They take away my old backpack. I’ve had it for years and I know it was saggy and worn thin. I still would have liked to keep it. Still, the new one I get is the finest I’ve seen. The leather has a fine, dull sheen and a creamy smell of beeswax. It’s also full of maps and provisions and everything we’ll need to survive out in the wilds.

  Inspecting the gear while hiding the thumbs from Lictor is nerve-wracking, but surprisingly easy. It seems like this is something he has seen too many times to pay attention to. He’s reciting the final instructions with his gaze fixed on a single pebble that has somehow found its way onto the otherwise clean floor of the room.

  The hunting tools in my pack are better than any I’ve seen. Part of the reason I’m included is that I’m supposed to get us more food on the road. I don’t know much about the animals in Kerthar, but Lictor says they are all the same everywhere. I have a strong suspicion he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ll manage, nonetheless.

  Lictor is walking ahead with Rworg and Mandollel between Finna and me. He cranes his neck to keep the pebble in his sight until we round the corner. “This ceremony is an important formality for the city.”

  Finna is walking with both hands in her pockets. She hasn’t made a single attempt at getting close to Lictor and I’m getting more and more anxious the closer we get to the time we’re supposed to be leaving.

  I try to touch her shoulder, but she slaps my hand away and glares at me. I almost raise my hands in apology, but realize what I’m doing and shove them tightly in my pockets before anyone notices the thumbs.

  “The council and many important guests are in attendance, so be on your best behavior. You don’t need to do anything except to listen to some short speeches and then you’ll get to be on your way.”

  “How many speeches?” Finna asks.

  “How short?” Rworg asks.

  “You need to be gone in fifteen minutes. That means you’ll unfortunately end up missing some of the later ones.” His face holds its usual impassiveness before he cracks a sad smile. “Equally unfortunately, I won’t.”

  Mandollel acknowledges the joke with a small laugh. I’m too worried about Finna and the Gem and just walk forward, hands buried deep in my pockets.

  Lictor marches us to the Ride Hall, where a large crowd has gathered to watch us leave. I recognize Marek’s astoundingly tall hat from the crowd, and the sight makes me want to run away.

  “To the stage,” Lictor says, stopping to let us pass. “Look dignified and be ready to go when it’s time.”

  The stage has been brought in since I was last here. There’s a podium to one side and three steps up to the stage. Rworg ignores them and stomps his foot directly onto the stage, pushing himself up with a grunt. His sword is strapped to his back. He needs help putting it back on every time he draws it, but I guess it’s the only way to carry such a large weapon.

  Mandollel takes the steps, but stops with one leg on the second step and one on the stage, turning his head to look at the gathered crowd. He has one hand on his knee and the other on the hilt of his belt. He actually throws his head so his hair flies off from his face. He lifts an eyebrow and someone sighs wistfully in the audience. I groan and take a final look around before climbing the stairs. Lictor is waiting behind me. He shakes his head at Mandollel and winks at me, and that’s when Finna’s hand slips out from his pocket.

  I wrench my eyes toward the stage and start climbing the stairs before I give anything away. My body goes numb and my lungs feel like they’re being hugged by something. I want to scream and pump my fist into the air but concentrate on not stumbling on the steps and keeping my face level. I must look like I’m painfully nervous, my eyes cast down and hands pressed into fists at the side of my trousers. That’s fine. Everyone will think I’m some overwhelmed village boy, which isn’t too far from the truth.

  The speeches are short, but there are quite a few to go through. The book-reading stocky merchant brings a greeting from all the merchants of the city, except Astaroth. Astaroth grins at that from the crowd and Corum squeezes her eyes shut and takes a long, drawn-out breath. She herself talks next, on behalf of the council. She speaks beautifully about our mission and how we’ll be saving an uncountable amount of lives. Lictor’s smiling at the foot of the stage. It seems like a huge risk to lie to us about the mission and then make us listen to speeches about it, but there is no such thing as a risk, not to a Janitor. He knows that the speeches won’t have anything that would make us realize anything we’re not supposed to realize.

  Finally, Marek himself climbs to the stage. He towers over us in his hat, his eyes darting from one to the other. I tell myself he can’t know anything and that we’ve never met, but his eyes bore into me even as they flick past. Sweat moistens my collar and I clench my fists in my pockets to keep them from shaking.

  Marek leans both hands on the podium. “We give and take away so much, from ourselves and from the world. Today is the last day of history. There’s absence in our future that compels us to rebuild and adapt to a world without things we have taken for granted: teleportation, friends, neighbors. I salute you four, who will shoulder this burden for all of us. Whatever choices you have to make on the road, know that we will support you.”

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

  Lictor’s smile widens. He’s looking at Marek and his eye twitches in a wink, interrupted at the last moment.

  It hits me: they are going to blame killing the Kertharians on us! Marek is hedging the opinion and Lictor is in on it. I clench my jaw so hard the sound that my teeth make causes Finna to give me a look. I thought nothing would surprise me anymore, but their plans always go deeper. Still, a look at Finna’s pocket helps me unclench my jaw.

  The joke’s going to be on them. Plan all you want, you haven’t seen this yet.

  Marek finishes and bows to us. I fear he’s going to tip over or poke one of us in the eye with his hat. The thought makes the moment feel less serious than what might be appropriate. The whole crowd follows his example and bows, even Lictor. He straightens up and places his weight on one foot, putting his hands in his pockets.

  Marek waves a hand at us and a soft glow illuminates us from below. A complicated circle of runes drawn below our feet on the stage shines blue. I watch Lictor’s eyes bulge and his right hand go through his pocket faster and faster. He pulls out the pocket inside-out and my eyes fix on a piece of lint that goes flying out of it. Lictor starts to shout something, but at that moment the circle flashes and the world winks out.

  “Nice,” Finna says. She gives me a quick thumbs up and taps the bridge of her nose. I’m not sure what that means.

  We’re at the same clearing where Lictor always took us. I raise my hand to wipe at the cobwebs, but stop. They are not there. I’m getting the hang of this, just in time to never be teleported again.

  It’s not much later than the first time we were here. The stars and the moon shine dimly, bright enough for me to recognize the familiar trees and moss-covered rocks.

  Mandollel straightens his bag and peers into the forest. “We need to move. I don’t know what you have been up to, but whatever it was, the Janitor noticed it. He might still come after us.”

  Beyond that, the forest is pitch black. The lights of the camp twinkle in the distance, somewhere behind the trees. Finna hasn’t mentioned the Gem yet, so maybe it’s best to follow her example. We can discuss the Gem later, but the attack on the village troubles me. “What about the Kertharians?”

  Finna bites at the nail of her thumb. “Huh?” Her eyes are fixed east, toward Kerthar.

  “The camp?”

  “The what?”

  I give up. The camp was never part of the plan. It was another way for Lictor to train me, get me used to the idea of Rides, and show me how the Kertharians are. What they will do, unless we stop them. He didn’t even mention the camp this time around. I remind myself that this is not another time around. I’m in the real world now. This is it. We’ve got away with the Time Gem. Now we have to finish the mission.

  “Enough daydreaming!” Mandollel says. He’s waving his hand into the forest, at a small animal trail. He takes a couple of long strides and vanishes between the trees and into the dark.

  “You next,” Finna says. “I’m last. I’ll make sure the big guy doesn’t get lost in the forest.”

  “Hah!” Rworg says. The sound echoes in the quiet forest and makes both of us flinch.

  Mandollel appears from the dark and glares at us, brow furrowed and mouth pressed thin. I grimace and sprint after him, the sound of Rworg stomping behind me.

  It’s not as bad as the time we were running from the Kertharians. It’s still dark and difficult, but Mandollel glows softly. He hasn’t done that before, so it’s something he did to help us follow him. He points out roots and stones on the path as he goes, making it easier to avoid them for the rest of us who can’t see or glow in the dark.

  The shine vanishes and everything is pitch black. I nearly bump into his back. I wave a hand behind me, hoping the others notice it in time. Rworg manages to slow down, so he doesn’t bowl right over us. He places a hand on my back to stabilize himself and I nearly get pushed into Mandollel by its sheer weight. Mandollel’s holding back a hand, one finger pointing up, showing us to be quiet.

  I stop breathing and listen. There’s a wheeze from somewhere ahead of us and a breeze brings over the stink of something rotting.

  “You led us to it?” Finna hisses at Mandollel.

  “To what?” he says. His glowing face looks confused, but then I see the realization hit. His mouth moves. There’s no sound, but the curse is easy to lip-read.

  A soft thump sounds from the darkness, followed by a skittering, a bug running over bark, except huge. I know what it is. I hope I’m wrong. I know I’m not.

  Mandollel stays still, not turning, whispering. “You know teratomes. What should we do?”

  Everything stands still. My mouth is dry and I lick my lips while trying to think. We’re much too close. Teratomes can hunt by sight or sound or smell or all of them, so it’s impossible to know if we should be staying quiet or making as much noise as possible, hiding or running. I’m hoping this one is harmless. It’s been known to happen.

  I make my decision. ”Back away, slowly. Try to be as quiet as possible.”

  Rworg instantly steps on a fallen branch. In the dark forest, the crack sounds like a boom and it lasts longer than feels possible. It keeps on going as he shifts his weight and keeps on going again as he removes his foot from it.

  All three of us are gesturing at him wildly, without a sound. Rworg opens his mouth to say something, but the motion stops and his gaze freezes. His hand moves slowly toward his back, to the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on something behind me.

  Branches snap. Something scrapes on bark, thumps, and Finna shouts a warning. I jump forward and roll, trying to avoid whatever is incoming from behind me.

  The teratome strikes the earth where I stood, the sound a thump and a crunch. As it lands, its spiny legs give out under its weight. Two of them twist and snap, crushed under its own body.

  The moonlight reflects off its shiny carapace, plates hanging on webbing, covering a mass of flesh squeezing out through the gaps in between. A stench of rotten meat washes over me in a wave. The thing has six legs like a bug, long, thin stalks of bone with multiple round fleshy joints, two of them now broken and twisted at unnatural angles. A huge arm-like thing sprouts from its front, a pillar of flesh and muscle, ending in a massive hand.

  I have enough time to feel hopeful when the teratome pushes itself up with its hand. Shorter legs unfold from its underside, a mass of small stalks. It wheezes once, but otherwise it doesn’t screech or bellow or chitter. It has nothing to do it with. There’s no head, only a mass of armored body like a slug.

  ”Watch out!” Mandollel shouts and pushes me to the side, as the teratome undulates and launches itself toward us.

  Unfought Wars is taking part in the Writathon! I’m looking forward to writing and publishing most of the second volume during the Writathon push, so the updating schedule will probably actually be much faster than what I planned for. I hope that sounds like good news to you!