The sound of bells pierced the endless darkness of consciousness, bringing light. It was then that Ignis realized he had a body. Limbs were attached to the body. They were his limbs, so he moved them. The jingling echoed again.

  The cart rattled and creaked along the road. Ignis's stomach tightened at what he heard. The thieves outside laughed.

  He opened his eyes. Glittering teeth between red-painted lips. He would have jumped back if he were standing. The bells again, very close now. He looked more closely at what was in front of him. Above the broad grin was a snub nose set in a square face. Almost every long, blonde lock was entwined with ribbons, and alongside them, like monkeys, bells bounced. All of this swayed back and forth on a slender neck. Light brown eyes jangled in the shaking head.

  It stuck out its tongue, pulled its ear.

  He saw silks, expensive fabrics, clothes around him in the jolting cart. He saw no bars, no bucket, the air was not stale.

  He tried to piece together the picture: he had left Snowland but was captured. He was locked up, and the cart was his prison until it broke apart. Then there were the gray monks, and he had set out again. He remembered the crunching of leaves and killing lizards. Then the armed men had caught him. And now, before him, a huge tongue danced amid a jumble of bells.

  If his memories were puzzle pieces, he would have thrown them all into the corner now. Pain shot through Ignis's head.

  "Where am I?"

  "Habitu, he's conscious!" Mirum said.

  "Thank the creator, Mirum."

  While in the cart, Mirum, with his bells, grimaces, and tongue antics, made it hard to tell whether she was trying to entertain or torment him. He couldn't stand or sit up, because every attempt was met with the full weight of Mirum's round rump forcing him back down. When they stopped, the stars were already high in the sky. Mirum finally helped him stand, then led him to a man. His face was long, his black beard twisted almost to the ground, much like the road itself. He was flanked by two mercenaries. They were more familiar to him.

  "Vertigo Habitu," he introduced himself. "Glad you're feeling better. Madam... Sir," Ignis was glad to finally be addressed as 'sir.' He didn't know exactly what he was, but the role of a man perhaps suited him better.

  His situation was still incomprehensible. His arms and legs were bandaged, there were no bars, he could walk freely, and Mirum was arguing with a fallen tree, trying with authoritative commands to make it stand and rejoin the other trees.

  Vertigo shooed his mercenaries away to tend to their tasks and build a campfire. The two horses harnessed to the carts nosed through the undergrowth for something edible, their coats ruffled by the cool breeze of the blood season. They stepped to and fro with their six pairs of legs, easily pulling the three connected carts.

  "They knocked me out."

  Stolen story; please report.

  "I apologize on behalf of my men. They don't have much experience calming people with words, but they're useful on the road. I myself am a merchant. We're heading north, to Lenta. And you?"

  Ignis did not respond.

  "Toward the Black Desert," he said, naming the only place on the map that came to mind.

  Vertigo fiddled with his beard, then coughed and continued:

  "If I understand correctly, your destination is also beyond the End of the World. What would you say to joining us for part of the way? What is your answer?" The silence of contemplation. "Your answer? There's plenty of space around the fire."

  He still didn't understand many things, but he was not chained. Habitu extended his hand for a handshake, but Ignis stepped back, nodded, and didn’t take the hand hanging in the air.

  "Alright."

  "Excellent. As for your first encounter with my men, let me compensate you. Come."

  Vertigo's eyes measured him up and down. From the cart, he replaced Ignis's tattered clothes with a dark blue fabric. It seemed cheaper and rougher than the other silks, lacking the characteristic sheen, but it was strong. In the cover of the trees, he pulled on the coat, turned up the collar, and tightened the straps to make sure they wouldn't accidentally come loose.

  ***

  In the evening, on their island of light, the mercenaries told stories. Tales of wounds and lost fingertips, romantic and surprising epics. The sizzling meat over the fire seemed somehow familiar to him.

  "Lizard meat," one of them said.

  "Nothing went to waste," Ignis thought.

  Mirum danced. The fire and bones crackled, the bells sang. The lizards no longer fought. Their pieces obediently slid down their throats, except for one that got stuck in a mercenary’s throat. The piece of meat tried to take him to death. One of his companions knocked the choking man to the ground, stomping on his stomach with his boot. The man's eyes bulged, the piece of meat popped out of his mouth, and then he did nothing but gasp for air. Before he could get up, Mirum rushed over and, to make sure he was safe, stomped on his stomach again. Mirum received a round of applause, and the man on the ground burst into tears. Vertigo laughed.

  "I tell you, this girl is worth her weight in gold. She can bring a smile to even the sourest company."

  "How did she end up with you? Some kind of slave?"

  "Slave? No. A traveler, just like you. Though, I wouldn’t mind if she stayed with us."

  Meanwhile, Mirum had challenged someone to a grimace contest. There was no doubt who would win in the end.

  Vertigo said nothing, and Ignis was glad he didn’t have to speak. He stared into the campfire, blinking occasionally.

  "You know, the world speaks to us: the mountains, the lakes, the forest. And I always listen. I owe my life to my ears and all my teeth."

  Ignis thought Vertigo simply meant one should always be alert. Of course, he was wrong.

  "Sometimes these voices give strange advice: don’t move all day; turn west; or dig somewhere until you find something."

  "That is indeed peculiar."

  The conversation on the other side of the fire began to quiet down.

  "Well, I dug. My beard was red from the mud down to the last hair, everything I had was soaked, at one point I had to stop." Vertigo lost himself in thought for a few seconds. "Then I started again, bailed out the groundwater, dug, but the shovel handle broke. I got a new one and kept digging. My back was aching, my hands were completely stiff. When I was so deep that I thought I might not make it back up, the shovel struck something." At this point, the mercenaries fell silent.

  Ignis didn’t know where this story was leading. Vertigo stood up and returned with a chest, while Mirum had already snuck behind him.

  "It’s been a long time. I always keep it with me, under the seat of the cart, locked away. I never let anyone touch it. The forest said nothing, so I did nothing with it. But now I know I have to give it to someone. The forest never lies."

  The chest ended up in Ignis’s hands.

  Mirum's eyes widened, fixated on the distorted shape of the chest. He held his breath, and the bells froze.

  So many years of waiting and mystery. It was all in his hands.

  Meanwhile, the mercenaries had also crept behind Mirum, silently fighting for a spot to see.

  The horses moved closer; the birds watched from the horses' heads and the top of the cart. All eyes were fixed on the chest. Ignis didn’t know what to do, but he decided to open it.

  The lid was lifted.

  And what was inside? The answer:

  BALLS