent.

In a more distant reign of Mure, the herd of Lily People spent their peaceful existence in a vast clearing around the pond from which they drew their name: the lily pond. The lily pond, small as it was, was the only standing water in all of Mure. It was surrounded on three sides by tall, white lilies, whose blossoms were nearly as large as a man's head. The nectar of the lily was sweet and palatable, and offered a euphoric state of mind to anyone who consumed it. The nectar of the lily was generally saved for special occasions and was, without question, the highlight of any celebration.

The herd of thirty or so generally stayed in the vast clearing around the pond, although there were exceptions: During the morning, when the forest was less dangerous, several members of the herd ventured into the forest to gather edible plants—a task that was only assigned to the fleet of foot. At other times, people would go for walks down the soft paths of clover that wove their way through the forest. Generally, however, the herd stayed together seeking whatever shade might be lingering at the edge of the clearing.

The clearing alone was the center of the herd's activity; they had no dwellings, no diggings, no structures, and no tools of any kind. They were simply a herd of naked, peaceful animals living in the wilds of Mure.

The overall herd consisted of an even mix of men, women, and children, although members over the age of twenty-five or so were conspicuously rare. Each member of the herd, including women and children, was heavily-stocked with muscle. Their massive builds were the result of careful breeding over many generations. So successful was the breeding effort, that, in recent generations, the Lily People had been allowed to breed at will because their bloodline had long since been purged of genes that produce less than desirable meat.

One of the older women, Terasel, was in the shade at the edge of the clearing chasing after a youngster who had wandered too close to the dangerous foliage. Terasel had led a full life of twenty-five years or so and, like Avet, was dangerously close to her prime.

Terasel's light brown hair was an uncommon trait among the predominantly black-haired Lily People. Like most women, her scalp ended a foot shy of the buttocks and her hair hung down to somewhere just above the ankle. She was muscular, though her solid build did little to detract from her feminine shape. She had firm, pronounced muscles in the arms, back, upper chest, buttocks, and legs, yet her waist still boasted deep feminine curves.

The herd completely lacked any kind of family structure; a newborn child was simply another member of the herd. Usually, a mother cared for and nursed her own newborn, although hungry children were often passed from mother to mother as the need arose. No one kept track of who fathered who.

The Lily People accepted their general genetic build, social structure, and way of life as being natural; they had no idea that they had been bred and cultivated like cattle to satisfy the hunger of hideous creatures that lurked in the tower. Generation after generation of Lily People lived their simple lives, only to march off to harvest without question. Most people just accepted harvest as the proper end to one's life. Elder Nep was the first to ask the question: Why must people die at harvest?

Elder Nep had confided in Terasel, revealing his plan to bring the great wizard Hur to Mure. She knew that her friend, Avet, would give an arm and a leg to pay Chesoon. She also knew that if the great Hur came to their world, then she would not have to march off to harvest with Avet and several other people, who were scheduled to die at the upcoming harvest.

Terasel entertained several toddlers as she anxiously waited for Elder Nep and Avet to return. She had had a bright, hopeful smile in anticipation of good news about the legendary wizard's arrival—but the Elder was late and Terasel's smile had diminished to a look of worry. She was just about to send the toddlers off to play and set out to find Elder Nep and Avet herself, when she spotted Elder Nep walking up a nearby path.

Terasel's uneasiness grew when she realized that Avet was not with him. She watched the Elder approach; she could tell that he was disappointed. She was anxious to hear whatever news the Elder had, but patiently waited for the Elder to approach before inquiring.

When the Elder reached her and the toddlers, she looked to him with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

"Hur?" she asked.

The Elder simply paused, lowered his eyes, then resumed walking toward the pond.

One of the older children heard the word `Hur' and began shouting, "Tell us of Hur! Tell us of Hur!"

Terasel managed a smile for the youngsters, then nervously glanced at the disappointed elder, who had already passed and was on his way to the pond. She bit her lower lip, then turned her attention to the children. She did her best to present a happy, cheerful face for the youngsters.

"Very well," she said softly. "Gather around."

She coaxed the youngest one into her lap, then waited for the others to find a place to sit. When the youngsters were finally settled, she began the tale, which was always told in the same fashion—word for word:

"Listen carefully to the legend of Hur—remember it well and tell it to others so that his story will not die with the old ones at harvest.

"Far away—beyond the edge of the world—beyond the sky—and far beyond the sister world—lives the great and powerful wizard, Hur. He is known by many worlds, and many worlds praise his name; for he, and he alone, has saved herds from harvest.

"The great wizard Hur travels from world to world working his powerful magic; speaking strange words, making strange motions with his hands, and holding strange objects, such that only a wizard would hold. His magic is great—greater than the magic that opens a flower..." Terasel held her fists together, then slowly unfurled them as if to mimic a blossoming flower. One of the older youngsters, who had heard the tale many times before, made a crude attempt at imitating her movements. She smiled, then continued, "...More powerful than the magic that raises the sun..." She paused to hold her arms in a large circle over her head. Again, the older youngster mimicked her. "...Even more powerful than the magic that started the world..." She stretched her arms boldly to the sides. "For magic to stop the harvest must be far greater than all these things."

She paused to smile at a toddler who was listening with bulging, awe-filled eyes. Before continuing, she bent forward and held up a finger, as if to stress a very important point:

"One day, when his work on other worlds is done, the great wizard Hur will come to our humble world. He will speak his strange words, make his strange motions with his hands, and hold his strange objects, such that only a wizard would hold. He will work his powerful magic over and over, here on our world, until, one day, the harvest is no more. Then our herd will grow and each of us will live as old as elders.

"He will come: maybe tomorrow, maybe after the days of our lives have been counted—but he will come. This is as certain as the rising of the sun. But when he comes, we must be ready: for he will first test our strength, our wisdom, and our will to be free of harvest. Above all, he will test our worthiness—in such a way that only a wizard could."

"Tell it again! Tell it again!"

Terasel smiled and shook her head, "No, I must speak with the Elder." She pointed to a group of children nearby, "Go play—and stay away from the forest!"

Elder Nep slowed his pace as he approached the Lily Pond. He gazed into his reflection, as he often did when matters weighed heavy on his mind, then drew an uneasy breath. With slow, difficult movements, he lowered himself to a place where he often sat, though he did not brake eye contact with his reflection in the pond.

"Why..." The corner of his mouth turned down for just a moment, then returned to something more diplomatic as he struggled to hide his feelings. "Why must you be the only one to grow old—the only one to enjoy golden years of wisdom?"

He waited, but his reflection had nothing to say.

He thought about the legend, the wizard, Avet, his plans for deliverance, and above all else, the herd. He struggled to hold back a tear; if anyone were to see him weep, talk would spread quickly and the herd would be frightened.

He took a deep breath, then spoke in a quiet, forlorn voice, "I would give both my arms and legs for a wizard."

His attention was drawn by the reflection of another person, who had walked up behind him; it was Terasel.

"Might I join you, Elder Nep—or do you wish to be left to your thoughts?"

A weak smile came to Elder Nep's face, "Yes, Terasel, sit with me."

A deep look of concern dominated Terasel's face as she took a place near the Elder. She settled in next to him, then, with the most gentlest voice she could muster, said, "What have you learned of Hur?"

Elder Nep slowly shook his head, "Chesoon has not brought him; he claims to have brought Hur's brother, Jake, to deliver us."

"Jake?"

The Elder nodded, "Chesoon demands his pay—but I fear there is no wizard at all."

Terasel lowered her voice to a whisper, "Did Avet pay him?"

"No." He shook his head, "Chesoon threatens us with firefall, unless we present his pay."

Terasel drew a quick breath, "Firefall!"

The Elder nodded.

An uneasiness crept through Terasel as she thought about the prospect of firefall. She had only seen three firefalls during her entire life, and each had taken a heavy toll on the herd. It was always hardest on the youngsters, who lacked the necessary self-control to stand motionless in a downpour of searing fire. She remembered one firefall in particular where, in an attempt to save another youngster, her newborn child was snatched from her arms by the evils of the forest. Firefall was always a no-win situation: either stand motionless and be burned, or run and fall prey to the forest. She swallowed the lump in her throat, then took several deep breaths before she continued:

"Where is Avet? Why did he leave you to return alone?"

"I sent him to seek the wizard Jake, brother of Hur. He will see if the wizard exists, and if he is worth the pay Chesoon demands." He turned his attention from his reflection to Terasel, "I fear I have made a grave mistake in contracting Chesoon."

"You did what must be done, Elder Nep. When must Chesoon be paid?"

"Chesoon will present his wizard at the rising of the sun. He will demand his pay then, or use his influence to bring firefall."

Terasel turned her attention to their reflections, "Then, we must pay Chesoon—our herd has never been so small in all the days of my life." She looked to the Elder; he could see the fear and heartache in her eyes. "The children, Elder Nep—the children!"

Elder nep shook his head, "We will not pay until we get a wizard to deliver us from harvest—firefall or not."

"Who else knows of this matter of the wizard, Chesoon, and firefall?" she asked.

"I, Avet, and you." He returned his attention to the reflection, "But I must speak of it to another: I have promised Avet that I would seek another volunteer to give a limb of their choosing—be it an arm or a leg—then Avet will give the other."

"Speak to no one of this—I shall give a limb if it will deliver us from harvest."

Elder Nep turned to look at Terasel, "You need not—there are many who would volunteer."

Terasel shook her head, "My life is over. I will die with Avet in four risings of the sun unless this wizard can work his magic. I have nothing to lose—only life to gain."

"Are you certain of your decision?"

Terasel nodded.

"Very well—it is done."

"What of firefall?" she asked anxiously.

"It is not yet the rising of the sun," the Elder replied. "Avet has yet to return with news of the wizard."

Again, Elder Nep turned to his reflection. Terasel could see that he was lost in thought. A brief moment later, he held up a finger as if he had an idea. Terasel waited patiently until the Elder lowered his finger and turned to face her.

The Elder had a proud, optimistic smile on his face as he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Speak to no one about this, ask no questions, but do as I say: Venture to the edge of the world, where the setting of the sun meets the emptiness beyond. Seek Avet before darkness comes; he will be waiting there for the wizard Jake, brother of Hur. The wizard is trapped in the grasses and will be unable to travel until the time of the singing birds.

"If there is such a wizard, take Avet aside tell him that you will pay half of Chesoon's dues. Then, tell Avet to take the wizard to the place where the path circles the tree. I shall meet him there after the rising of the sun. Should you or Avet happen across Chesoon, tell Chesoon to get his pay from me, here, by the pond—after the rising of the sun."

A look of confusion came over Terasel, "But... You will not be here."

A devilish smile came to the Elder's face, "Chesoon will be angry, but he would much rather have his pay than to bring firefall. He will seek me and, at some time, find me. But during the time in between, I will have a chance to meet this wizard myself and decide if he is worth the price Chesoon asks."

A distant, less triumphant look came to the Elder's face as he gazed out across the pond, "If, in the other case, there is no wizard Jake, brother of Hur, then hurry to the place where the path encircles the tree and tell me of your learnings. Then, Chesoon will not be paid—and I must ready the herd for firefall."

Terasel nodded, "I will do as you say, Elder. I hope I find a wizard there, at the edge of the world."

"As do I. You must hurry, Terasel, if you expect to reach Avet by the time of darkness."

Terasel nodded, then stood up. As she turned to leave, the Elder grabbed her leg, then motioned for her to come closer, as if he wished to confide in her. She bent over to bring her ear next to the Elder's face.

The Elder spoke in a faint, soft whisper, "Stay far from the tower—they must know nothing of this. Should they learn of our plans, then, Chesoon and firefall will be the smaller of our problems."

A nervous, worried look came over Terasel. She could hardly imagine anything more drastic than firefall.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Perhaps the tower would harvest the entire herd." He turned to look out across the pond, "Then the Lily People will be no more."

The Elder's words echoed through Terasel's head as she ran down a path of clover that wove through the forest of Mure. Her side had already begun to ache, but she would not lighten her pace. She had many miles to cover before the time of darkness and she knew that her message for Avet was of grave importance to the herd.

She thought of the herd, the children, the threat of firefall, and the distance that she had yet to cover; she strained her body for a faster pace. She wanted desperately to reach Avet before dark. Above all, she hoped and prayed that the great wizard, Jake, would be waiting there; for that she would gladly give a limb.

Chapter 4, Forest of Mure

An eerie sensation crept over Jacob as he stood at the edge of the clearing and gazed into the strange forest. He had never seen such a beautiful and inviting place in all his life, yet he could not shake the feeling that he was looking at forbidden ground. The breath-taking beauty combined with strangeness and uncertainty created a euphoric feeling that made him question whether or not his surroundings were real. He thought about other possibilities; dreams, delusions—but was unable to convince himself that this place was anything but real. Jacob slowly looked across the forest for any signs of activity, then turned his attention to the foliage at the edge of the clearing.

Jacob found that the reeds began immediately where the grass stopped; there were no reeds protruding out into the field, and not so much as one blade of grass grew among the reeds. He wondered what mechanisms or conditions kept the two types of foliage so finely divided.

Jacob examined the tall, brown reeds, which were nearly as wide as a telephone pole at the base, and tapered uniformly to a fine point some 100 feet in the air. He ran his hand across its smooth, hard surface. The glossy, glass-like finish ran for the entire length of the reed without so much as a dimple or bump. He looked up toward the top of the reed, shook his head in disbelief, then turned his attention to the smaller, green reeds.

The green reeds ranged in size from just an inch or so to several feet above Jacob's head. Like the brown reeds, they were completely featureless and tapered uniformly to a fine point. They were, however, distinctly different to the touch; they were slightly sticky, flexible, and very easy to break. Jacob gently bent one over, which made a loud pop as it broke off in his hand. He looked down the hollow reed, which began to ooze with a thick, milky sap. The piece that broke off in his hand also oozed and started to shrivel right before his eyes—he nervously threw it to the ground.

Jacob watched the severed reed as it continued to shrivel. Within a matter of minutes, the dismembered piece withered to a thin, brown strand that hardly resembled more than a blade of dried grass. Jacob let out a leery sigh, then turned his attention to the rooted half of the broken reed.

He drew a quick breath when he realized that the broken reed had already begun to mend itself. A small, convex cap had taken shape over the break—and was slowly elongating into a point. Jacob's eyes were bulging as he watched the end of the reed grow at a rate of several inches a minute.

"Where the hell am I?" He shouted.

A split second later, he heard his words echo from deep within the forest. He looked into the dense growth, then swallowed hard as his echoes gradually diminished.

Avet was hurrying down a path of clover in the not-too-distant forest when he heard Jacob's words echo through the timbers. He stopped dead in his tracks and stood motionless with his massive body bent in a typical stooped-over posture. He nervously listened to the phrase, `where the hell am I', repeat itself over and over until it finally diminished into nothing.

Avet did not move as his eyes panned across the forest in search of danger; he could somehow sense that the forest was uneasy. As he looked across the foliage, he kept thinking about the strange phrase until it was burned deep into his memory.

What is this word `hell', he thought, who would speak such things?

A smile slowly came to his face as he recalled a passage from the legend of Hur; a passage that mentions the strange words of a wizard. Avet knew that he was close to the place where Chesoon said the wizard could be found. His smile grew and his hopes for deliverance heightened. A sense of pride and excitement came over him as he realized that he would be the first of his people to meet the great wizard—and the instrument of their deliverance.

Satisfied that the forest was not presenting a threat, he resumed his journey to the edge of the world, though his pace was prudently slow and cautious.

Jacob listened carefully for any animal activity, but heard nothing in the wake of his echo. He thought of how deceiving the silence might be; a forest like this was bound to harbor some kind of wildlife. He began to wonder why he had not seen so much as a rabbit, squirrel, or mouse. He thought about the apparent lack of wildlife for some time, then returned his attention to the foliage.

Jacob found that the scant space between green reeds was filled with a delicate, lacy plant. The plant had incredibly small leaves and resembled a tightly-knit fern, which grew to about knee height. Upon closer inspection, Jacob realized that the lacy plants more closely resembled a thin web. The strange plant formed a fragile, leafy membrane that stretched a foot or so above the entire forest floor. The thin web was suspended by the green reeds and was hardly more than one layer of leaves thick. Jacob wondered if the lacy plants were rooted in the green reeds, or if they were actually part of the reeds themselves.

Jacob gently spread a small section of the lacy web apart to see what might lie underneath.He found that the space underneath was a moist habitat for a variety of mosses.

Jacob spread the web a little wider to get a closer look at the moss. The stems of the green reeds below the webbing were covered by a thin, green moss with tiny yellow flowers that were suspended on short, nearly invisible stems. A coarse, brownish moss covered the forest floor; it was several inches thick and saturated with tiny dew-like drops of water that glistened in the light.

Jacob reached down through the opening to touch the tender moss. As soon as his hand made contact with the moss, the spongy plant retreated to within a quarter-inch of the ground. Jacob gasped and quickly withdrew his hand.

Jacob's attention was immediately drawn by the sound of movement; he held his breath as he looked up at the thickets. He waited patiently for quite some time, but the forest had returned to a still, deathly silence.

Jacob returned his attention to the moss, only to discover that the opening in the web had already grown shut, as if the forest itself had indignantly covered its intimate areas from unwelcome, prying eyes.

Jacob knew that he could not spend the rest of his life standing at the edge of the strange forest, yet fear of the unknown seemed to form an impenetrable barrier that kept him from pressing on.

Avet proudly continued his journey down the path with high expectations of meeting the brother of Hur. His slow, cautious pace had increased with excitement and anticipation. That heightened stride, however, came to an abrupt halt when he realized that the forest around him suddenly came alive with movement.

Avet assumed a familiar frozen posture; he went so far as holding his breath to remain as still and motionless as possible. Fear drove an uneasy chill down his spine as his nervous eyes glanced from tree to tree. The pale, leafless vines that held vigil over the forest began to react as if something had disturbed the forest. He watched in horror as numerous vines receded down the trunks of the trees then disappeared beneath the dense foliage.

Avet knew that one false move could cost his life. The vines were on the prowl, as such, anything that moved would be considered fair game by the deadly green tentacles. Sweat built up on his brow as more and more vines became aroused and joined the search for anything that did not resemble plant life. His eyes frantically searched the foliage at the edge of the path. He knew that any one of the deadly vines could come darting out of the underbrush and seize him with little to no warning. After a quick search of his local surroundings, he realized that the vines, as yet, were not after him; they were heading in the opposite direction—toward the grasses where the wizard was suppose to be.

Avet began to worry about what might have caused the disturbance. He swallowed hard as he thought about the wizard; surly he was not trying to cross the forest at this time of day. Even a wizard was no match for the deadly forest of Mure.

Jacob was having difficulty pushing his way through the forest's dense foliage. He left a trail of broken, twisted reeds in his wake as he struggled to beat a path through the thick, forbidden mess. The lacy web-like plants entangled his boots as if to deliberately hold onto his legs, though he was able to tear free of them with relative ease. The damp, slippery moss also worked against him and further hindered his efforts to plow through the dense vegetation.

To Jacob, it almost seemed as if the plants were intentionally trying to stop him. He nervously chuckled at the idea as if he was foolish in bringing it to mind in the first place, though he was not completely convinced that the foliage was not out to get him. That disturbing thought haunted him as he put more effort into thrashing his way through the forest.

Jacob's uneasiness grew when he began to suspect that something in the underbrush might be closing in on him. He was not sure if the commotion in the underbrush was caused by his own clumsy movements, or if something else was actually stirring under the cloak of green foliage. Hardly a step or two later, the activity around him began to escalate. He was sure of it; the forest suddenly came alive with plants moving and writhing to the rhythm of a massive, unseen menace somewhere below the lacy, fern-like webbing.

Jacob frantically struggled to put more effort into his plight but panic and vegetation fouled his footing and sent him crashing through the lacy webbing to the wet moss on the forest floor. Plants were moving and thrashing all around him with an unnatural fury, as if the foliage itself had a personal vendetta against him. He was soaked and covered with bits of green webbing as he nervously struggled to gain his feet.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest by the time his scrambling feet finally found purchase beneath him. He hardly covered more than a foot or two when a thin, pale, leafless vine darted out of the undergrowth and lashed onto both legs just below the knees. The vine toppled Jacob, sending his face plowing through the wet, spongy moss, which did its best to move out of his way.

By the time Jacob came to a full stop, the vine had already tightened its grip and started dragging him across the forest floor. He managed to roll over and had just barley cleared the debris out of his eyes when he saw two more vines flourishing high in the air above him. Less than a heart-beat later, the tentacles pounced on him like whips, one lashed onto his arm, the other caught him by the waist. Jacob screamed in terror as he frantically scrambled for his folding knife, which was housed in a sheath on his belt. Meanwhile, the vines continued to tighten their grip as they dragged him through the wild, thrashing foliage.

Jacob's face was tight with pain by the time he managed to get his knife out of the sheath. He frantically tried to flip the knife open with his free hand as he struggled against the vines. On the third or fourth attempt, the knife opened with a loud, assuring click—then danced across his fingertips for nearly a full second before settling to the ground.

"NO!!!"

He grabbed for the knife—but only managed to brush his fingertips across the blade before the vines dragged him out of reach.

"Help!!! Somebody!"

Jacob wildly grappled with the vines in an attempt to free himself, though his strength and optimism was quickly fading. He trembled in terror to the uncertainty of where the vines might be taking him.

Despair filled Avet's face as he listened to the Wizard's pleas echo into the distance. In his mind's eye, he could see the wizard—as well as their hopes and dreams of deliverance—dying in the sticky prison that waits at the end of the vines. Avet wanted desperately to help, but could do nothing other than stand motionless in hopes of protecting himself. For a scant, fleeting moment, he thought about throwing caution to the wind and hurrying to the wizard's aid, but to do so would only bring his death as well—no one had ever escaped from the deadly forest of Mure.

Jacob's heart was racing in terror by the time the vines dragged him into a small clearing where the plant was rooted. A large, rust-orange blossom on a fifteen-foot stem stood erect from the center of the plant. The blossom was bell-shaped and nearly eight feet across at the opening. Jacob watched in disbelief as the huge blossom slowly bent in his direction. He could see that the opening of the blossom was guarded by a series of rod-like fingers that pointed toward the center of the opening. Jacob struggled in terror but could not break loose of the vines.

The stem of the blossom gradually bowed to position the opening of the flower not more than six feet directly above Jacob's body. Once in position, the rod-like fingers opened toward the ground, as if to form a cage. Jacob looked up in horror at numerous sets of bones that were embedded in the blossom's pungent, sticky lining. Several sets of bones appeared to be the remains of small birds, while others resembled those of a monkey. The most alarming of all, however, were two sets of bones that appeared to be the skeletal remains of people—one was apparently an infant.

Jacob retched as he scrambled and clawed at the ground in an effort to get free. Meanwhile, the stench-filled blossom began to slowly descend upon him. He suddenly realized why the forest had no wildlife; no wildlife could survive here. The forest was like a living organism with its own built-in mechanisms for defense. To the forest, he was nothing more than a bacteria invading a body—and was being disposed of accordingly.

The vines finally loosened their grip as the finger-like rods met the ground and formed a living cage around Jacob. Jacob struggled with the rigid bars only to discover that they would not bend far enough to permit an escape. He shouted for help several times, though he knew that there were no living ears in the forest to hear him.

The stiff fingers of Jacob's prison started to bend inward as the plant began to lock its quarry inside the confines of the blossom. Jacob shook the bars in a violent outrage as he shouted hopelessly for help. His outrage stopped when he caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of his eye. His knife! A vine was dragging his knife toward the blossom as if it too were an invading body.

With a fragile, optimistic grin, Jacob crouched low to the ground and reached through the bars in an effort to grab his knife. He was more than a yard shy of reaching the knife, but the vine was deliberately and methodically bringing it to the blossom. The rods continued to close around him and the flower slowly lowered itself in order to keep the ends of the fingers against the ground. By the time the vine brought his knife within reach, the rank-smelling blossom met the ground and shut out the last remnants of daylight.

Jacob huddled in the darkness with knife in hand as he tried to stay close to the center of the blossom, and as far away from the sticky sides as possible. He wondered what would happen next; would the blossom close in around him?

A split second later, the blossom began to rise up from the ground with Jacob trapped inside. Jacob hacked vigorously at the bars of his prison, which, to his surprise, were incredibly easy to cut. One by one the bars fell away as the blossom began to turn upward. Jacob heightened his efforts and did his best to keep from touching the sticky sides of the blossom, which had already begun to ooze with fresh digestive juices.

The last rod gave way before the blossom had a chance to right itself enough to roll Jacob onto the sticky interior. He quickly scrambled through the bars, then fell to the ground some eight feet below. He was hardly on the ground more than a second before another vine quickly lashed onto him. Jacob slashed the vine with a single stroke of his knife, then scrambled to his feet and took off across the clearing in a panic.

Jacob hit the foliage at the edge of the clearing with all the fury of a star quarterback, paying absolutely no attention to how much foliage he trampled or even what direction he was headed. Vine after vine lashed onto him with several tripping him to the ground, but, so far, his knife was able to keep pace.

Although Jacob managed an escape, his fear and panic continued to rise as the vines lashed onto him with escalating frequency. He realized that the mounting army of vines was growing, and that it would soon reach a point where his knife could no longer keep pace.

Avet watched in amazement as a clothed stranger battled his way toward him through the invincible forest of Mure. He could hardly believe what he was seeing as the stranger fell to the vines, then rose to his feet only to gain several yards before falling again. Despite the opposition by the vines, the stranger continued to make progress in his plight across the forest.

Avet noticed the shiny blade of the knife as the stranger drew closer. He squinted in an effort to see what the strange object might be. Then, he recalled a passage from the legend of Hur that spoke of strange objects that a wizard holds in his hands. Avet knew that the clothed stranger had to be the wizard; no one else would have such power and mastery over the evils of the forest.

Jacob was still battling the vines in a blind panic when several of the green tentacles managed to lash onto him at and pull him to the ground. He frantically slashed at the vines as four more appeared out of the underbrush and secured a hold on him. The vines began dragging him across the forest as his knife desperately tried to keep pace. For every two he cut, one more would show up to take their place. He knew that it would be only a matter of time before the scales tipped the other way and the vines gained the upper hand.

Jacob managed to cut himself free as the vines dragged him out of the underbrush onto a soft path of clover. He quickly rose to his feet and frantically looked around for more attacking vines. It was then that he noticed a naked, muscular man standing on the path not more than three feet away.

The encounter with Avet took Jacob completely by surprise; Jacob froze in his tracks and nervously stared eye-to-eye with the massive, stone-like stranger. Jacob could tell by Avet's impressive physique that the bulky man would have no trouble breaking him in two, if that was his aim. The fact that Avet stood as still as a statue also contributed to Jacob's uneasiness. He completely forgot about the vines—which were still on the prowl and actively searching for him.

What is he, Jacob thought, a cave man? Why does he just stand there like that?

Jacob swallowed hard.

I don't like the looks of this, he thought.

Jacob took a slow, cautious step backwards as he prudently brought the knife to waist-level with the blade pointed at Avet. He saw Avet's eyes glance down at the knife, then return to his. Avet never broke his reserved, confident expression, which led Jacob to believe that the man had absolutely no fear of a knife. He took another nervous step backwards.

Jacob's slow movements were enough for the vines to home in on. Less than a second later, a long, green tentacle reached up from the underbrush and seized him by the neck. Jacob grabbed the vine and quickly sliced through it, only to discover that a hoard of other vines were charging toward him through the underbrush. As he turned to face the attacking vines, he heard Avet speak in a deep, unmoved voice.

"Stand still."

Jacob froze with his knife poised to defend himself against vines. To his surprise, the vines slowed their advance and hovered in confusion not more than four or five feet in front of him. The standoff persisted for quite some time, then, with no movement to home in on, the vines slowly retreated back into the forest.

Jacob realized why the massive stranger stood so motionless; it was a survival tactic to escape the vines. Jacob also realized that, apparently, the stranger had no intentions of ill will against him—or else he would have left him to the evils of the forest.

The two men stood like statues for several lengthy minutes as they watched the vines climb up to their perches against the trees. Shortly thereafter, the forest returned to its familiar, eerie silence. Jacob decided that it would be best to stay motionless until the native made the first move.

That move was quick to come when Avet lowered himself to one knee and proudly announced in a deep, assertive voice, "I am honored to meet you, great wizard Jake, brother of Hur."

Jacob looked at the man in disbelief.

"What?"

Avet nervously cleared his throat, then spoke a little louder, and a little clearer, "I am honored to meet you, great wizard Jake, brother of Hur."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Avet was worried that he might have offered the wrong salutations and inadvertently offended their prominent visitor. He did not want the wizard to think that their herd was unworthy of deliverance. Avet was constantly mindful of the passage in the legend of Hur that spoke of the wizard's test of worthiness; it was the same passage that Elder Nep had referred to when Avet embarked on his journey. Avet knew that Elder Nep, as well as the herd, was depending on his wisdom and conduct. He had to be ready to meet the wizard's test—regardless of what form that test might take.

Jacob was also lost for words; he could hardly believe that the stranger knew his name, although he got the particulars wrong; such as being a wizard and having a brother named Hur. Jacob somehow knew that it would be a considerable length of time before he could gather enough information to piece this bizarre mystery together. He returned his knife to its sheath, then muttered under his breath, "Damn you, Tom."

Avet nervously looked up a Jacob, then spoke in a deep, yet humbled voice, "Did I offend you, great wizard Jake, brother of Hur?"

Jacob shook his head and tried his best to be cordial, "No. Stand up—please."

Avet rose to his feet, smiled, then nodded, "I am Avet—I have been sent to serve your needs, great wizard Jake, brother of—"

"Just call me Jake." Jacob rubbed the side of his head; he began to suspect that the morning's headache was about to return.

A more solemn look came to Avet's face, "So be it—Jake." He wanted desperately to make a good impression on the wizard, especially if he expected to pass the wizard's test of worthiness.

"Who sent you?" Jacob asked.

"Elder Nep sent me to your side," he proudly replied.

"How did you know my name?"

"It was foretold—by Chesoon." Avet nodded and smiled; so far the wizard's questions were easy.

"Do—" Jacob shook his head in despair.

"Ask," Avet said anxiously, "I shall answer as best I can."

Avet swallowed hard as he waited for the wizard to ask his next question.

"Do you know anyone named Tom?" Jacob asked.

Avet turned his eyes to the ground and shook his head. "No." He looked up at Jacob, "Have I failed the test of worthiness?"

Jacob shook his head in disbelief, but Avet took it personally.

There was an awkward pause as neither man spoke.

Avet did his best to maintain a confident, unemotional appearance. He thought about his words carefully, swallowed hard, then spoke in a firm, yet tactfully diplomatic voice

"Our people will die without you, great wizard. Please—I beg of you—help us."

Jacob was utterly confused and unable to make so much as a shred of sense out of their exchange. Many questions ran through his mind: Who is this man? Why does he call me a wizard? Why will his people die? Who is Chesoon and Elder Nep? How did I get here? Where is here?

"Please, help us."

Jacob nervously glanced across the forest, then returned his attention to Avet, "Is there a safe place where we can talk?"

Avet nodded, then pointed down the path, "There, at the edge of the world."

Jacob looked down the path, "Is it far?"

Avet shook his head, "We must leave here. The time of darkness soon will be upon us soon."

Jacob nodded, "Lead on."

Avet started down the path then Jacob followed close behind.

"Do not touch the plants," Avet warned, "It will bring about the vines."

Jacob was still uneasy in the presence of the bulky, naked stranger, though he was immensely grateful for finding some kind of guide in this hideous forest of death. He drew a leery, uneasy sigh, then muttered under his breath. "Damn you, Tom."

Chapter 5, Edge of the World

The forest of Mure seemed deceivingly peaceful after returning to its quiet, docile state. Jacob could hardly believe that such a beautiful, inviting place could harbored such incredible danger. He followed close in Avet's tracks and occasionally glanced up at the pale green vines resting peacefully against the trees.

Jacob had never heard of any kind of plant that could move so quickly when attacking prey. The best he could equate it with was small carnivorous plants, such as venus fly traps and jack-in-the-pulpits, though those species were nothing like the vines that attacked him earlier.

Jacob tried to think of a logical explanation for his whereabouts. His best guess was that he was on a remote, undiscovered island somewhere, whose vegetation had evolved in isolation from the rest of the world.

Jacob shook his head in doubt. He knew that no such undiscovered island could possibly exist in this day and age; the entire world has been mapped by satellites and thoroughly explored. Still—an isolated island was the best guess he could come up with.

Jacob began to wonder about his native guide: how many more like him lived here? Avet had already mentioned two others by the names of Elder Nep and Chesoon, which meant that there was at least three. He began to wonder—would he find himself confronting a primitive tribe of a hundred or more? He was nervous enough with just one. The thought bothered him for quite some time before he finally approached Avet with the subject.

"Hey Avet... How many people live here?"

Avet slowed his pace somewhat then turned to the side and held up five outstretched fingers, "Six hands full."

Jacob found himself staring at Avet's back with wide, bulging eyes; for the first time, he noticed that Avet's impressively long hair was actually rooted in his back.

My God, he thought, this man ain't human... Is he?

Avet returned to his previous posture then resumed a normal pace, "But that will change in four settings of the sun. Please help us, Wizard Jake—more people will die at the next harvest."

"Harvest?" Jacob asked, "What are you harvesting?"

Avet stopped, then turned to face Jacob. Jacob could tell that Avet was deeply confused.

"I..." Avet's eyes swept across the ground several times before returning to Jacob, "Forgive me, Wizard Jake—but I do not understand your question."

Jacob furrowed his brow, "What are you harvesting?" He made several quick, frustrated gestures as he tried to think of another way to phrase it. "You know—what are you growing... ah, cultivating?"

Jacob could see that Avet was still confused; he made another attempt at rephrasing his question: "Why do you say people will die at harvest? What do you mean, harvest?"

Avet scratched his head, "Harvest is harvest. It is the time of death."

Jacob shrugged his shoulders.

Avet turned and resumed his pace, "I do not understand the words and ways of a wizard. Are all wizards difficult to speak with?"

"I don't know—I'm not a wizard."

Again, Avet stopped and faced Jacob.

"You must be a wizard."

"I'm not."

Avet's eyebrow ridge grew deep and pronounced; his voice became loud and assertive, "No one but a wizard could free themselves from the evils of the forest. You did. I saw these things with my own eyes. Please, Wizard Jake—help us."

Jacob shook his head, "I ain't no wizard. Fact is—I don't know how I got here, or where the hell I am. Last thing I remember was boozing it up in Wisconsin. Next thing I know—some stinkin' plant tries to eat me! Now here you are callin' me a wizard." Jacob shook his head, then threw his hands in the air, "Shit—I don't know what the hell's going on! You tell me!"

Avet was not sure of what the wizard was trying to say, though he could tell that it was definitely not positive. Avet did his best to hide his disappointment in hopes of salvaging favor with the wizard. He knew that the herd's hope for deliverance rested on his shoulders; he had to convince the wizard to help.

They stood there in awkward silence until Avet turned and resumed the journey. "Perhaps we can speak more of these things when we reach the edge of the world."

Jacob quickly realized that he should hold his tongue until he learns more about the local customs. He could see that his words brought distress to Avet, and that Avet's problems might easily out-shadow his own.

By the time they approached the edge of the world, Avet had convinced himself that the wizard, in testing his worthiness, was posing as a stranded victim of circumstances. It made sense to Avet: perhaps the wizard wanted to see how he would treat a stranded nobody—rather than a great wizard. He smiled at the thought.

Avet decided that he would play along with the wizard's game and prove to him that their herd was worth saving. Once again, he embraced his fragile hopes for deliverance.

Jacob could see that they were coming up to the edge of the forest. He did his best to see what might lie ahead, but was unable to look around Avet's bulky body without getting dangerously close to the deadly foliage. A few steps later, they walked into a small clearing, which separated the forest from a sheer cliff with a one and a half mile drop. The view was breath-taking.

The landscape beyond the cliff was covered with green foliage, vast plains, and beautiful rolling hills. The most distant terrain was obscured by a pastel layer of red and pink clouds, which curved to follow the horizon.

Jacob stood with his mouth hanging open. He knew beyond any doubt that he was no longer on Earth; a huge planet with colorful yellow and blue rings dominated the peaceful sky. Evening was encroaching and the intense sun, along with the huge planet, were slowly sinking into the horizon.

Jacob's first impression was that they were on a moon of Saturn, but he quickly realized that that could not be the case because the sun was far too intense. He glanced at the sun and suddenly realized that, in all likelihood, he was looking at a distant star.

Jacob could hardly believe what he woke up to. He stared in awe at the huge planet, then muttered under his breath, "I ain't touching another drop of booze so long as I live." He turned to Avet. "What is this place?"

"It is the edge of the world."

"What world?"

"The world of Mure. Come, we can sit beneath the hinnermond tree and speak of wizards and things." Avet pointed to a lone tree that grew not more than eight feet from the cliff.

Jacob nodded nervously.

Avet started walking toward the tree, "Mure is a big world of many proud, worthy people."

"How big?"

Avet stopped to spread his arms out toward the sides, "As big as the world." Avet made a bold, assuring nod, then resumed walking toward the hinnermond tree.

"Hmm..." Jacob realized that answers to his questions would be meaningless without a common frame of reference. He thought about the problem as he followed Avet to the tree.

By the time they reached the tree at the edge of the cliff, Jacob had thought of a better way to phrase his question.

"How long would it take you to walk around the world?"

"Two, maybe three days."

A look of utter amazement came over Jacob as he held his hands out toward the vast plains below the cliffs, "You could walk across that in two or three days?"

Avet was clearly amused by Jacob's suggestion, though he did his best to hide it in hopes of not offending the wizard. "That is not the world. No one lives there—no one goes there. That is the emptiness beyond." Avet panned a finger across the forest, "This is Mure."

Jacob pointed at the cliff, "Does this cliff surround all of Mure?"

Avet nodded and grinned, "Yes, the edge of the world surrounds the whole world."

Jacob chuckled when he thought of how ridiculous his questions must have sounded to Avet. Avet followed Jacob's lead and also let out a hardy chuckle. The questions, however, were not without a point; Jacob managed to assemble the fact that Avet's small world of Mure was an isolated plateau of maybe ten or twenty square miles.

After the laughter subsided, Avet pointed toward the tree, "This is a hinnermond tree—it is not part of the forest." Avet boldly patted its trunk, "It is safe to touch. See—it is soft."

Jacob felt the tree's soft, spongy bark. He realized that it was the same kind of tree that he woke up under that morning.

"Sit," Avet encouraged, "we shall speak of wizards, magic, deliverance, and things."

Jacob returned a nervous, uneasy smile, "First tell me about harvest."

Avet's expression quickly changed. He held up a hand and turned his head toward the forest, "Stand still." His eyes carefully surveyed the forest. "Something comes."

Jacob quickly heeded Avet's advice and stood deathly still—he already had one brush with the vines and did not need another.

Somewhere down a nearby path, Chesoon did his best to walk softly over the plush path clover. He knew that Avet, like most Lily People, had an extremely acute sense of hearing. Chesoon also knew that he dare not encroach any closer for fear that Avet might hear him.

He would have liked to eavesdrop on the conversation between Avet and Jacob, but that would have been impossible because a willot's hearing was considerably weak compared to that of the Lily People. He knew that Avet would hear his movements long before he got close enough to listen in.

Chesoon shook his head as he thought about the sloppy manner in which the con had progressed. First the creatures from the sister world dropped his imposter off in the isolated grasslands, then the Lily People managed to meet up with Jacob before he had a chance to coerce his imposter into going along with the con.

Chesoon knew that he stood to lose a lot more than an arm and leg's worth of meat if the con went awry. If his con unraveled, then the tower would undoubtedly learn of his scam—and justice would be quick to follow. He had to salvage this mess or face life imprisonment.

It was a sticky situation but, as always, Chesoon managed to think of something. He cleared his throat as quietly as possible, then did an impeccable imitation of Elder Nep's voice:

"Help! Help me!"

Avet drew a quick breath when he heard the cry for help. A look of alarm covered his face, "It is the Elder—I must go to him."

Jacob swallowed hard, "Will you be long?"

Avet shook his head, "I do not know—but I must go to him. He is the elder."

Jacob nodded, "Should I stay here?"

"Yes, there is much danger about."

"Hurry back."

Avet nodded, turned, then quickly hurried down one of the adjoining paths of clover.

Jacob watched until Avet was well out of sight. He drew a nervous breath, then turned his attention to the setting sun, which was already half-hidden by the distant horizon. He wondered what kind of danger might lurk about the strange forest once the sun sets. He swallowed hard, then muttered under his breath, "Please hurry, Avet."

Jacob decided that he would stand as still as possible until his guide returned; it was the only means he knew of to defend himself against the strange, deadly forest of Mure.

Chapter 6, Got a Match?

Jacob stood motionless as he looked out over the vast plains beyond Mure. A warm, evening breeze rose up the shear cliffs, which brought with it gentle fragrances from the world below. Jacob wondered what kind of world might exist on those plains: was it inhabited with the same primitive people as Mure? Or, were the plains people far more advanced? Perhaps Avet was right—perhaps no one lived there.

Suddenly, a revelation came to Jacob: he did not simply fall through the looking-glass like Alice in wonderland—somebody had to have brought him here. Who? It was outwardly obvious that Avet and his kind did not have that kind of technology. He looked out over the plains and wondered; did someone down there have technology advanced enough to bring him here? If so, he would certainly find a way to climb down and pursue passage back to Wisconsin.

Jacob's thoughts shifted to the life he left behind in Wisconsin. He knew that he was long overdue for work—and that his boss was not likely to buy the true explanation for his absence. He already assumed that he was out of a job anyway; the defense industry does not tolerate unexcused absences and engineers for weapons systems have become a dime a dozen since the fall of the Berlin Wall. He also knew that, unless he found his way back to Wisconsin soon, his landlord would evict him and probably sell his belongings dirt-cheap—he had seen the man do it before to other, less fortunate, tenants.

Jacob let out a heavy sigh, then quickly reminded himself that he must remain as still as possible to avoid any unseen danger. He had become increasingly uneasy without the comfort and security of his guide; that uneasiness escalated as he watched the last sliver of sun sink below the distant horizon. He wondered how long it would be before darkness overtook the strange, unpredictable world of Mure—and how long it would be before Avet returned.

Jacob's eyes were drawn by the sight of something moving through the air far below the crest of the cliff. He squinted to get a better look at it. His excitement grew: was it a craft capable of taking him back to Wisconsin? Another appeared, then another. His optimism quickly faded, however, when he realized that they were nothing more than large, soaring birds riding thermal currents up the cliffs of Mure.

He watched for a while as the birds gained altitude by soaring across the face of the cliff. As they drew closer, Jacob realized that they were not only large—they were incredibly massive. Jacob guessed that the giant, birds had to weigh at least 200 pounds each. He watched in awe when one of the mammoth birds passed not more than a hundred yards from him. It cleared the plateau of Mure, then continued to ride the thermal currents upward.

Jacob looked up and watched the bird circle as it gained altitude. It had a muscular build, similar to that of a wild turkey, and was predominantly brown with scattered white feathers, which gave it a speckled appearance. The bird circled until it reached an altitude of two or three thousand feet above Mure, then leveled out and began soaring for an unknown destination in the distance.

Jacob was still watching the giant bird when he heard something rustle in the hinnermond tree behind him. His eyes bulged wide as he realized that he should have been standing still instead of watching the birds. He froze and listened carefully; yes, something was definitely stirring behind him.

Jacob was not sure of what he should do. He wondered if he should turn around and face it, if he should risk reaching for his knife, or if he should just stand still and hope it goes away. He was just about to slowly reach for his knife when he heard a low, raspy voice not more than five feet behind him.

"Got a match?"

Jacob was afraid to move; the voice was clearly not Avet's, nor did it sound like anything close to human. Silence persisted for a brief second or two, then the voice repeated itself.

"Got a match—Mister Rowlin?"

Jacob turned around to see who, or what, was addressing him by name. He could hardly believe his eyes: there, in the lower branches of the hinnermond tree, was what appeared to be a monkey in a dinner jacket—loading tobacco into a pipe. He was lounging on the bottom branch with the upper part of his back resting against the trunk of the tree. He looked at Jacob, smiled, then returned to the task of loading his pipe.

Jacob rubbed his eyes, then took a second look; it was still there!

"Are you hard of hearing, Jake? I asked for a match." Chesoon held up his pipe with one hand, then gestured with the other as if to work a cigarette lighter. "You know, a match: Blue... has a picture of a camel on it... a wheel to start the fire. You know..."

Jacob's eyebrow ridge grew deep and pronounced, his voice was less than friendly, "I saw you! In Wisconsin!"

Chesoon maintained a pleasant tone of voice, though his smile was definitely marked with a taunting grin, "Yes." He made what might be considered a subtle bow, though he did not budge from his reclined position, "Chesoon—at your service." He held up his pipe and raised his eyebrows, "Got a match?"

Jacob's eyes swept across the ground as he thought about the night before. A moment or two later, he looked up then pointed an angry finger at the willot.

"Yea... I remember you." Jacob's expression began to turn ugly, "You were there—at Barney's Place. You bought me!"

"I was. I did." Chesoon maintained a cordial voice, as if there should be no hard feelings, "I also brought you here... well... actually... I made the necessary arrangements. What do you think of our world? I liked your world fine. Fire is hard to come by here—but on your world, you just say `Got a match' and people light your pipe for you. Now..." Chesoon's voice changed to something more direct, "Got a match?"

Jacob took a few slow, arrogant steps toward Chesoon, "You brought me here?"

Chesoon nodded.

"Why? What for!?"

"Give me a match and I'll tell you. I know you have one because I used it while you were—shall we say—out for a while."

"You must be joking... After what you've done? I wouldn't give you a light unless you were dripping with kerosene."

"No match?"

"That's right King Kong—"

"Chesoon—"

"No match!"

"Humph..." Chesoon looked off into the distance as he stewed about their exchange.

During the lengthy silence that passed, both Jacob and Chesoon thought about their individual predicaments with somewhat cooler heads.

Jacob realized that, if he hoped to get back to Wisconsin by the same means that he got here, then he should be a little more diplomatic when speaking with Chesoon. He decided that—like it or not—he would have to be much more cordial toward the monkey-like creature.

Chesoon thought about what he had at stake—and that it was certainly not worth sacrificing for a dispute over a match. After all, he only had a matter of minutes before Avet realized that Elder Nep was nowhere to be found.

Chesoon cleared his throat, then spoke in a much more humble tone as he wrapped his pipe in its cloth, "Well... I suppose its understandable that you find yourself upset with me." He paused as he stuffed his pipe in a pocket, then shifted to a squatting position on the branch. He was hoping that Jacob would use the break in conversation to meet him half-way on making amends.

Jacob folded his arms and maintained silence.

"I am not your enemy, Mister Rowlin—not yet anyway."

"Why did you bring me here?" Jacob insisted, "What did you expect to gain?"

Chesoon let out a heavy sigh, then, with a sheepish grin said, "I need a wizard—and you were handy."

Jacob shook his head, "I'm not a wizard."

Chesoon rolled his eyes then mockingly repeated, "I'm not a wizard..." His voice changed to something more serious, "I know that! It just so happens that no one is a wizard—there is no such creature anywhere—on any world! ...But, the Lily People don't know that."

"Who?"

"The Lily People—Avet's kind."

Jacob wore a cold, disgusted expression, "I see—that's why Avet keeps callin' me a wizard. Your trying to lead them down the primrose path."

Chesoon turned his eyebrows down in confusion, "The what?"

"Never mind—just count me out."

"Do you want to go back to Wisconsin?" Chesoon said with a smug grin.

Jacob let out a disgruntled sigh, "What do I have to do?"

"That's better," he smiled. Chesoon moved to a sitting position in order to bring his head closer to Jacob's level.

"The Lily People think that they need a wizard, and—"

"Why?" Jacob interrupted.

"Why what?"

"Why do they need a wizard?"

"They don't—they don't need anything. Anyway, Elder Nep, their leader, asked me to—"

Jacob interrupted again, "Why do they think they need a wizard?"

Chesoon looked at Jacob in disbelief, "Look—do you want to go back to Wisconsin, or do you want to stand there and ask stupid questions?"

"Avet said something about his people dying," Jacob said pointedly.

"Yes, well—everyone dies sooner or later. Shall I continue?"

"If you insist," Jacob replied flatly.

"I do! Anyway, their leader, Elder Nep, asked me to bring the legendary wizard, Hur, to our world. He offered to pay me an arm and a leg."

"I see."

"I don't think you do—but I'll continue anyway." Chesoon waited to see if there was going to be any further interruptions before he proceeded. He was just about to resume speaking when Jacob opened his mouth.

"So, you want me to pretend to be this wizard, Hur, so you can con the Lily People out of their—"

"Close. I want you to pretend to be his brother, Jake."

Jacob looked at Chesoon in confusion, "His brother, Jake?"

Chesoon nodded.

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"I don't."

"Do you want your wizard, or what?"

Chesoon let out a heavy sigh, "OK. The creatures from the sister world..." Chesoon pointed to the huge, ringed planet, "...dropped you off in the wrong place. I was afraid that the Lily People might get to you before me, so I used your real name to avoid confusion and skepticism. I made up a story about the great wizard Jake, brother of Hur—and they bought it!" Chesoon chuckled at his cleverness.

"This whole thing stinks!" Jacob said in disgust. "I don't want no part of it—it stinks!"

"Not really." Chesoon assured him. "No one will be hurt—all you have to do is pretend to be a wizard until I get paid, then I'll make the necessary arrangements for your return. Is it a deal?"

There was a long, awkward pause as Jacob thought about Chesoon's proposition. Chesoon nervously looked down the path that Avet left on, then turned his attention to Jacob, "Well?"

"First tell me why they want a wizard."

Chesoon rolled his eyes, "If you insist."

"I do."

There was a pause as Chesoon drew a heavy, perturbed breath, "They want a wizard to deliver them from harvest. That is what the legend of Hur is about: Hur delivers herds from harvest. But, let me assure you, you don't have to do anything but say that you're a wizard," Chesoon chuckled, "You don't have to deliver them from anything."

"Herd? Did you say; herd?"

Chesoon nodded, "Yes. These backward, simple people are the tower's herd of food stock—one by one they will each be butchered at harvest."

"Food!?" Jacob said in alarm, "BUTCHERED!!?"

"Don't get upset; you do it to cattle, and—"

"These are people," Jacob shouted, "not cattle! They have rights!"

Chesoon avoided eye contact by meticulously examining his carefully groomed fingernails; he spoke in a voice that clearly reeked of an ultimatum. "They have their place, I have mine, and you have yours. Now—do you want to go back to Wisconsin?"

Chesoon continued to look down at his fingernails as he impatiently waited for a reply. Several lengthy seconds passed, then Chesoon finally looked up at Jacob—only to discover that Jacob's attention was fixed on Terasel.

Terasel stood motionless in the seduced evening light with her long, silky hair flowing in rhythm to the gentle, fragrant breeze. She was hardly more than ten to fifteen feet away and, although she managed to maintain a diplomatic appearance, both Chesoon and Jacob could see that she was upset about whatever portion of the conversation she happened to overhear.

Chesoon's sheepish smirk betrayed the fact that he was clearly embarrassed about being caught red-handed. He looked at Terasel briefly, then turned his attention to Jacob, whose eyes were still fixed on Terasel. Chesoon noticed a look of intrigue and awe on Jacob's face and realized that his con was in jeopardy, "Uh—oh!"

Chesoon quickly turned his attention to Terasel, "Ah—hello Terasel. I—ah—how much did you overhear?"

"More than enough," she replied flatly.

Terasel did her best to maintain her diplomatic appearance, despite Chesoon's horrible account of their herd and the heartless manner in which he treated it. From the outside, she appeared calm and flat, but inside she was ready to breakdown and cry; she was the first of her people to learn the horrible truth of their humble existence. She also overheard Chesoon telling Jacob that he did not have to deliver the herd from anything. Unfortunately, she did not arrive in time to discover that the wizard was fake. For the moment, she was under the impression that the wizard simply did not want to help them.

She looked at the stranger, who was looking directly back at her, and assumed that he must be the great wizard who she would sacrifice a limb for. She was glad to find a wizard at the end of her journey, though Jacob was not exactly her idea of a wizard. Somehow, she was not expecting the wizard to be wearing clothes, or that he would be so frail in build, or that his hair would be as short as a newborn baby's. She tried to read his face but could make little sense out of his expression; he seemed to portray a hint of sympathy, and perhaps caring, but mostly his face was dominated by something she had never seen before.

Terasel took Jacob completely by surprise. He was not expecting to be confronted by any women of Avet's kind; it was just something that he had not given any thought to.

To Jacob, the image of Terasel standing innocently naked in the failing evening light was almost something out of a dream. Although his eyes were drawn from time to time by her muscular, yet distinctly feminine build and long, flowing hair, he was most intrigued by what he saw in her face. Although she maintained a flat, reserved expression, he could almost see some kind of unspoken language or magic in her eyes; as if she wanted to know him better, or wanted him to know her. It was something that Jacob had never seen before when looking into a woman's eyes.

Chesoon lowered his belly onto the branch in order to get closer to Jacob's ear, though he spoke in a voice that was more than loud enough for Terasel to her, "No one would believe her if you stick to the con. It would be the word of a wizard against hers—we can still pull this off! What do you say; do we have a deal?"

Jacob's attention was still fixed on Terasel. He smiled and nodded timidly, "Hello, Terasel."

An uneasy smile came to Terasel's face, "Hello."

"It's now or never!" Chesoon warned, "Agree to this or you will never go back to Wisconsin!"

Jacob could not stomach the thought of preying on the Lily People for Chesoon's gain. He turned to Chesoon and, with a flat, unenthusiastic voice said, "Maybe I don't want to go back."

"Sure you do," Chesoon tried to sound as convincing as possible. "Think of what you'll be missing! Pizza pie—drive through burgers—Barney Miller at eight!"

Jacob shook his head, "I'm not going to go along with your scam."

"Humph..." Chesoon glanced at Terasel, who was doing her best to maintain a silent, objective presence, then returned his attention to Jacob, "You are foolish—you don't know anything." he gestured toward Terasel, "That backward herd belongs to the tower."

Jacob glanced at Terasel and was touched by the tear in her eye.

Chesoon continued, "You can't help them, and even if you could—it wouldn't be proper! Besides—they don't deserve it; they are nothing more than—"

Jacob grabbed Chesoon by the lapels and jerked him from his pedestal on the branch. He shook him abruptly and shouted, "QUIET!"

Chesoon looked up at Jacob in disbelief.

Jacob continued in a loud, arrogant voice, "I don't like what you did to me—I don't like your scam—and, frankly, I don't like your looks. I refuse to be manipulated by a chimp—"

"I'm a willot."

Jacob shook him abruptly, "Shut up! I don't care if you're a garden snail. You—"

"Chesoon!" Terasel interrupted.

Both Jacob and Chesoon looked at Terasel. Jacob could tell that she was uncomfortable with the confrontation. After an awkward pause, Terasel continued in a timid, almost frightened voice.

"Elder Nep sent a message. He said you will get your pay at the Lily Pond after the rising of the sun."

Jacob realized that Terasel was doing her best to quell the argument. Reluctantly, he released the willot with an aggressive shove, though he would have certainly liked to have taken a piece of his hide.

Many thoughts went through Jacob's head during the brief silence that followed. First and foremost, he realized that he burned his only bridge to Wisconsin. He also realized that he made a poor impression on Terasel, and had made her uneasy. He reminded himself once again that he should hold his tongue until he learns more about this strange world he woke up to.

Chesoon pointed an angry finger at Jacob; his voice was calm, yet stern, "I have warned you before, Mister Rowlin; I am not your enemy—not yet anyway. You mind your place and pretend to be a great wizard, or, indeed, I shall become your enemy. Mind you—I can be formidable."

"I ain't afraid of you," he replied flatly.

Chesoon simply turned and started walking away. After three or four waddling steps, he shouted over his shoulder, "I warn you; do not let the con unravel—or you'll be sorry!"

Jacob picked up a sizeable rock, hefted it, then drew it back with plans to hurl it in Chesoon's direction.

"No!" Terasel shouted, "The vines!"

Jacob quickly thought twice about throwing the rock. A foolish grin came over his face, then, reluctantly, he dropped the rock to the ground.

Terasel wore an uneasy smile, "Are you the wizard Jake, brother of Hur?"

"My name is Jake, but," he shook his head, "I'm not a wizard."

Jacob could see that Terasel was confused and disappointed.

Terasel looked at the ground for a moment, then lifted her eyes to Jacob. "What did Chesoon mean by `do not let the con unravel'?" she asked.

Jacob found the question difficult. He was beginning to assemble a few scant facts, and had come to realize that the fictitious wizard was the Lily People's only hope for survival. He thought about his response for quite some time before answering.

"He's trying to pawn me off as a wizard—but I ain't no wizard. I'm just a stranded nobody from Wisconsin."

"Wes—con—" She turned her eyes to the ground and abandoned her efforts to pronounce the word as she thought about the implications of Jacob's reply. She looked up at him, "You are not a great wizard?"

Jacob shook his head, "Believe me—I wish I were."

"But, Chesoon promised us—" She turned her head toward the forest, then stood perfectly still. Jacob had been on Mure long enough to know that he should follow her example.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Someone comes."

After a minute or two, Jacob also heard the approaching footsteps; they were coming up a nearby path. Shortly thereafter, Avet stepped into the clearing. He looked at Terasel with surprise, then turned his attention to Jacob.

"Have you been well during my leave?"

Jacob nodded.

Avet looked at Terasel, "Then, you have met the wizard Jake?"

Her response was immediate and to the point, "I must speak with you, Avet."

Avet nervously glanced at Jacob, then returned his attention to Terasel, "Of what must you speak?"

"I must speak with you alone." She turned her back to Jacob then started down a nearby path. Avet nervously glanced at Jacob, then quickly followed behind her.

Jacob was increasingly nervous as he watched the Lily People walk off into the forest. He somehow suspected that the discussion would be about him. He wondered if the Lily People would turn hostile because he was not the wizard that they were expecting. He knew that either one of them could easily break him into a crumpled pile of flesh if they happened to seek revenge.

Jacob drew an uneasy breath, then glanced out over the cliff. There, in the dim evening light, he saw several faint lights flickering on the plain below.

So, he thought, someone does live down there.

Terasel and Avet walked for quite some distance in hopes of taking their conversation far from Jacob's ears. They were not aware of the fact that Jacob had comparatively weak hearing, and that they had journeyed much farther than they needed to. When they thought the distance was safe, they stopped to talk. Terasel began the conversation.

"I do not think he is a wizard—he told me so."

"He told me the same," Avet replied. "But I saw him free himself from the vines."

"The vines? He freed himself from the vines?"

Avet nodded, "He crossed the forest after the time of the singing birds. He spoke strange words, such as only a wizard would speak—and he held strange objects, such as only a wizard would hold."

A look of confusion came to Terasel's face, "Then—why does he say he is not a wizard?"

With a confident nod and a smile, Avet said, "Remember the legend: Above all, he will test our worthiness—in such a way that only a wizard could."

Terasel thought about Avet's words as he continued.

"He is difficult to speak with, but I am of the thought that he wants us to believe that he is not a wizard, so he can test our worthiness by seeing how we greet a stranger to our world."

"Hmm..."

"Who else would come to Mure but a wizard? Has anyone ever spoke of strangers from seasons past?"

Terasel shook her head.

"Is there another legend that speaks of the coming of a stranger, other than Hur?"

Terasel nodded, "Perhaps he is the brother of Hur."

Avet shook his head, "I think not. I am of the thought that he is Hur. The coming of no one else has been foretold."

Terasel drew a quick breath, "Hur—here on Mure!" An ecstatic smile quickly dominated her face. "Then, deliverance is ours!"

Avet was quick to quell her optimism, "First we must pass the test of worthiness. He asked about harvest—I must go and answer his questions. I must do well if we hope to pass the test of worthiness."

"Before you go—Elder Nep sent a message. He said that you should bring the wizard to the place where the path circles the tree. Elder Nep will be waiting there for you after the rising of the sun. He wishes to meet this wizard before deciding if Chesoon should be paid."

"Hmm..." There was a brief pause as Avet thought about Terasel's words. He looked down the dark, forbidding path, then turned his attention to Terasel. "The Elder must be forewarned of the wizard's test—that he does not claim to be a wizard." He drew an uneasy breath. "I must go to the Elder now to forewarn him before the rising of the sun."

"No!" Terasel insisted, "There is danger at night—no one must go!"

Avet gently held her by the shoulders, then looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, in a soft, sincere voice, "I must—for deliverance. You must stay with the wizard. Though his powers are great, he does not know the ways of our world. He must be watched over like a child, yet, he must be treated as the great wizard, Hur. Can you do this?"

Terasel nodded.

"You must also answer his questions—but take care; the test of worthiness might be yours to prove."

Terasel swallowed hard, "Then—I will do as best as I can."

Avet nodded toward the edge of the world, "Go to him, I must leave for the pond."

"Be careful, Avet. Listen close and go slow, you have until the rising of the sun. Take as much time as you need and walk softly."

Avet nodded, then turned to leave. Terasel watched until he was well out of sight, then she turned and started back toward the edge of the world, and to the great, benevolent wizard—Hur.

Chapter 7, Nightmares

Jacob waited nervously at the edge of the world. He wondered what fate might befall him in the wake of the discussion between Avet and Terasel. While looking back on the day's events, he realized that he must have made a pathetic impression on the Lily People. In the past, he had often prided himself on his ability to prevail in a crisis with a cool head, but that ability seemed to have fled once he set foot on the strange world of Mure. The more he thought about it, the more he was disappointed with his performance. He decided that he should take a more reserved approach to whatever affairs might lie ahead; he should listen more and talk less.

The flickering speckles of light on the vast plains below appeared with greater density as the evening sky slowly grew to darkness. Jacob was convinced that the lights were the result of a vast civilization. To his dismay, he did not see any of the lights moving across the sky; apparently, the plains civilization had no aircraft or space vehicles.

Jacob looked at the sister world, which was three-quarters hidden by the horizon, and wondered if the creatures there would take pity on him and eventually return him to Wisconsin. He thought about the monkey-like creature he had words with earlier, and wondered what the willot stood to gain. What did the Lily People have to offer that was worth the hassal and expense of bringing him to the world of Mure?

"I will stay the night with you, Wizard Jake."

Jacob turned around when he heard Terasel's soft, timid voice. There was an awkward pause as they stood silently at opposite edges of the small clearing. Terasel believed that she was in the presence of a great wizard, and was overly watchful of her words. Jacob knew that he had already made a bad impression and was somewhat nervous in the presence of the beautiful woman who stood innocently naked.

"We must stay the night here, for the forest holds many dangers during the time of darkness." She took a few, cautious steps in Jacob's direction.

"Where's Avet?" Jacob asked.

Terasel hesitated. Jacob's question was innocent enough, though it made her extremely uneasy. She felt that she should reply to the wizard's question, but did not want him to know that Avet had hurried off to tell the Elder about his test of worthiness. She swallowed hard, then made her best attempt to provide an honest, yet intentionally vague answer.

"He had to return to the herd—to speak with the Elder." She was hoping that Jacob would not inquire any further. To her relief, he did not—though the pause that followed was long and nerve-racking.

"It's a nice night out—don't you think?"

A look of confusion came across Terasel's face. Jacob tried to clarify his comment.

"The night—ah—time of darkness, as you would say."

Terasel was still confused; she was unfamiliar with small talk and had put the question in an entirely different context. She did not understand how a night could be good or bad; the night does not treat people with intentional favor or malice—it is nothing more than the time of darkness. After thinking about it, she realized that, being a wizard, Jacob has probably seen many different worlds, and on some worlds the nights might be intentionally hostile. She thought about her words carefully before replying.

"The time of darkness never treats us with wicked intent."

Jacob smiled, which made Terasel feel a little more at ease. She cautiously approached Jacob and joined him at the edge of the world.

Terasel blatantly looked up and down Jacob's body; she had never seen a wizard up close before. She tried to see as much detail as possible in the faint light cast by the sister world. She noticed several pockets on his denim jacket and wondered what spells, potions, or magic might be kept within. His jacket was open and she could see that there was another piece of clothing underneath that. Her only experience with clothes was the jackets that the willots wore; she had never seen anything like shirts, blue jeans, and boots. She wondered why the wizard was so burdened with clothes that only his hands and face were visible. After thinking about it, she decided that the purpose of such clothes must be to hide the secrets of a wizard.

She looked up at Jacob's face and smiled, "I have never seen a wizard before."

An uneasy smile came to Jacob, "I'm not a wizard."

Terasel lowered her eyes to the ground; she remembered that she was suppose to cater to the wizard's charade. A nervous, eerie sensation crept down her back when she realized that her careless words could jeopardize their deliverance.

Jacob could see that Terasel was distressed. "Why does everyone here think I'm a wizard?" he asked gently.

Terasel lifted her eyes, "Avet said that you freed yourself from the vines. How did you do this if not by magic?"

Jacob smiled, "I used a knife."

He could see that Terasel was confused. He held his hand toward the a soft patch of clover beneath their feet, "Let's sit down and I'll tell you about it."

Realizing that she had neither alienated nor offended the wizard, she smiled, nodded, then sat down in the soft clover.

Jacob waited for Terasel to get comfortable, than sat down next to her.

"I haven't seen plants like this before." There was a noticeable hint of excitement to his voice. "They're as hostile as a night in the Bronx."

"The Bronx?" she asked. "Is that another world?"

Jacob chuckled, "Yes, definitely. Anyway, I was walking through the forest—minding my own business—when a bunch of vines come darting out at me..."

Jacob told Terasel about the day's adventure and how he managed to escape. She listened intently, though she hardly understood more than every-other word.

When Jacob was finished with his tale, which was told with as many trimmings as he could muster, Terasel looked at him, smiled, then asked, "What is this magic that you call knife?"

Jacob grinned as he reached for his knife, "It's not magic—it's more like a tool."

Terasel watched intently as Jacob pulled out his knife, opened it, then handed it to her handle first. She looked at it with wide, awe-filled eyes, as if it were a sacred relic.

"Go ahead," Jacob encouraged, "take it—have a good look!"

Terasel carefully reached for the knife, but paused just short of touching it. She looked up at Jacob with unsure eyes; Jacob encouraged her with a nod.

Terasel took the knife, then held it up against the faint light. She examined the knife briefly, then quickly returned it to its proper owner. She thought that such a powerful piece of magic should only be handled by someone with the wisdom to use it; she did not want to cause a mishap or inadvertently summon devastating powers from the underworld.

Jacob took the knife, folded it, then returned it to its sheath. "I've never had to use it to defend myself against plants before. In Wisconsin, where I come from, the plants are like this clover..." he brushed his hand across the clover, "...they don't move—they don't attack. They just grow and mind their own business."

"Where is your world, Wisconsin?" Terasel asked.

Jacob looked up at the stars, "Damned if I know." He pointed to the sky, "It's by a star—somewhere."

Terasel looked up in the direction he was pointing, "What is your world like?"

Jacob shrugged his shoulders, "It's hard to say if you haven't been there." He paused for a moment, then went on, "It's crowded—we have a lot of people. But it's a nice place to raise a family."

"Family?" Terasel asked.

"Yes—you know—mothers, fathers, sons, daughters—a family."

A look of confusion came over Terasel as Jacob returned his attention to the stars, "It's weird. I remember sitting by a fire with my father—when I was little—and looking up at the stars. I remember thinking about what kind of mysterious worlds might be up there—but I never thought that I'd find myself on one. Now, here I am—thinking that I'm looking up at the stars—when actually, I'm on a star looking down."

Terasel turned her attention from the sky to Jacob. She watched him intently for some time, then gingerly interrupted his empty gaze.

"I do not understand you very well, Wizard Jake."

Jacob looked at Terasel, "What don't you understand? Maybe I can explain."

"What do you mean by father?"

Jacob looked confused.

"You said that you sat by a fire with your father and—"

"Oh, father. Ah—my father..." Jacob thought for a moment before continuing, "Um—he's my mother's husband—he fathered me."

Terasel shook her head, "What is a husband?"

Jacob could see that the conversation was headed down a dead-end corridor filled with words that were unfamiliar to Terasel. He tried to approach the subject from a different perspective.

"Do you know what a mother is?" Jacob asked.

Terasel nodded and smiled, "Yes: one who gives birth."

"A father is just the opposite of a mother."

The confusion on Terasel's face persisted, "Do you mean that a father is one who does not give birth? Such as a child, maybe?"

Jacob smiled and shook his head, "Where do babies come from?"

Terasel pointed to her belly, "They grow here, then when they get big enough, they—"

"I mean—before that," Jacob interrupted. "What makes them start growing in the first place?"

Terasel shrugged her shoulders, "They just do."

"I see," Jacob said through a silly, sheepish grin. "Are you a mother, Terasel?"

Terasel nodded, "Yes."

"How many times?"

"Two."

"Well... Each of your children had to be fathered by a man."

Terasel shook her head in confusion, "What do you mean—fathered?"

"A man had to—ah— Hmm..."

Terasel was listening intently, but Jacob said nothing as he desperately searched for words.

"Had to what?" Terasel asked.

"Well—ah. Plant a seed! Yes, that's it—plant a seed! Before a baby can grow, a man has to plant a seed."

"In the ground?" Terasel asked in disbelief.

"No—in a woman, in the mother."

Terasel shook her head in doubt as she looked to the ground. A moment or two later, she looked at Jacob with a degree of certainty on her face.

"It is the seed of a child, like the seed of a plant?"

"Only in part; it needs a woman to grow. That way, the child is part of both the mother and father. That's what a family is: where a father and mother live together and raise the children that are part of them."

Terasel smiled, "I understand! Everyone who is a part of each other lives together—like a little herd!"

"Yes..." Jacob furrowed his brow, "I think."

Terasel shook her head, "We do not have families here. We have no fathers, only mothers. And, each child born belongs to the herd."

Terasel stared up at the stars. "Families." She thought for some time, then continued, "I remember the children I birthed—but—I do not remember who planted their seeds."

"Was it the same man each time?" Jacob asked.

Terasel shrugged her shoulders, "I do not know for certain. I don't think so. See... Most times, seeds are planted when the herd celebrates and drinks of the nectar of the lilies." She slowly shook her head, "It is hard to remember things with the taste of lilies on the tongue."

"How do you—ah—select a mate?"

Terasel looked at Jacob, "Mate?"

"Yes, the one who plants the seed."

Again, Terasel shrugged her shoulders, "Whoever. It just depends."

"On what?"

Terasel shook her head, "Don't know." She looked up at the stars, "So, there are families up there?"

"Uh-hu."

Terasel let out an envious sigh, "Families..." A subtle smile came to her face, "A herd of my own—of all my children, and my father."

"Well—actually," Jacob did his best to hide a grin, "the man would be the children's father; he would be your husband, and you would be his wife. See—your father would be the one who planted the seed you grew from."

Terasel's smile quickly diminished as she turned her attention to Jacob. "My father is dead."

Jacob swallowed hard and did his best to hide his discomfort with the subject, "Did you know your father?"

Terasel shook her head, "No. But, unless my father was the Elder, then, he is dead. He died at harvest, like his father before him, and before him—they were all eaten like a kalimund fruit..." Tears came to her eyes and agony began to stress her voice, "...Just as my children will be, and their children—and on and on as the seasons pass." Her voice began to crack under the strain of her tears. "What good is a family if it will be devoured to fill the bellies of the tower creatures? We cannot have families here; we are nothing but food. I know—I heard Chesoon tell you."

Terasel looked at Jacob through tear-streaked eyes, "Please..." Jacob cringed at her plea; he could somehow sense what she would say next. "...Help us, great wizard." She paused to sniffle, then gathered up what little composure she could muster, "Do your magic to stop the harvest—I beg of you. Let us have families like the people of the star, Wisconsin." She pointed a forlorn finger at the sky, then buckled over as she broke out in tears.

Jacob's own eyes were tainted with tears as he offered some comfort by gently stroking the long hair that laid across her back. He swallowed hard, then struggled to keep his emotions out of his voice, "I'm sorry, Terasel. I am not a wizard."

Terasel's words were so scorned by tears that Jacob had difficulty making them out. She was too broken to face him and she spoke with her face half-hidden by her hands, "Please, great Hur, only you can stop harvest—do not torment us with your test of worthiness. We will give anything for deliverance. Please, great Hur."

Terasel could no-longer keep her anguish at bay; she broke out in a full, unbridled sob that echoed and reverberated through the dark, forbidding forest of Mure.

"I—" Jacob closed his tear-stained eyes and slowly shook his head. He was about to tell her, once more, that he was not a wizard—but he did not have the heart to shatter her last and only hope for life. He decided that he would let her hold on to that hope, at least for the night. He drew her closer and gently held her as he continued to pat her back with soft, tender motions. He did his best to keep from joining her in a choirs of despair.

Jacob thought about the innocent, naive woman and the plight of her people. He desperately wished that he could help, but he did not even know the basic particulars of the strange, macabre world of Mure. For the moment, he could do nothing more than hold Terasel until her tears subsided.

Quite some time passed before Terasel's tears diminished and Jacob resumed their conversation. He swallowed hard, then spoke in a gentle voice.

"Tell me about the tower, Terasel. What are these creatures like?"

Terasel sat up, wiped the tears from her eyes, then drew a deep breath before replying.

"No one knows." She paused to sniffle, then continued, "We never see the tower creatures; only the willots that work for them."

"Hmm..."

"The willots come each harvest with a docket. They come to the Lily Pond and say the names that lay upon the docket. The people whose name are said follow the willots to the tower." Terasel shook her head, "They never come back."

Jacob furrowed his brow, "They just go with them to their death?"

"Yes. Harvest is the time of one's death. No one knows that they are being collected like kalimund fruit, then eaten—only I know that because I heard Chesoon tell you. To us, harvest was just the time of death."

"I see," Jacob said with a frown. "Do people know who goes ahead of time?"

Terasel nodded, "Everyone knows when their time of harvest is."

Jacob furrowed his brow in disbelief, "When's your's?"

"At the next harvest—in four settings of the sun."

Jacob drew a quick breath. Terasel had never seen anything like the shock and disbelief that dominated Jacob's face. She found his expression somewhat disturbing—even spooky.

"You—you can't!!"

"I must, or the tower would bring firefall to the herd."

"Firefall? What do you mean; firefall?"

"Firefall is when many people die—mostly children."

"Die?" Jacob asked in a concerned voice, "How? By fire?"

Terasel shook her head, "No. By the vines."

"How? What happens?"

Terasel took a moment to get into a comfortable position, as if the explanation would be lengthy. She drew a deep breath, then began.

"It starts with a loud noise—like the bark of thunder—only thrice... Boom! Boom! Boom! ...like that. Then, orange pieces of fire fly like birds into the sky; they fly up from the tower. This is when we know that firefall has come.

"Then, the firefall rains all over the herd, and all over the forest. The vines become angered by the fire; they become aroused and prowl about for anything that dares to move. We stand in the firefall and feel pain when the fire falls upon us. We can do nothing more, because to run would bring death from the vines. The vines search for those who move."

"Couldn't you just go inside?" Jacob asked.

"Inside?"

"Yeah, don't you have a house, or hut, or something?"

Terasel shook her head, "I do not know these strange words you speak."

"Don't you have a tower of your own?"

"No. The birds do not need a tower—nor do we."

"Hmm..."

There was a pause as Terasel gazed off across the plains beyond Mure. She appeared to be lost in thought for quite some time before she continued.

"I have lived through three firefalls. But I remember the worst one of all."

Jacob could see that the memory brought her distress.

"I birthed my fourth child, then, after five risings of the sun, firefall came upon us. It came because Avet went to the tower—to see what might be there. Such is forbidden."

She looked at Jacob momentarily, "Please do not speak of this to Avet; it brings sadness upon him."

Jacob nodded and spoke sincerely, "I promise."

Terasel returned her attention to the plains, "It was at the time when the sun sets. I was feeding my first-birthed, who had not yet a name, and another child who was birthed by Gracine..." A lost, mournful look came over her as she slowly shook her head, "...I do not remember the child's name—just that he was birthed by Gracine." She glanced at Jacob and held her hand about a foot and a half above the ground, "He was small and had just learned to walk. He was almost at the age of weaning—but..." She gently bit her lower lip, then gazed out over the plains.

After regaining her strength and struggling to maintain her composure, she continued. "All was still—like any day—then, the sound of firefall came from the tower. Just like all firefalls, the old ones hurry to gather the children." She looked at Jacob with a tear in her eye, "The children are always the ones to die. The old ones try to protect them, but still, many of them die."

She returned her attention to the emptiness beyond the edge of the world, "There was little time. I could only gather three: my first birthed, the child birthed by Gracine, and another who was already weaned. I held my first birthed in my arms and bent over the other two to protect them from the firefall. Then, I heard the first of the burning orange rocks fall into the forest. The vines were quick to arouse.

"The big pieces fall first; they are few in number and seldom fall upon the herd—but they are enough to anger the vines. After the vines begin to prowl, then, the smaller pieces of firefall come; these are many—like raindrops. Each one brings with it a pain that is much greater than the sting of a bee. It leaves smoking marks on the flesh.

"Six such pieces of firefall fell upon my back, but I did not move. The pain was great—greater than I can say with words—but still I did not move. I kept the fire off of the children with my back, just as the other old ones were doing for the rest of the children." She turned to look at Jacob, "The children learn to stand still when they are very young. When they learn to stand, they learn to stand still; it is this or death by the vines. But children cannot do this in the pain of firefall. They are only children."

Jacob swallowed hard and sat in awe as he listened to her account. He did not know how to react, nor did he know how he should feel given such an unbelievable atrocity. He listened intently as she continued.

"One small piece of firefall rolled off my back and fell upon the child birthed by Gracine. He screamed and cried, and rolled on the ground to get the firefall off of him. When he did this, he rolled out from under me and was struck by more firefall. I knew that I should not move, for the vines had already found their way into the clearing and had already taken several children and one old one. But—the child..." her voice momentarily cracked, though she managed to keep her tears at bay. She drew a heavy breath in an attempt to calm down, then continued. "...The child was there in my reach, and screaming in pain of firefall. I was suppose to stand still because two other children were in my care. But—I—I could not watch this thing. I knew the vines were about. I reached for the child and sought to shelter him..."

Terasel paused and closed her eyes as if she were recalling all the nightmares of an entire lifetime. She drew a heavy breath, then continued. "When I reached for the child, my first-birthed was jerked from my arms by a vine." She drew a slow, heavy breath, "When I moved, so did my first-birthed, and the vines seized her." She slowly shook her head, "I never reached the child birthed by Gracine; the vines got him too. I could do nothing but shelter the last child in my care, and watch my first birthed and the other child being dragged through the firefall to the forest. They vanished into the brush, and—"

She sobbed for a moment, sniffled, then looked out over the plains as she regained her composure. "I wept for the children. I wept for them, and I wept. For three risings of the sun—I wept. And, when the weeping was over, the remembering of it still brought sadness and tears. Seasons passed, and I awoke with nightmares, as I still do, and again—in the darkness apart from sleep, I weep for the children who were in my care all those seasons past."

She looked at Jacob, and tried to muster a faint, caring smile among her tears. "Avet too weeps at night from the remembering of that firefall. No one speaks to him about it because it brings great sadness upon him."

"Hmm..."

"When that firefall was over, Avet left the herd and sought loneliness. No one saw him for almost two seasons and some thought that he gave himself to the vines." A gentle smile came to her face, "Elder Nep declared a celebration when Avet returned to the herd. There was much to celebrate because Avet is good and wise—he brings pride to the herd. No one speaks to him about that firefall and you should not either, least he seeks loneliness again."

Jacob nodded emphatically, "I assure you, Terasel—I'll keep this between us."

Terasel let out a sigh of relief, "Good. Now you tell me about your fire."

"My fire?"

"Yes. You said that, when you were little, you sat around a fire with your father. Were you frightened? Did your father protect you?"

Jacob smiled, "Well... It wasn't anything like firefall. No, I wasn't frightened; my father built the fire for us to enjoy."

"Enjoy!?" Terasel asked in disbelief.

Jacob nodded, "Yeah, we'd sit around the fire and talk, like we are here. The fire was nice. We'd watch the flames, smell the smoke, and listen to the embers crackle. Then, every-so-often, my father would let me put more wood on the fire to keep it alive. He's the one who showed me how to build a fire."

Terasel shook her head, "I do not understand how a fire can bring comfort; fire is evil and can never be good."

"I certainly understand your point of view," Jacob thought carefully for a moment before continuing, "Would you like to see my point of view? Would you like to see a friendly kind of fire?"

Although Terasel said nothing, Jacob could see that she was not too warm to the idea of a fire. He knew that he would have to approach the subject very carefully.

"I can show you a tiny, little fire that's friendly and won't hurt you."

Terasel shook her head, "There is no such thing."

"There is. Look...."

Terasel nervously watched as Jacob reached into a breast pocket of his denim jacket and slowly pulled out a blue cigarette lighter. he held it up between two fingers for Terasel to see. He spoke softly as he explained.

"This is a lighter."

"Lighter?"

"Yes, it makes fire. I'll show you a little fire—but don't be afraid. I won't let the fire hurt you, or anyone else for that matter."

"You can do such things?"

Jacob nodded, "Yeah, I could show you how to do it someday. Now watch—but don't touch. First there will be a bright flash, then a little flame will appear right here..." Jacob pointed to the top of the lighter. "Are you ready?"

Terasel slowly, and nervously, nodded.

"Good. Now, watch..." Within the batt of an eye, Jacob lit the lighter. Terasel flinched backwards, but did not take her eyes off of the tiny flame.

Jacob was somewhat disturbed by the look on Terasel's face; she stared at the flame as if she were staring into the deepest reaches of hell. Jacob did his best to make it seem friendly and warm.

"See, the fire could light our way and let us see in the dark." Jacob held a hand out to the clover, which was bathed in the gentle light of the flame, but Terasel did not take her eyes off of the fire.

"It can also be used to cook, or to—"

"Make it go away!" Terasel insisted.

Jacob let his thumb off of the lighter, and instant darkness followed.

"I'm sorry, Terasel. I did not mean to upset you."

She looked at Jacob with awe-filled eyes, "You are Hur! No one else could hold fire in his hand without pain or fear. You must be Hur."

A puzzled look came over Jacob, "I heard you say that before. Who is Hur?"

"You are Hur."

"Hmm... Can you tell me what you know about Hur?"

Terasel nodded, "I would be proud to." She cleared her throat, then proceeded to recite the legend of Hur, which, as always, was told in the same fashion—word for word.

"Listen carefully to the legend of Hur—remember it well and tell it to others so that his story will not die with the old ones at harvest.

"Far away—beyond the edge of the world—beyond the sky—and far beyond the sister world—lives the great and powerful wizard, Hur...."

Less than a mile away, a nervous willot by the name of Mantoon paced across a simple, stone courtyard, which was perched at the top of the tower. The spear, which usually laid idle against the short, two-foot wall, was in his hands and poised for danger. He paused and surveyed the darkness at the edge of the world with uneasy eyes.

"Hurry," he muttered under his breath.

He was just about to resume his nervous pace when another willot hurried up the stairs. "You gave the warning?"

"What kept you?" Mantoon snapped. He gestured toward the edge of the world, "It's gone now!"

"What is gone?"

"The fire. I saw a fire—there..." He pointed toward the cliff where Jacob and Terasel were talking.

"A big fire?"

"No, very little—but it was a fire none-the-less," Mantoon insisted.

The other willot looked toward the cliff, "I see nothing." He looked at Mantoon, "Have you been indulging in Great One's wine?"

"No! I tell you I saw a—"

"You are suppose to be on watch to make sure that the herd does not come to the tower. Sound the alarm if stock approaches, otherwise, keep your visions and fantasies to yourself." He pointed to the stairway, "I do not want to be marching up and down these stairs every time you hear the breeze whisper through the trees."

"Now look here," there was anger in Mantoon's voice, "I saw what I saw! There was a fire, there..." Again, he pointed to the edge of the world, "I did my job; now you do yours and report it to Great One!"

The willot shook his head, "Not me!" He took a few arrogant steps toward Mantoon, then poked him in the chest with a hostile finger, "You tell Great One about your nonsense—if you feel he must know. But leave me out of it; I do not want to end up working in the mines." He glanced at the star-filled sky and drew a deep breath of fresh, night air. "I like working up here."

"I cannot leave my watch—you know that!"

"Then I'll stand your watch, but I will not bother Great One with your stupid visions... Fire—what nonsense."

"Very well," Mantoon handed the spear to the other willot, "Stay here until I get back."

The other willot took the spear, then chuckled as Mantoon marched toward the stairway. He shouted in a hardy, taunting manner, "That is: if you return. You better hope that Great One is in a forgiving mood!" He blatantly laughed as Mantoon started down the staircase. "Fat chance! Get it!? ...Fat chance!" His laughter escalated.

Mantoon replied in a less than enthusiastic voice, "I get it."

Chapter 8, Great One

The gray, stone-cold tower that overlooked the world of Mure was only the tip of a vast, flourishing city. Most of the tower's domain had been built underground and was spread throughout numerous tunnels and caverns that permeated the plateau of Mure. It was a complete, self-contained city capable of providing all the necessary amenities to those who were lucky enough to have been born near the top of the tower's class system.

Most of the tower's support came from facilities deep beneath the tower. It was in tunnels and caverns surrounded by dark earthen walls, dirt floors, and cob-webbed ceilings where the willots toiled as they had for many generations. The willots diligently worked the mines, manned the butcher shop, and practiced various arts and crafts to provide eloquent goods and possessions for the ruling regime. Their meager rewards for providing such services was nothing more than their own existence.

The bulk of the remaining city was still underground, but well above the drudgery of the infrastructure. It was adorned with stone walls, floors, and ceilings, and brightly decorated with modest art, which had been crafted by many generations of willot artists. It was in these halls where most of the Tower People spent their entire lives from birth until death. The Tower People's closed, narrow way of life was largely attributed to their fear of the hostile, indiscriminate dangers of the outside forest.

The Tower People closely resembled the Lily People in appearance, except their population was much more diverse in terms of hair color, build, and other genetic qualities. The difference was due to the fact that the Tower People had not been bread specifically for meat, as the Lily People were. They were the same race as the Lily People, although any one of them would be quick argue to the point. They would insist that their clothes, possessions, knowledge, and genetic diversity set them apart from their primitive herd of food stock. They would also insist that their class system and family structure makes them much more refined, and much more deserving, than the Lily People. It was by this logic alone that the ruling regime managed to maintain their cruel and unjust class system.

The most elite of the Tower People, those who ruled the small, isolated world of Mure, lived above ground in the tower itself. It was in the twelve-story tower where Mure's three-tier political system practiced the art of providing for the wealthy, and suppressing those of lower classes. It was a secure, yet stagnant, political structure because each member of various ruling tiers kept their jobs until death. Promotions were rare and only occurred when someone died, and demotions simply did not occur.

Only one man stood at the top of the static, political pyramid; his true name, which was forgotten long ago, had been graciously given up for the dubious title of `Great One'. Despite any arguments or efforts by the lower political tiers, it was Great One's word, and whims, that ruled the entire, isolated world of Mure. Great One, alone, was the only solid authority on Mure.

On that particular evening, Great One was enjoying self-proclaimed festivities in the tower's dining room. Great One preferred spending most of his time in the vast dining room because it was the only room in the tower with a high ceiling. Most of the ceilings in the tower's complex, both above and below ground, were uncomfortably low for the Tower People, though they seemed to be more than adequate for willots.

Because Great One spent most of his time in the dining room, all of the tower's greatest treasures had been moved there. Among them were fine pieces of willot-crafted furniture, and great works of willot art, some dating back more than two hundred generations. The dining room's stone walls were adorned with inlaid patches of ancient wood and the stone ceiling was accented by huge hardwood beams. Wood in any form was rare; not because there was a lack of usable wood in the forest, but because the art of harvesting it without getting killed had been forgotten long ago.

Without doubt, the most magnificent piece in the dining room had to be the huge, heavy dining room table. The tabletop was a single piece of solid wood, which was at least four feet by eight feet and nearly three inches thick. It was supported by two finely-grafted, ornate pedestals; each of which was a detailed carving of three figurines. The figurines were smaller than life willots who, for eternity, struggled and strained to hold up the tabletop. The grappling poise of the figurines gave the impression that the table could fall at any given moment, though the table was actually as solid as any could be.

The table had been loaded from edge to edge with fruits, vegetables, spices, and wine. In the center, a large platter on a pedestal supported a more-than-generous portion of red meat, which was roasted to a golden brown and adorned with the finest of herbs and spices. The meat was a whole leg that once belonged to Romel, one of the Lily People who was taken during the last harvest.

With no way to preserve meat, the Tower People semi-butchered their stock a piece at a time, leaving the body alive to maintain the meat's freshness. As a result, Romel was still alive in the holding pens deep beneath the tower, though all that was left of him was a head, torso, and an arm.

Great One sat next to the table on a thick, wide slab of stone. The table had been built too low for Great One to get his legs underneath, and the matching willot-sized chairs had been removed long ago. The chairs were not only too small, but far too frail to hold Great One's massive weight. Eating, it would seem, was Great One's favorite pass-time—and one he had become quite efficient at during his gluttonous reign. His hobby of stuffing his face, however, had taken a toll on his body, which was at least 350 pounds of solid, jelly-like blubber.

Great One's jelly-like flesh lapped and rippled to his boisterous laughter as he watched extremely lewd entertainment, which was being provided by several refined ladies of a much lower class. The ladies were, for the most part, overweight, and rather sparsely dressed. They did an unsynchronized dance to a lop-sided rhythm, which was provided by the tune that they were hastily humming. They performed while wearing stupid, over-exaggerated, clown-like smiles and painted faces, all for the sake of Great One's laughter. They were jesters to the fool.

Great One's laughter escalated and echoed through the halls surrounding the dining room. At one point, he was laughing so hard that he spilled a goblet of wine on his fine, hand embroidered robe. He looked down at the stain for just a brief moment, then returned his attention to ladies, who were doing their best to earn their prize.

The entertainment was provided for Great One alone; there was no one else was in the dining hall except for the ladies, Great One, and Great One's personal servant; a willot named Fincelee. The adlib celebration was going in full swing when Mantoon hurried into the dining hall.

"Great One!"

The humming, dancing, and laughter came to an abrupt halt. Mantoon nervously looked around the dining room and realized that he had interrupted Great One at the most inopportune time.

"Who are you?" Great One demanded.

The willot assumed a more humble posture, "Mantoon; I am the watch."

There was an unnerving pause as Great One scrutinized the willot. After what seemed like an eternity, Great One briefly glanced at the ladies, then returned his attention to Mantoon, "What business have you? Why should a watch disrupt the festivities of Great One?"

"Forgive me, Great One," Mantoon spoke in meek, unassuming tone, "I have seen a fire, here on Mure."

One of the ladies drew a quick breath, which, in turn, drew Great One's attention.

"These are matters of state," he said as he motioned for the ladies to leave.

The ladies' clown-like smiles changed to something more indignant; they were expecting to join Great One in the feast as payment for their services. They knew that they had been cheated, but it was fruitless—even dangerous—to argue with Great One. They gathered what little dignity they had left, then filed out the door.

Great One waited for the ladies to leave before he grilled Mantoon.

"How can there be a fire?"

"I don't know, Great One—but I have seen it," Mantoon replied nervously.

"Did you spill it from the top of the tower? Did you cast your torch into the forest?"

Mantoon shook his head, "I did not have a torch tonight, Great One."

"Hmm..." Great One turned his back on Mantoon and arrogantly strolled off as he spoke. "Is this fire of great size? Will it consume the tower?"

"It was small, Great One, like a spot. It was at the cliff."

Great One stopped, then turned his head slightly in a hap-hazard effort to look at Mantoon. "Was? Did the watch tell Great One that the fire was?"

"Yes, Great One, it's gone now."

Great One turned to face Mantoon directly, "Then, of what concern is this fire to Great One?"

Mantoon's voice became more humble, "I thought you should know about it, Great One."

"Thought? A willot?" Great One gestured toward the willot, then shouted in a mocking manner, "Behold the willot who thinks!"

There was an unbearable pause, during which Great One glared at Mantoon in a pathetically intimidating manner. Mantoon feared the worst.

When Great One finally saw fit to speak, he spoke in a flat, unamused voice, "Go back to your place of watch."

Mantoon nodded, bowed, then started for the door. He had nearly made it to the threshold when Great One stopped him.

"Watch!"

Mantoon turned to face Great One.

"Summon the librarian for Great One, then return to your place of watch."

Mantoon nodded, "As you wish, Great One." Then, with a sigh of relief, Mantoon turned and started toward the threshold.

Great One waited until Mantoon was well out of sight before he motioned to his personal servant, Fincelee, who was standing idle along a nearby wall. Fincelee nodded, then casually strolled up to Great One.

"Yes?" Fincelee asked in a flat voice. He was slender, even for a willot, and dressed in a bright green jacket, which was adorned with several brass studs. Brass, it would seem, was the most precious metal available on Mure; its value was similar to that of gold on most other worlds.

Great One was still watching the doorway to make sure that no one else was approaching. After a moment or two, he turned to Fincelee, then spoke quietly.

"Go into the forest; there you will investigate this report of fire. Find where the fire was, and how it came to be—then come back and tell Great One of your findings."

Fincelee shook his head, "Not me, Great One. Find someone else to do it—the forest is dangerous."

Great One was clearly offended, "What? No? Fincelee said no?"

Fincelee turned his attention to the prime cut of meat that laid upon the table. He licked his lips, then leaned forward and sniffed in an exaggerated fashion. After getting his point across, he glanced at Great One, "Have Chesoon do it: he has been seen making plenty of trips into the forest—lately."

"Chesoon?" Great One asked. "Why?"

"I find it hard to remember things on an empty stomach, Great One," he said smugly. "After all, I am only a willot. But—I think Chesoon's trips to the forest has something to do with stealing meat from the herd." Fincelee smiled in a provoking fashion, then casually returned his attention to the prime cut of meat.

"I know you too well, Fincelee," Great on picked up a plate and a butcher's knife. He began cutting a generous portion off of the thigh as he spoke, "You remember fine, but you hold out to see what you might gain." Great One nodded, "I will pay for what you know about this matter."

Fincelee's mouth watered as he watched the steaming, juicy meat being laid upon the plate. This was a rare event in a willot's life: to eat a piece of red meat.

Great One handed him the plate, "Tell me of Chesoon and the herd."

Fincelee took the plate and smiled, "You are kind, Great One." He sat down at the table, picked up a knife and fork, then began.

"Talk among the willots say that Chesoon worked up a plan to steal meat from the herd." He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, "You know how clever he can be." Fincelee was intentionally stalling; he knew that he might be deprived of the uneaten portion of meat as soon as he ran out of words.

Great One nodded, then Fincelee continued, "He made a deal with the Elder..." Fincelee swallowed the meat, then picked up an empty goblet. He held it up to Great One, "Might I have some wine, Great One?"

Great One nodded as he took the goblet. "Continue," he insisted. "What do you mean—deal?"

"Chesoon promised to bring the wizard Hur to the herd in exchange for meat."

"Hur!" Great One laughed as he filled the goblet, "He is a myth!"

Fincelee stuffed another piece of meat into his mouth and nodded, "Yes, but the herd doesn't know that. They are expecting deliverance."

Great One shook his head as he handed Fincelee the goblet of wine, "How much meat does Chesoon seek?"

Fincelee graciously took the wine, then quickly downed it—for he was running out of words. After draining the last red drop from the goblet, he continued.

"An arm and a leg."

A look of disbelief came over Great One, "They will just give it to him? How will they cut it?"

Fincelee shrugged his shoulders as he stuffed another piece of meat into his mouth, "Apparently, Chesoon has all the details worked out. You know how clever he can be!"

"What about Hur?" Great One asked, "Chesoon cannot produce a wizard—no matter how clever he is."

Again, Fincelee shrugged his shoulders, "Talk is: Chesoon has it all worked out. Apparently, he will get his meat soon."

"When?" Great One insisted.

Fincelee quickly shoved another piece of meat in his mouth, then shook his head, "I know nothing more, Great One."

"Hmm..."

Great One thought about the problem as Fincelee struggled to eat as much as possible before he was told to stop. To Fincelee's surprise, Great One turned to him, smiled, then spread his arms in a wide gesture across the table, "Eat whatever you will, Fincelee. Dine to your content, then when you have finished, find Great One a willot who will go into the forest to learn of the matter of fire, and the matter of Chesoon and the meat."

Fincelee slowed his pace and nodded, "I'll find a spy, but you must be willing to pay him; the forest is dangerous."

Great One nodded, "Keep Great One's secret in confidence, and—"

"You summoned the Librarian, Great One?"

Great One wield around to see who interrupted their private consultation; it was the librarian.

The librarian, a tall, lanky man with long, grey hair, stood apprehensively at the doorway. He realized far too late that he had interrupted a private conversation about sensitive matters.

"Does Great One require a book, perhaps?" the librarian said gingerly.

The reply was flat and stern, "No book."

"Then—How might I be of service to Great One?"

Great One sat down on his slab of stone and pilfered through the fruits on the table as he tried to think of the best way to approach the subject. After breaking open a kalimund fruit, he turned his attention to the librarian.

"Is it not true that something was written long ago—something about the herd and fire?"

A look of enlightenment came over the librarian, "The great upheaval! Yes, certainly. Many books have been written in exquisite detail about the upheaval. It was a time filled with turmoil and grief—it was almost the end." He pointed toward the doorway, "I shall get them for you—they were written by the best of our authors and are considered—"

"No books!"

There was an awkward moment of silence, then Great One continued in a more hospitable tone, "Just tell Great One what you know about this upheaving."

"Well—ah," he nervously fidgeted with his robe, "I had no time to prepare the proper lecture—and the details are numerous and intertwined—ah—"

"TELL!" Great One insisted.

"Well—in the basic form of the historical account—ah." He let out an uneasy sigh, then continued. "Back about seventy-five generations ago, the herd discovered how to make and use fire. The ruling powers noticed this, but did not take appropriate action; they were not of the thought that fire would disrupt the herd or the meat supply to the deserving people of the tower. Some time went on, then the herd approached the tower, each carrying a torch. This is why the stock is not allowed to come near the tower today—because of the great upheaval.

"The herd demanded deliverance from harvest, which, of course, the good people of the tower could not allow. A rebellion quickly followed. The vial, rebellious efforts of the herd were finally stopped by harvesting the entire herd at once. In summary, the herd had to be destroyed."

The librarian smiled proudly and nodded, as if he should be awarded a round of applause.

"But..." Great One looked down at the floor in confusion, then returned his attention to the librarian, "The herd was not destroyed—it still feeds us today!"

The librarian shook his head, "This herd came into being some seasons later, when the ruling powers selected the strongest of the lower classes, took their clothes and access to fire, then cast them into the wilds to reproduce and bring forth meat."

"Hmm..."

There was a moment of silence, then the librarian cautiously spoke, "Forgive me, Great One, but I overheard yourself and this willot speaking about fire. Trust me, Great One, it was not in my intent to hear these things—I only came in because you summoned my services."

He paused, hoping that Great One would take the opportunity to assure him that the intrusion was forgiven. When it became apparent that no such forgiveness was forthcoming, he carefully continued.

"If this is indeed true, then solid action must be implemented at once!" He dramatized his point by slamming his fist into an open hand. "We cannot let another upheaval come into being."

"What do you suggest?" Great One asked, "Destroy the herd and start again?"

The librarian shook his head, "To harvest the entire herd at once would interrupt our meat supply for quite some time to come; it took many generations to produce the naive, docile herd we enjoy today. If it was my place to suggest—which, indeed it is not—I would recommend punishment instead. Such as firefall."

"Hmm..." Great One thought about the prospect for a moment, then slowly shook his head, "The herd has no fire. But..."

There was silence as Great One began to stare off into the wall.

"Yes?" the librarian asked.

Fincelee carefully listened to the exchange as he enjoyed the most lavish meal of his life. He was familiar with Great One and his lack of firm, decisive action. He shook his head and did his best to suppress a snicker as he watched the ruler of Mure struggle with a rare and relatively simple problem.

Finally, Great One broke his idle gaze and turned his attention to the librarian.

"The herd has no fire, but give orders to load the firefall cannons—as precaution. Great One has spoken."

Fincelee grinned, then shook his head at the pathetic ruler of Mure.

Chapter 9, Poison

Deep beneath the surface of Mure, a disgruntled willot by the name of Chevon, mined a small quantity of sulphur to replace the stores that were loaded into the firefall cannons earlier in the evening. He had been working for some time and was fully aware of the fact that night had fallen, though one would have never known the difference in the dark, choking dust of the mines.

Chevon was short and stocky, and had a noticeably darker shade of fur than most willots. He was naked, except for a crude cloth that covered his nose and mouth. He was not naked for lack of clothes; he had left his fine, red jacket at the entrance of the mine in hopes of protecting it from the powdery, yellow dust that permeated the dark shaft. He struggled with a pick for some time, then paused when he thought he heard voices.

"Chevon! Where are you, Chevon?"

Chevon looked up the black, twisted grade of the tunnel, "Fincelee?"

"Yes—where are you?"

"Over here, at the bottom of the grade!"

"I must speak with you—it is urgent. Shall I come in?"

Chevon snickered at the thought of Fincelee getting dirty and feeling his way through the blackness of the mine. The sulphur dust that permeated the mine was far too volatile to risk using a torch; those who mined sulphur had to work in complete and total darkness.

After amusing himself with the thought of Fincelee wandering aimlessly through the mine, he shook his head and shouted, "No, I'll come out there. A lung of clean air would be welcome."

Chevon pointed the handle of his pick into the darkness, then began feeling his way back toward the entrance.

Fincelee waited impatiently at the entrance of the mine. He could hear Chevon getting closer and closer, though he could not see anything beyond the dark threshold of the shaft. A moment or two later, Chevon emerged from the blackness of the tunnel.

"Important you say?" Chevon took the cloth off of his face and began beating it against his fur in an effort to brush off the bulk of the yellow dust.

"Yes," Fincelee replied. "Mantoon spotted a fire from the tower and—"

"A fire? Did you say: a fire?"

Fincelee nodded, "Yes—a fire. Great One wants me to find someone who will go into the forest and investigate the incident."

Chevon shook his head, "Not me—the forest is dangerous. Get Chesoon to do it—he is used to the forest by now."

"That would be impossible," Fincelee grinned, "Great One also wants this spy to investigate the matter of Chesoon and the meat."

Chevon broke out in a chuckle, "This is rich—very rich!"

Fincelee smiled, "I thought you might appreciate the circumstances. Will you do it?"

"What would I gain?"

"Well..." Fincelee thought carefully for a moment. "I can promise you a better job—along with whatever else Great One is willing to pay."

"Hmm..." Chevon looked down the dark, forbidding shaft, then returned his attention to Fincelee. "Would my new job be as prestigious as yours?"

A cocky grin came to Fincelee's face, "You might say that. Will you do it?"

Chevon wore an ear-to-ear smile as he threw down his pick. "You have a deal!"

"Good. Listen carefully; you'll have to be ready by morning. First..."

Terasel was wide awake by the time the first hint of daylight appeared in the morning sky. She sat up next to Jacob, who was sleeping soundly on the soft clover, and gazed out over the shear cliffs of Mure. The birds had already begun their morning session of songs, and she knew that they would have to leave soon if they hoped to meet Avet and Elder Nep at the time they agreed upon. She savored those last private moments of the morning and did her best to resolve an important decision, which would soon be at hand.

An arm or leg, she thought, which will it be?

Her attention was drawn to Jacob as he stirred for a brief moment.

"You are worth the price, great Hur," she said softly.

Terasel's thoughts returned to her dilemma. She would most certainly prefer loosing an arm over a leg; it took two legs to walk, but most other duties might be able to be performed with just one arm. On the other hand, she did not want someone as independent, proud, and wise as Avet to be stranded with a missing leg. She thought that, perhaps she should give the leg; that way, Avet would still be able to walk and assist the Elder as he has so many times in the past.

Jacob stirred again. Terasel knew that it was time to start their journey to the place where the path encircled the tree. She leaned over and gently shook Jacob's shoulder, "Wizard! Awaken, wizard!"

Jacob stirred with a little more enthusiasm, then abruptly clamored to a sitting position. He was bewildered for a moment as he surveyed his surroundings, then with a heavy sigh, moaned, "It wasn't a dream—it's real!"

A puzzled look came over Terasel, "What is real, Wizard Hur?"

Jacob looked at her and smiled. "Everything, Terasel. Please, call me Jake."

"If you wish, Wizard Jake." She pointed down the path, "We must leave—to meet the Elder."

Jacob nodded, then took a moment to rub the sleep out of his eyes, "Can we eat?"

"Yes!" Terasel said happily. She stood up, then tugged on Jacob's arm to encourage him to a standing position. "I will find you a nice, juicy kalimund fruit along the way. But we must hurry; kalimund fruit can only be gathered during the time of the singing birds."

Jacob slowly rose to a standing position, then stretched and yawned, "The nights are much too short here. I feel like I hardly slept."

"The time of darkness—I mean the night—is as long as the time of lightness."

"I see," Jacob smiled.

"Come, soon the birds will stop singing."

She turned, then continued down the path. Jacob followed.

They had covered quite a bit of ground in the short time that followed. Although they were only a quarter-hour into their journey, they had already indulged in what was clearly Terasel's favorite topic of conversation.

"...and the brother of a husband or wife would be the children's uncle."

Terasel thought for a moment, "Then, his wife would be their aunt?"

"Yes," Jacob smiled, "That's right! And, their children would be—" Jacob stopped in mid-sentence when he spotted a huge, man-sized flower growing next to the path in the distance. "Sweet Jesus! Look at the size of that flower!" He pointed to the huge, pink blossom.

Terasel smiled, "It is a kalimund flower. The kalimund fruit grows at the bottom of it."

"Wow!"

"Come," Terasel encouraged, "We shall eat."

Terasel took him by the hand as they started for the flower. Their pace began to increase with each step they took as they laughed and giggled like school children. Neither of them knew what was so funny; the laughter just seemed to be contagious. By the time they reached the kalimund flower, they were moving dangerously fast, though Terasel knew that it was the time of the singing birds and that the vines were slow and sluggish.

They came to an abrupt halt at the kalimund flower. Terasel pointed out several small red fruits, about the size of tomatoes, which were growing at the base of the flower.

"These are the kalimund fruits, but these are too small to eat." She surveyed the nearby forest, then pointed out another huge flower some forty yards away. "I will see if the fruit there can be eaten."

Jacob looked at the kalimund flower with awe-filled eyes. The flower was at least six feet tall and surrounded by thick, moist petals. He struggled to see what the inside of the flower looked like, but its secrets were too closely guarded by the giant petals.

Terasel turned to Jacob, "You stay here and stand still, and I will get the fruit."

Jacob nodded, then Terasel turned, and started through the forest at a dead run. Jacob was surprised to see how fast Terasel could move through the forest without toppling the fragile green reeds. She sprinted through the forest with very pronounced, graceful bounds, which kept her legs from becoming entangled in the fine, lacy webbing that permeated the forest. She was nearly to the kalimund flower when Jacob noticed several vines slowly receding down the trunk of a nearby tree. He began to fear for Terasel's safety.

Jacob watched as Terasel approached the flower. She bent down, then appeared to be struggling with something. He saw that the vines had already disappeared beneath the underbrush and were heading in Terasel's direction.

Terasel finally quit struggling with the plant, then stood up holding a huge, bright-red fruit, which was about the size of a small watermelon. She tucked the fruit under her arm like a football, then started charging for the safety of the path.

She had hardly covered more than several feet when a vine slowly emerged from the underbrush in front of her. To Jacob's surprise, she did not make any attempt to dodge the vine; she ran straight for it. As Terasel stormed the vine, she reached out with her free hand, grabbed the tentacle-like menace, then threw it to the ground. The vine resumed its threatening posture after Terasel was well beyond its reach. It made an effort to follow her, but by that time she had already reached the safety of the path.

"Stand still," she whispered with her prize tucked neatly under her arm.

Both Jacob and Terasel stood motionless as they watched the vine slowly approach. After a few short minutes, the vine slowed, then stopped all together. They maintained their posture for quite some time until the vine finally abandoned its search for movement and returned to its perch on the tree.

Terasel waited until it was safe, then turned to Jacob.

"See...," she held up her catch, "This is a kalimund fruit. It is good to eat."

Terasel separated the fruit neatly in half by breaking it over her knee. When she did so, a large quantity of thick, green fluid spilled out onto the ground. She held up each half of the fruit to let the fluid drain out, then handed one of the halves to Jacob.

Jacob took the fruit and carefully examined it. The red rind was relatively hard and thin, like an eggshell. Just on the inside of the shell was an inch of greenish-white fiber-like material, which reminded Jacob of coarse fiberglass. Some of the thick, green fluid was still suspended among the fibers. The rest of the fruit was a soft, pinkish substance with a consistency like that of stiff pudding. At the very center of the fruit was a large, oblong pit about the size of an egg.

"Go ahead," Terasel encouraged as she sat down to enjoy the fruit. "Eat the pink part; the rest is bad for you."

Jacob sat down with her, then watched as Terasel began eating her half. She scooped out some of the pink material using two fingers, then quickly brought the fingers to her mouth. She sucked off the kalimund fruit with a big smack, then smiled and nodded.

"Eat. It is good!"

Jacob slowly, and hesitantly, scooped out a small portion of the meat using his fingers in the same fashion as Terasel had. He cautiously brought the substance up to his nose, then sniffed; the smell reminded him of white glue. He glanced apprehensively at Terasel.

Terasel was already into her third or fourth scoop. She had her mouth full, but encouraged him anyway with a smile and nod.

Jacob slowly put the mucky substance into his mouth—only to discover that the kalimund fruit had a chalky, bitter taste that made him want to gag. He quickly swallowed the substance—then came the most horrible aftertaste he had ever experienced. He struggled to keep control over his stomach.

"Good, huh?" Terasel asked with a smile.

Jacob tried to be as diplomatic as possible, "I suppose you have to get used to it first."

Terasel smiled, then continued eating as if it were the greatest delicacy ever known.

Jacob looked down at the disgusting plant in his hands and wondered how the hell he was going to survive on Mure. He was incredibly hungry and did not relish the thought of spending another day on an empty stomach. He decided that he should eat in order to keep his strength up and just ignore the fruit's sickening taste. He reached for another scoop, then swallowed it as quickly as possible.

"If I had a family," Terasel said with a smile, "We would all sit down and eat our fruit together—like we are here! Then we would talk of what we would do. Maybe we would stay with the herd until darkness, or maybe we would wander off on our own."

Jacob managed a weak smile for Terasel, which was difficult under the circumstances. He had finished his third scoop of kalimund fruit and prudently decided that he could take no more. The taste was more than disgusting; it made him out-and-out nauseous.

Jacob slowly set the fruit on the ground, then looked up at Terasel. "I don't think I can finish," he said in a slow, ill-stained voice.

"Are you full already?"

"No—I—" Jacob took several painfully slow breaths.

"You do not look well, Wizard Jake."

Jacob looked at her through puffy, watering eyes as he slowly shook his head.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a concerned voice.

"Um...." Jacob slowly labored to get to his feet. He could feel his stomach churning and rebelling to the alien fruit. "Please, excuse me for a moment." Jacob turned and hurried down the path of clover in hopes of reaching the privacy of the next bend.

Terasel watched with concern as Jacob hurried off. He disappeared around the bend, then she heard the unmistakable sound of gagging and heaving as Jacob retched up the poison of the kalimund fruit.

Terasel waited patiently for quite some time until Jacob finally appeared from behind the bend. She slowly rose to her feet when he came into view; a concerned look dominated her face.

"Are you alright?"

Jacob nodded, "I feel better now." His manner of speech led Terasel to doubt the accuracy of his words. He shook his head, "I don't think kalimund agrees with me."

Terasel gently patted him on the back, "Perhaps we can try again tomorrow, Wizard Jake."

"Tomorrow?"

Terasel tried her best to present an optimistic smile as she nodded, "Yes, it is past the time of the singing birds."

Jacob noticed that the birds had already concluded their morning session of songs.

"Is there anything else to eat?" he asked hopefully.

"Just abyllian fruit or hinnermond bark, but they are not as tasty as kalimund fruit. We only eat them when there is nothing else."

A look of disappointment and dread came over Jacob. He began to wonder if the food on Mure would be able to support him. The more he thought about it, the more he feared that the food would eventually poison him, or that he would die the slow, painful death of starvation. He drew an uneasy breath.

"We must continue our journey," Terasel said timidly. "Can you travel, Wizard Jake?"

Jacob nodded, "Yes, lead on."

Jacob's stomach had settled down somewhat by the time they approached the place where the path encircled the tree. Terasel was relieved to learn that Jacob was feeling much better, which was apparent by the girlish spring in her step.

"If you bring deliverance, then we can have families like people on the star, Wisconsin!"

Jacob smiled. He was still feeling far to ill to explain, one more time, that: he was not a wizard, he could not bring deliverance, and that Wisconsin was not a star.

Several hundred yards down the path, Elder Nep and Avet stood motionless as they waited for the wizard's arrival. Elder Nep was extremely anxious about the prospect of deliverance, though he prudently maintained his reserved posture.

Elder Nep's attention was focused on Avet, who had his ears trained on the distant path.

"The wizard says little," Avet spoke quietly, yet loud enough for the Elder to hear, "But Terasel speaks to him about deliverance. She also speaks strange words."

"Strange words?" the Elder asked.

Avet nodded, "She speaks of families and of stars."

"In what way does she use these words?"

"She says that families come after deliverance. She speaks of a star with families." Avet looked at the Elder, "I think the wizard brought deliverance to a herd on a star, but I cannot say for certain."

"Hmm..." Elder Nep thought for a moment. "You say that Terasel speaks to him about deliverance?"

Avet nodded.

"Does the wizard agree to deliver us?"

"No, Elder Nep. Terasel says `if'. The wizard does not say yes or no."

"Then, we must yet face the test of worthiness. Are you prepared to pay Chesoon's price, Avet?"

Avet nodded.

"Good, for I believe we have a wizard in our midst. You say the wizard escaped from the vines?"

"Yes, I have seen this with my own eyes, Elder Nep. He spoke strange words and held... They come!"

Avet and Elder Nep stood silent and motionless as Terasel and Jacob appeared at the distant bend in the path. Elder Nep watched anxiously as the wizard approached. Deep inside he was thrilled with the appearance of his long-awaited wizard and excited about the prospect of his hopes and dreams coming to life. However, an important meeting like this one required tact and the best of diplomatic skills; as always, Elder Nep maintained his prudent, reserved posture.

"I bid you well, Elder Nep," Terasel said as they drew closer.

Jacob approached the Elder with a smile, "Pleased to meet you, Elder Nep. I'm Jacob Rowlin." Jacob offered his hand to the Elder expecting the traditional handshake to take place.

Elder Nep looked down at Jacob's hand briefly, then looked back up at his face.

Jacob nervously smiled, then withdrew his hand.

Elder Nep took careful note of the wizard's strange greeting. After an awkward pause, he smiled in a mature, diplomatic fashion, then said, "Pleased to meet you, Wizard Jake. I'm Elder Nep." Elder Nep offered his hand to Jacob in the same fashion as Jacob had demonstrated.

Jacob was just about to reach for the Elder's hand when it was withdrawn—just as Jacob had withdrawn his. Jacob smiled when he realized that Elder Nep was trying to mimic his greeting.

"Has Terasel explained our need for deliverance, great wizard?" the Elder asked politely.

"She has, but—ah—I'm not a wizard." Jacob shook his head, "I wish I could help you, but, I'm not a wizard."

Terasel was quick to speak up, "He is a wizard; I saw him summon fire!"

A look of surprise came across Avet's face, but the Elder maintained his diplomatic appearance.

Terasel continued, "He held the fire in his hand without pain or fear. When I asked him to take it away, it vanished like a bubble on a pond!"

"I'm not a wizard!" Jacob insisted. He turned his attention to Terasel and spoke with a much gentler, convincing voice, "I'm not a wizard."

While Jacob's attention was focused on Terasel, Elder Nep and Avet exchanged confident glances; as if they knew better.

"Please," the Elder spoke in a polite, yet somewhat humbled voice, "will you help us, Wizard Jake?"

"I'm not a wizard! I'm not! I just woke up here one morning—I don't know how I got here! I'm no wizard—I'm just stranded."

There was an uncomfortably lengthy pause as Elder Nep thought about Jacob's words. Deep inside the chambers of his mind, he could not accept the fact that Jacob was not a wizard. The Elder scrutinized the evidence that had been presented: Jacob created, held, then destroyed fire; he escaped from the vines; and his words and actions fit those described in the legend of Hur. Elder Nep was convinced; he was looking at a powerful wizard—if not the great Hur himself.

Elder Nep realized that he should not try to force the issue, or else they might fail the test of worthiness. He gave careful consideration to his words before he spoke.

"If you are not a wizard, then you are not. But our need for deliverance is great. Please, Stranded Jake, help us find deliverance."

Elder Nep waited patiently in silence as Jacob wrestled with the question.

Jacob could somehow sense by the tone of the Elder's voice that the Lily People were not entirely convinced that he was not a wizard. He desperately wanted to help them, but he did not want them to be misled into thinking that he could deliver something that might be far beyond his power. He drew a heavy breath, then finally replied.

"I am not a wizard—but I will do whatever I can to help." He shook his head, "I can make no promises."

The Elder smiled gently, then nodded, "Our herd thanks you, Stranded Jake. Is there anything you might need from us? Is there a way in which we might be able to help you?"

Jacob nodded, "I could use a drink of water—it's been almost two days."

"Certainly," the Elder replied. Elder Nep looked at Terasel, "I will speak with you alone, Terasel," then he turned and started down the path at a slow, laborious pace.

Terasel nervously glanced at Jacob, then hurried after the Elder.

Jacob watched Elder Nep and Terasel as they slowly walked away. He could not help but wonder what kind of conversation might transpire between them, and what position, if any, he might hold among the people of Mure.

"I thank you, Wizard Jake."

Jacob turned his attention to Avet, who wore a proud, victorious smile.

"Don't thank me yet, Avet. I'm not sure if I can do any good."

"Elder Nep says that you will." Avet briefly pointed down the path toward the Elder, "He is very wise and strong. You will learn this as you grow to know him. He has the knowing of ages."

Elder Nep finally stopped to talk to Terasel after he was certain that they were well out of hearing range. He did not realize that his aged, feeble hearing was actually more acute than Jacob's, and that they had traveled much further than they needed to.

"You must hurry ahead to the pond, Terasel. Tell the herd that a stranger will come to drink of the pond; say nothing about a wizard."

"But..."

Terasel stopped in mid sentence; to question the Elder's authority was improper and simply not practiced.

"But?" the Elder said with a gentle smile. "But what, Terasel?"

Terasel's uneasy eyes swept across the ground.

"But, I want to stay with the wizard." She looked at Elder Nep with hope in her eyes, "Could you send Avet instead?"

Elder Nep looked back up the path where Jacob and Avet were, though the gesture was strictly for Terasel's benefit because Jacob and Avet were well out of sight. He maintained his gentle smile as he returned his attention to her.

"And, why might you want to do this? Did you not have a chance to speak with the wizard during the time of darkness?"

Again, Terasel looked to the ground, "I did."

"Then, why do you wish to stay with him yet?"

Terasel shrugged her shoulders.

"Hmm..."

There was a moment of silence.

"You must go ahead, Terasel. Avet and I must speak with the wizard."

Elder Nep could see that Terasel was somewhat ashamed about asking him to send Avet instead. He smiled.

"I must tell you, Terasel, that I am proud of you."

Terasel looked at the Elder in disbelief.

The Elder continued, "The wizard has agreed to help us—it was you who won the test of worthiness. You have won deliverance for the herd. Soon, our wizard will work his magic in his own way. Soon, deliverance will be ours."

"Then, why does he say he is not a wizard?" she asked.

Elder Nep shook his head, "No one knows the ways of a wizard. Go to the pond; tell the herd that a stranger will come." he drew an uneasy breath, "Chesoon will be waiting there for his pay. You must tell him that he will be paid, for he has given us a wizard who agrees to help us find deliverance. Have you thought of which you will give? Will it be an arm—or will it be a leg?"

"A leg," she replied sadly.

The Elder nodded, "Then Avet will give an arm. Go then. Tell the herd of the stranger and give Chesoon your part of his pay. Tell him the other will come from Avet as soon as we reach the pond. I am very proud of you Terasel—you have done more for the herd than I could have. Go now, I must return to the wizard."

Terasel nodded, then turned to leave for the lily pond and, ultimately, the willot who would be waiting for his pay.

Chapter 10, The Lilly Pond

The Lily People were completely unprepared for the arrival of a stranger. Strangers were not mentioned in their legends and myths, and no one had ever spoke of such an event that might have occurred in the past. Although individual attitudes throughout the herd varied from excitement to fear, the herd as a whole was extremely leery about the stranger. They gathered around Terasel and tried to learn as much about the newcomer as possible.

"From where did he come?" one of the men asked.

"He came from a star," Terasel replied.

"Star?" several people repeated.

"Does he shine like a star?" a women asked.

Terasel shook her head. "No. He looks like us, but his hair is short, he is white as a lily, and he wears clothes—many clothes."

"Will he stay long?" another asked, "Or, will he drink then be on his way?"

"I hope he will stay."

"Is he big?"

Terasel shook her head, "No he is frail, like the Elder—but he has the knowing of the stars."

A sea of murmurs and speculation quietly rippled through the herd. The sound of nervous discussions gradually increased to a low rumble. Terasel began to worry that the herd would not accept her newfound friend.

Suddenly, someone shouted, "IS HE A WIZARD!?"

Dead silence followed.

All eyes rested on Terasel as she struggled with the question. She had been instructed by the Elder to say nothing about a wizard—and she had to respect the Elder's wishes. On the other hand, lying was simply unheard of among the Lily People; no one had ever told a lie before and, chances were, no one ever would.

"He is from a star," her voice was clearly apprehensive.

"Is he a wizard?"

"I can not say," Terasel replied nervously. "You must ask the Elder."

The sound of voices began to escalate once again as rumors and speculation rippled through the herd. Terasel clearly heard the word `wizard' more than once, and was afraid that Elder Nep would think that she betrayed his confidence. The rumbling of voices continued to escalate until someone pointed to the edge of the clearing and shouted, "They come!"

Silence fell upon the herd as Elder Nep, Avet, and the stranger emerged form the forest and entered the clearing. Elder Nep could tell that the herd was nervous by their tightly-packed formation; when the herd was at ease they were generally more spread out.

The herd slowly moved away like a single massive entity as the stranger approached. Terasel was left standing alone by the water's edge as the rest of the herd cautiously sought, what they deemed was, a safer distance.

Jacob was also nervous. He was, as yet, unaware of the fact that the Lily People were docile, peaceful, and incapable of harm to anyone. He had become more comfortable with Avet and the Elder, and hoped that they would thwart any ill-conceived advances by the rest of the herd. His biggest relief, however, was to see Terasel's familiar face waiting for him by the pond. She smiled as he approached.

"Drink as much as you wish," Elder Nep gestured to the pond. "There is plenty here for all."

Jacob was awed by the sight of the huge lilies and their incredibly beautiful blossoms. The blossoms, which were nearly the size of a man's head, filled the surrounding air with a sweet, refreshing fragrance, which lingered in the still morning air.

Jacob looked down into the clear, inviting water of the pond—right down to its clean, sandy bottom. Unlike most ponds he had seen in Wisconsin, there was no decaying plant material at the bottom, and no colonies of algae, mosquitos, or the like growing on the surface. It looked like nothing more than clear water and crisp, grainy sand.

The distasteful experience of the kalimund fruit was still fresh in Jacob's mind; he wondered if he was being deceived by the pond's remarkable clarity. He wondered what kind of microscopic creatures might be swarming and multiplying in each and every drop, and what effect they might have on his stomach and overall health.

"Go ahead." Terasel encouraged, "The water is good."

Jacob slowly lowered himself to his hands and knees, then scrutinized the waters at the edge of the pond. He saw nothing that looked like bugs, worms, fish, or any other form of visible life. Satisfied that the only thing he had to worry about was germs and bacteria, he cupped his hands, then scooped up a modest quantity of water. He brought the water to his mouth, then took a tiny, cautious sip; to his relief, it tasted like water.

The Elder waited patently as Jacob drank his fill. He wore a proud smile as he glanced down at his wizard; Avet patted the Elder gently on the shoulder, then nodded.

After Jacob rose to his feet, the Elder motioned to the rest of the herd. "Come," the Elder used the most optimistic and confident voice he could muster. "There is no harm here—come." He made several encouraging gestures with his hands.

The herd slowly, and cautiously, approached the pond.

"This is Stranded Jake," the Elder said proudly. "He will be staying with us for a time. Come—greet him."

The Herd slowly gathered around Jacob and the Elder, though no one collected enough courage to speak. Jacob looked across the crowd of uneasy eyes, all of which were focused on him. He smiled nervously, nodded, and tried to appear as friendly as possible, but the unnerving silence and the apprehensive faces of the herd persisted.

The uneasy standoff continued for quite some time, until Terasel finally managed to break the silence by singling out a friend.

"Gracine, I can tell you of families on the star, Wisconsin."

"Families?" Gracine asked. Gracine, a dark-haired woman who was noticeably younger than Terasel, stepped forward through the many idle bodies of the herd. She nervously glanced at Jacob, then returned her attention to Terasel. "What is families?"

Terasel began to tell Gracine everything that Jacob had taught her about families. Jacob was relieved when more and more of the Lily People began turning their attention to Terasel, and scrutinizing him less. Every-so-often, a face with a friendly smile would look his way momentarily, then return to Terasel.

Avet knew it was important for the herd to accept the wizard. He quickly picked up on Terasel's technique, "I saw him free himself from the vines!"

Avet's remarkable account of how the stranger freed himself from the vines quickly grabbed most of the herd's attention. Within a matter of minutes, the herd began to relax as they became less fearful of Jacob, and more fascinated with the tales that were being told about him.

Although Avet's account of how Jacob freed himself from the vines helped ease tension, it inadvertently spawned speculation that the stranger among them was the great and powerful wizard, Hur. Despite the fact that the herd lacked any kind of social structure, they were not without rumor. Those rumors began to spread quickly as discussions throughout the herd began breaking up into smaller and smaller groups.

"You will do well here, Stranded Jake," the Elder said with a smile. "The herd will accept you as they grow to know you."

Elder Nep paused momentarily to pan a nervous eye across the perimeter of the clearing. Jacob could sense that the Elder was deeply troubled by something.

"They are a good people," Again, he briefly glanced around the clearing with leery eyes. "They are a worthy people."

"What's wrong, Elder Nep?" Jacob asked, "You seem uneasy."

The Elder managed a caring smile, "It is nothing that will bring harm to you." He looked out across the herd, "I must speak with Terasel."

An eerie feeling came over Jacob as he watched Elder Nep walk toward Terasel. He was more than curious about what might have disturbed the Elder; he somehow did not trust the Elder's assurance that the invisible threat would not bring harm to him. He followed Elder Nep's example and began surveying the edges of the clearing.

Jacob quickly glanced around the clearing once, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to make a second, more scrutinizing pass, when his attention was drawn by the voice of a child.

"Are you a wizard?"

Jacob looked down into the hopeful face of a small, naked child.

"What?" Jacob asked.

The child turned and pointed to several people in the herd, "They say you are the wizard, Hur." The child returned his attention to Jacob, "Are you the wizard who will stop the dying?"

A frail smile came to Jacob's face. He did not want to lie to the child, nor did he want to crush the child's hopes.

"I will do what I can," he replied as quietly as possible.

The child turned, then started running and shouting, "It is him! It is him!"

Jacob nervously returned his attention to the edge of the clearing. He carefully studied the brush in hopes of seeing what might have made the Elder so obviously nervous. As his eyes slowly scanned across the distant edge of the clearing, he vaguely caught a hint of something red. Upon taking a closer look, he realized that a willot in a red jacket was watching the clearing from the safety of a path. The willot quickly disappeared around a bend when he realized that Jacob had spotted him.

Elder Nep had already taken Terasel away from the herd and to a more private section of the clearing. Terasel could see that he was deeply disturbed.

"Have you seen Chesoon?"

"No," Terasel replied. "He was not here when I came. But the willot Chevon has been seen."

The Elder nodded, "Yes, he still watches." His worried eyes glanced in the general direction of the tower. "It is not like Chesoon to be absent for his pay. I fear there is something wrong in the tower—very wrong."

Elder Nep placed an arm around Terasel's shoulder, then spoke quietly in hopes that no one else would hear. "You must take the wizard away from the herd until I learn of what takes place in the tower. The tower must not learn of our wizard—not yet."

Terasel nodded.

The Elder continued, "I will send Avet to follow. You will not see him, but he will be there in hiding. Should trouble find you, just shout for Avet. Can you do this?"

"Yes I can—I will. What will you do?"

The Elder shook his head, "I have yet to decide. We must be careful, especially now that deliverance is nearly ours to hold. Do not take the wizard away until Chevon leaves for the tower; do not let him see where you take the wizard. Do you understand?"

Terasel nodded.

"Good. Now—I must speak with Avet."

Deep inside the cold, grey tower of Mure, Great One struggled against his opponent, Dahul, in a friendly game of Camron. Camron was played with three stone markers on a board consisting of sixteen squares; it was a difficult game and required a high degree of intelligence and concentration. Dahul, a representative from a lower political tier, was well versed in the game and an accomplished master.

Dahul diligently studied the board. He did his best to keep the game challenging, yet was careful to let Great One win; not because Great One would be petty enough to punishment him if the ruler lost, but because Great One would be petty enough to consider the incident against him, should he come to seek political favors in the future. Dahul was just about to make the fatal move, leaving himself open for Great One's final blow, when Chevon entered Great One's private chambers.

"I have news from the forest, Great One."

Great One glanced at Chevon briefly, then spoke to Dahul, "Perhaps Great One will finish the game later."

Dahul stood up as straight as possible, though the low ceiling forced him into somewhat of a stooped over posture. He cordially nodded at Great One, "As you wish, Great One."

Great One motioned for Dahul to leave, using a subtle brush of the fingertips. Dahul nodded again, then turned and left the room.

Great One waited until Dahul was out of the room and well beyond hearing range before he conducted business with Chevon.

"What have you learned in the forest? What have you come to tell Great One?"

Chevon idly studied the game board as he spoke to Great One in a flat, nonchalant voice, "There is a clothed stranger among the stock." His attention seemed to be focused more on the game than on Great One.

"A stranger?"

Chevon nodded, "Yes, I have seen him with my own eyes. The herd calls him a wizard."

"Wizard," Great One said in disgust, "They still hold their myth of Hur?"

Chevon nodded, though he did not take his attention off of the game board. "He must be Chesoon's fake wizard—the one he will trade for the meat."

"How could the stranger get here?" Great One asked.

Chevon looked up from the game board, "I cannot say for sure. But—you know as well as I how a stranger might get here."

Chevon's comment clearly made Great One nervous.

"Sister world," Great One muttered as he settled back in his chair, "Sister world."

"That would be my guess." Again, Chevon turned his attention to the game board. "Chesoon has been seen in the company of creatures from the sister world." He looked up at Great One, "You know what that could mean."

Great One drew a nervous hand across his chin as he slowly nodded. He thought about the willot's words for quite some time before he continued.

"What else can you tell Great One about Chesoon and the sister world?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!?"

Chevon briefly glanced out the doorway before he continued. He leaned forward, then motioned for Great One to do the same.

Great One leaned forward in anticipation.

"Nothing." Chevon lowered his voice, "Your traitorous servant, Fincelee, forewarned Chesoon about the investigation. Chesoon went into hiding and no one has seen him since."

"Hmm..." Great One furrowed his brow in disbelief.

Chevon made another nervous glance out the doorway, then returned his attention to Great One. "Somehow, Chesoon has managed to secure favor from the sister world. You know of the sister world's power."

Again, Great One drew a nervous hand across his chin as he nodded. He listened intently as the willot lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Only a willot backed by the sister world could challenge your throne—no one else on Mure would stand a chance. If that happens, then the tower would—once again—belong to the willots."

Great One shook his head, "No willot could be that clever—not even Chesoon. No willot could triumph over Great One."

"With all sincere respect, Great One..." Chevon reached down and moved one of Dahul's game pieces—capturing the board. "...Never underestimate a willot."

Great One stared at the game board in awe as Chevon continued.

"Fincelee has spoke against you; he has turned his loyalty. He has forewarned Chesoon; I believe Fincelee thinks that Chesoon might win his bid for your power."

"Humph..." Great One turned his head to the side and casually looked off toward the wall, as if he put little credence in the information presented by Chevon.

Chevon paused for a moment as he tried to think up other discrediting lies about Fincelee. After a moment or two, he continued, "Fincelee also speaks freely of your personal affairs; he says that you are gullible—and pompous. He tells others that you do not know how to read books." Chevon shook his head, "You do not need him as your servant—he could turn on you!"

"Fincelee?" Great One said in disbelief, "Great One treated Fincelee fine—now he does this?"

Chevon nodded. A sinister grin slowly grew on his face, "I would be a worthy servant for you, Great One. I could stop this overthrow—but I want position over the rest of the willots."

"Perhaps," Great One said skeptically. "How would you do this?"

"I have a plan that will drive Chesoon from hiding." He smiled in an evil, provoking fashion, "Would you like to hear it?"

END OF SAMPLE

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