It was tainted. Everything in the small plastic bag had been completely tainted. There was no golden shine, no sense of being closer to something higher than themselves, just utter drear.

  “Recognise what it is, Alan?” Greer questioned the Elf.

  Alanus stared as a cacophony of shock and anger stirred within him. “This was in your world?”

  “Yeah.” Greer nodded. “Just a fraction of what the police found.”

  The old Elf clasped his hands. “This was in your world?”

  “We’re not so happy about it either, lad. It just gets worse from there.”

  A creased newspaper, the National Telegram, was slammed on the table. Several pictures showed more of the dust in arrays of clear packets. ￡120,000 OF YELLOW CONFISCATED IN COVENTRY, the headline read.

  “Third largest drug in Europe just behind cocaine and heroine - they’re calling it ‘Yellow’.” Greer said. “Smoke it, snort it, shove it up your backside. Got word the thing’s bloody spread to America.”

  “Binddust,” Alanus corrected.

  “Sorry?”

  “It is not yellow it is binddust.”

  Greer sighed. “Right, sure, sorry.”

  “Moving on,” Alanus said, “How long has this trade been going on for? Third largest in Iera— apologies, Europe, is very serious.”

  The operative looked to the ceiling, before back to the Elf. “Three, four months.”

  “A few months?! It is Langhall’s duty to identify such things! Do you understand how much this harms—”

  “This isn’t exactly a dragon flying over the M25 now, is it?! The Institute isn’t all-powerful, we can’t handle anything outside the Commonwealth, you should know this!”

  Alanus took a deep breath. In. And out. He stared up at Greer. “Then what in the hell do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Source of the trade’s come from Witaenal. We need to know who’s supplying it.”

  “Witaenal?” An eyebrow was raised. “This island is not a good source, not with what magic ensues here, it has to be on the mainland.”

  “Our investigations say otherwise. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Perhaps in the past couple years?”

  Alanus nearly knitted his eyebrows. “Any peculiarities I would have reported to the Langhall Institute.”

  “Nobody wearing denim? Chucking a grenade around?”

  “Mr Greer, I have remained in Penalm for a significant amount of time. I have not frolicked elsewhere for ages.”

  Greer leaned into his arm. “That’s just made my life much harder, then,” he muttered, before shouting to the other operatives in the building, “Tim, bring me everything you have in the past two years, we’re going to be here a while!”

  “Have you discovered the distributor?”

  “That’s been a bit of an issue. Sellers have been spread amongst different gangs, I doubt they would have found any of the fissures, we’d know anyhow. Interpol’s just started looking into it. Theory is that it’s a group in Eastern Europe, but you know how big that is. Culprits could be from Albania, the Donbas, Russia, basically anywhere.”

  “They have only just started?”

  “I know you haven’t been to Earth since COVID—”

  “I was last there in 2044 by your calendar.”

  “Still, that’s… fifteen years. Fifteen years is a long time. Believe it or not, things have gotten more of a hassle for everyone. Everything’s slower to get through.” Greer pulled a few papers on the side to him. “You’re free to go if you want.”

  Alanus looked behind. The arch of the bindgate stood judgementally. He turned. “I would much rather stay here.”

  “Much rath— sorry, don’t you have a child?”

  “This matter is urgent and the solution is far behind in progress. I have already left Daifan with a trusted friend. Besides, some independence should do him some good for a few days.”

  “Right, just a few days.” Greer twisted his biro.

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Oriyan was just staring at the boy. He didn't seem scared - not of her, at least - rather, confused. Was he a collaborator? He didn’t seem like one. His skin was too rough, his drooping curly hair had clearly not been properly washed.

  A stampede of thoughts came to her mind, whenever they seemed close to a conclusion, they hit a wall and turned around. She shut her eyes, shook her head, and lowered the rifle.

  Oriyan crouched down, her lips felt stiff as she tried to put on a smile. “Hey, are you okay?” She asked softly.

  The boy suddenly collapsed to the ground. Oriyan jerked forward, dropping her gun, before realising the boy was simply just tired. It was as if it was the first time in ages he could properly lie down.

  “Are you good there?” She asked, helping him upright.

  “You’re not—” The boy just about caught his breath. “You’re not going to…” His words trailed off.

  Oriyan would’ve asked if he had a home, but looking around, it was likely turned to a pile of ashes already.

  “Oi! Oriyan! Stop skulking about and get back here!” Redric shouted.

  She pulled up her rifle, slinging it around her arm with a groan. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

  The second she attempted to get him on his feet, something sprung in the boy. He shot upwards slurring his words before running off.

  Oriyan cursed. She looked to the flaming straw and wood around her, stretching from the boats to the buildings. Not long ago, she would have thought they had brought hell to the surface. Now, it simply just… existed.

  The boy could have handled himself, she thought. He had round ears, didn’t seem like a collaborator. If anything, they probably did him a favour getting rid of the Elves.

  Everyone gathered in the town centre. Oriyan stepped over the bodies, her eyes remaining straight. Most of the people here had either been shot or ran off, only the Banner and the volunteers from the Green Raiders remained.

  A statue of the previous Emperor had been toppled. Someone was taking a wee on his head.

  Oriyan felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head, it was just Nella. “Where did you run off to?”

  “Nowhere,” Oriyan said.

  “Right, right. Can I ask a favour?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m spent, I need another magazine.”

  “What if I need it?”

  Nella scoffed. “I know you haven’t fired your gun.”

  Oriyan’s eyes widened. “Don’t bloody tell everyone!”

  “Christ, calm down. Just give me one, will you?”

  Oriyan stood still for a couple moments, before reaching into her pocket. “Here.”

  They both stood in silence for a short while. Only distant gunfire, the crackle of flames, and the clicks of Nella reloading her rifle filled the air.

  Oriyans then glanced at her again. “Did you just say ‘Christ’?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You just said ‘Christ’.”

  Nella seemed puzzled, before it had finally clicked. “Oh! I must’ve picked it up from Penn; he says it all the time.”

  “Know what it means?”

  “I suppose it’s something along the lines of… I don't know. It sounds like a curse word. Could be a demon, a realm, could be another term for poo.”

  “Huh.”

  Silence came again. Nella pulled out a small, chiselled glass bottle, the flames around them distorted in its many reflections. She pulled off the cork.

  A sweet smell invaded Oriyan’s nostrils. “Where did you get that?”

  “We freed some of the prisoners at the port. This big house was burning, it was the only thing I could get from it.” She held the bottle up. “Do you want some?”

  Oriyan glared at it, then back at Nella.

  It got to a point where Daifan just couldn’t move any further, to which he just sat by one of the few trees yet to turn black. He just wanted to be home, back in his bed. He didn’t care if the Elves had knocked down the whole thing.

  A few people - Elves, Humans, something that looked like a goat with arms - ran past him. Daifan just rested his head on the bark, listening only to his own heartbeat in his ears.

  He itched the dry blood off from under his nose, mixing with the dirt under his fingernails, a bit of it sticking to his thumb. He could’ve just gone somewhere else, gone where all the others were running.

  Eventually, there came a soft voice, breaching the thumping in his eardrums. “Move.”

  It was the same one from the temple. Of course, the boy was in no mood to do anything. Suddenly, his arm reached above as he succumbed to an urge. Something else was pulling him up.

  Once his hurting legs were straight, something lurked on the edge of his eye. He looked, there was nothing. He was likely just seeing things.

  That same voice returned. “Are you going to move?”

  Daifan darted his head around. There was nobody with him. Yet, the rising hairs on his neck, the muzzy rustling nearby, it all said otherwise.

  He wanted to believe there was nobody else with him. He was only tired, half of him was somewhere else.

  Until, he realised there were roots phasing in and out of his skin.

  He was suddenly walking.

  And he couldn't stop.

  He tried his best to fight it, exhaustion took the better of him. At first, he thought whatever it was forcing him through the roads was having him leave. Instead, it was a march into a demon’s mouth. He was getting further into Gwyndel.

  Someone was walking by him, again in the corner of his eye. For some reason, Daifan chose not to look again. He stopped walking at some point, the roots receded, and he finally had control over his own legs.

  “Get down, to the side!” The voice whispered.

  Daifan didn't question it, and ran to the corner of an alleyway. A few Humans, carrying the same things that girl earlier held, moved on by.

  They were dragging someone.

  “Get off, you round-eared gits!”

  It was Darez.

  “Why are we dragging her?” One woman asked.

  A tattooed man, his accent local, said, “She’s a designated person of interest. Penn wants to deal with them.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “What makes her so important?”

  “She has sold plenty of my lot across the mainland.”

  “And I’ll bloody do it again!” Darez cried. She tried her best to wriggle out of her ropes. Daifan should have felt amused, he didn’t feel a thing.

  Once they passed. The voice spoke again, “Move.”

  Daifan tightly shut his eyes. He just wanted to go. “No?”

  “I must know what is happening. Go!”

  “I— I’m not doing th—” His mouth suddenly shut. Daifan moved forwards.

  It was like he was somewhere else as he moved. He knew what was happening, but he couldn't think anything against it.

  There was a fallen statue, bodies littered on the ground. He couldn’t shut his eyes, he couldn’t pretend they weren’t there.

  Multiple people, most of them Elves - soldiers, aristocrats, mages - were all forced to the floor, huddled together. Darez was dumped with them.

  Someone moved forward. It was a man, strolling like he had all the time in the world.

  He held up something small and metal to his eyes, facing those on the ground at the same time. “Smile for the camera!” The man placed it down, before holding it up in the air with his back to the Elves. “Hang on, let me get you lot in frame!”

  There was something… even from this distance, he felt off. Daifan felt cold, like staring at what was meant to be a corpse walking.

  “He is not supposed to be here!” The voice shouted.

  Another tattooed man, this one in armour, stood next to him. He seemed satisfied. “I must say, I never thought the Raiders would ever do so much to Gwyndel in a thousand years!”

  “Well, I always wanted to burn down Bristol. This is the closest thing to it, unfortunately.”

  The armoured man laughed, pretending he knew what he was talking about. He turned to the group on the floor, he frowned. “Doesn't feel very nice when it’s you on the ground, is it?!”

  “I have money!” An aristocrat shouted. “I-if you let me go, I can access my funds on the mainland, as much as you need!”

  “It’s always cash with you people,” the dead man said. “Baron Gerendeil said the same thing, he’s lying in a ditch a hundred miles away.”

  A bald man arrived, holding a large, narrow box in hand, with a pipe sticking out from the top.

  “Ta, Vadim.” The dead man picked up the box. “I hope this means the Green Raiders are on board with us?”

  “Of course,” the tattooed man remarked.

  Liquid was poured onto the Elves, the dead man told everyone to stand back.

  Something grabbed Daifan on his shoulder. He turned, another one of those weapons had just fringed towards his forehead.

  He was dragged out into the open, plopped right next to the huddled Elves. “We’ve got a bit of an audience!” The man pulling him shouted.

  “His ears pointy?” The dead man asked.

  Daifan yelped as his hair was ripped off over his ears.

  “Human as the day he was born!”

  Darez’s bloodshot eyes gazed into the boy’s. She smiled. “Look at that, the governor’s kid!”

  “What?” Daifan asked. “N— no, I— I’m—”

  “Yeah, his family owned that marble manor just down the road! Very wealthy!”

  “No, wait!” The slightly slurred voice of a girl cried.

  Daifan managed to look up, it was that same girl from earlier.

  “Is Makka Pakka a friend of yours, Oriyan?” The dead man said.

  “He’s not— he won’t hurt anybody!”

  The dead man then gestured something, Daifan was let go. The girl helped him up, he was taken away from the huddled Elves.

  “Oriyan, I’ll handle him,” the dead man said.

  The girl cursed to herself. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she whispered to Daifan. She cracked another smile before stepping to the side.

  “Do not move,” the voice told him.

  “Oh, right, forgot. Light them up.” The dead man threw his small metal thing to the bald one. “Vadim, use my phone, take pictures! And make them presentable, pretend you’re gunning for a Pulitzer!”

  He crouched in front of Daifan. The girl was standing watching him, like a mother animal over her brood.

  “So,” the man said, his demeanour oddly calmer, “Hi, I’m Penn. My friends call me Nathan, sometimes— sometimes Natty. I don’t know why I’m telling you that.”

  Daifan simply stared, he couldn’t move, and it wasn’t because of the voice.

  “Anyways, tell me, who are you? Why were you watching us? Any rational Human being would’ve run off by now.”

  Daifan kept staring, feeling as his spine seemingly froze.

  “Say something!”

  The Elves were set alight. They screamed. Some tried to crawl, reaching for something, anything that would end their suffering.

  Some collapsed not long after. Daifan’s heart thumped fast.

  “Hey,” Penn said, “Don’t look at the bonfire, look at me.”

  “It’s Daifan,” the boy finally blurted. “I’m Daifan.”

  “Now, you don’t have that—” He put on a voice. “—West Country accent now, do you? No luck catching them swans then?” He switched back to normal, clearly disappointed in himself. “God, that was dire. Moving on, where are you from?”

  Daifan glanced back at the bodies, still in flame whilst the bald one, Vadim, continued to hold the metal thing up to his eyes.

  Penn groaned. “I’m not going to cook you. If it were anyone else with you, maybe. Just talk, I’m a bit knackered from dealing with kids the past week.”

  “Penn!” Vadim shouted. “The scouts report the Imperial Army are marching from up north!”

  The man tutted. “Pack your things up. Grab the bin dust— the yellow powder. Back on the boat! Spread the word!”

  The main Green Raider shouted, “We can hold them off with our steel!”

  “No! Not doing that! We only have so much ammo!”

  “What was the point of all of this, then?!”

  “Advertising!” Penn laughed. He turned to the girl. “Grab the boy, bring him to the boat.”

  “Is he a— we’re treating him as a prisoner?” She asked.

  “No, think of him as a make-a-wish kid, just without the cancer.” He turned to the boy. “Do you have cancer?”

  Daifan averted his gaze briefly before staring back at the dead man. “N-no?”

  “Never know, you never know. Could have leukaemia even at your age and never know it.”

  “This man is insane,” the voice said, probably the only thing Daifan could agree with it on.

  “New files arrived, sir,” Harrison came in.

  Greer had his back to the younger operative, staring at the board on the wall. Pinned pictures and articles covering up the whole thing. “Just put them on the— hang on, pass them to me, Tim.”

  Harrison nodded, the files were in Greer’s hands. “I also wanted to say, we got word from Team Foxtrot, the Elven offensive has forced them to abandon their posts.“

  Greer’s eyes looked up from the papers. “Are they going back home or what?”

  “Last I heard, they retreated to a safe house near Gwyndel.”

  There was a pause from Greer. “There aren’t any controlled fissures near Bristol. They’ll have to make their way to the one in Somerset. We can’t do anything. Get me some pins and threads?”

  Harrison nodded and did so. Greer stuck up a few more articles and reports on the wall. “Any progress been made?”

  “One of our teams just reported back from Cardai’s big morgue. You know Baron Gerendeil? Fat guy?”

  “Looks like Danny DeVito?”

  Greer squinted, a bit baffled, but he shook it off. “Sure. So, the body of his wife just got examined. Found a 9mm bullet lodged in her brain, what was still in that skull of hers, of course.”

  “Jesus,” Harrison muttered.

  “Wasn’t just her, bunch of the Elven guards too. We didn’t get examinations, but witnesses report they had a similar end. Seemed to have been a group of Humans armed with what we could only guess are automatic rifles.”

  Harrison’s eyes widened. “Huh?!”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “S-so are we dealing with a fucking armed militia now?!”

  “Most likely. Other teams haven’t had anything out of the ordinary yet. Langhall’s already been notified, we should be getting more operatives before the end of the month.”

  “We might be having firefights before the end of the month! We’re not the bleeding army!”

  “Oh, keep your head on. You’ll live.” Greer pointed with one of the pins still in his hand to a picture of yellow. “The whole thing has me developing a bit of a theory though. That’s being trafficked out of this world, through fissures we clearly haven’t identified. And now, we’ve just had a hit-and-run.”

  “What are you getting at, sir?”

  “Well, this isn’t the only event we’ve had. A month ago, just on Morai..” Greer pointed to the map about where Dover would have been on Earth. “One of the Elven Generals got blown to bits in his tent. Culprit was captured, revealed to be part of the Banner. Turned out, he most likely used a hand grenade.”

  “The grenade wasn’t confirmed by us, though. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure everyone back home would’ve been riled up by now.”

  “Wasn’t confirmed, no. That’s because we barely looked further into it - too late now. Still, Humans rarely practice magic on this island, gunpowder hasn’t reached here yet—”

  A knock banged at the door. Harrison pulled out a handgun from the side, Greer pulled the curtain over the bulletin board before slowly running towards the door.

  Another operative, O’Donnell, had stood from the top of the stares, a semi-automatic aiming at the door. He nodded to Greer after pulling the bolt.

  “There is dung over the front!” A voice, sounding oddly German, shouted from the other side of the door.

  Greer eyed through the hole, his gun just behind his back. He then gestured the other two operatives to stand down.

  He opened the door. Alanus stumbled in, his cloak drenched from the rain.

  “Didn’t expect you to be back in Antalm so early,” Greer said.

  The Elf took a few breaths, leaning on one of the small tables. “Penalm is lost.”

  Greer was not at all shocked. “Do you want to sit down?”

  Once Alanus made himself comfortable in the study, Harrison arrived holding a tray of mugs and a kettle of tea. “It’s milk-tea, I’m afraid, mate. I don’t know if your body’ll be used to it.”

  “I will live,” Alanus said.

  “You didn’t get me one, Tim?” Greer raised his eyebrow.

  “You didn’t ask, sir,” Harrison replied. He left the room.

  “Dick.” Greer muttered, then leaned on the table. “Are you okay, Alan?”

  “I had to take the gate in Denaralm. The house is gone. All my books, my documents… they razed it all down.”

  “What about Daifan? He isn’t…” Greer took a breath in. “You know.”

  Alanus snorted, it seemed like a snort, at least. “There was no body, just a sack of our belongings. The bindgate was activated, I know that.”

  “Well, that’s not all too bad, then. Figure out where he went?”

  The old sorcerer shook his head. “The boy is too young to have been accurate with his destination. He likely would have aimed to come here.”

  “But he hasn’t?”

  “No. He could be anywhere in the world. May even be in yours. Or, there is a chance he would be stuck in the gate for some time, his journey would have been delayed and it would feel as if no time had passed at all.”

  “Like he’s in stasis?”

  “You could say that.”

  Greer nodded. “Have you figured what you’re going to do now?”

  Alanus pulled out a piece of paper from his robes, the boy’s face was sketched on it. The words blurred into English for Greer: WANTED - 2000 GOLD.

  “I still have associates in Witaenal, this is a large price for something so small,” he said. “You will have rumours here or there.”

  Greer tapped the table with his fingers, before standing back up. “Wish I could help.” He pulled the curtain, exposing the board. “But our resources have been a bit stretched.”

  “I understand. Do you wish any assistance of mine?”

  “Erm…” Greer eyed the photo of the Baron’s wife. “Well, situation’s gotten worse.”

  Alanus shot from his chair. “Amarna?”

  “You know her? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve pulled this back so earl—”

  “Do not apologise, Jamie. It is okay.” He continued to stare at the photo. “She was one of the more gentle ones in government. I worked with her father before… well, before I did everything. What happened to her?”

  “Shot in the head. Armed raid on her caravan, all the guards were shot, but most of her servants were left alive.”

  “Who were the assailants?”

  “Over half a dozen people - rebels most likely. Some recorded a ‘cold feeling’ from the one who shot Amarna.”

  Alanus took his eyes off the board. “There is another from Earth here.”

  “Or, it could be one of the other universes colliding with this one.”

  “No, it can only be Earth. You are the only realm without souls.”

  Greer scoffed. “Bit harsh, don’t you think? We already know some sort of organisation’s meddling here, nothing’s been disclosed to us.”

  “What about Interpol? You said they were investigating.”

  There was a pause from the operative. He looked back in the files. “Oh God, forgot to look through the rest of this.”

  He spread the papers over the table. Alanus ended up scouring through the documents with him. It lasted a few minutes, much of it was Greer muttering the words to himself, Alanus didn’t even understand much of the context in those papers.

  Eventually, he found something. “It seems we have found our culprit. Have you heard of the Hand?”

  “Let me have a look.” Greer took the paper. “This should’ve been at the front of the folder.” He continued to read. “The Ruka, the hand. They’re a Russian crime syndicate. They traffic arms, drugs, people, in and out of Russia. That’s… well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

  “They are only criminals.”

  “Yeah, only criminals. From a country where any information either never gets out or contradicts itself. It doesn’t help with the war going on there.”

  “It is a start, though. Surely, you can come up with some theories.”

  “They’re middlemen for middlemen,” Greer said. “Could be working with someone else here, we can’t conclude anything. Then again, they have the resources, they’re able to get past all the international roadblocks. And with all the chaos in their country they’re bound to have someone with knowledge on fissures. But my main issue is, why Witaenal? They could have kept to Russia, they’ve got binddust in eastern Iera, don’t they?”

  “Contempt,” Alanus stated. “You say rebels attacked with firearms? Perhaps they are on one end of this horrid trade. They raid for binddust from the Elves, in turn they get your weapons.”

  Greer was quiet for some moments. “I think… I think I need a cigarette.”

  Oriyan sat after coming onto the boat, she took the boy, Daifan, down under the deck. Everyone rushed on board, it sounded like a hassle above. People barged down, stacking the crates of binddust on top of one another.

  Daifan was sat down on a net hammock, Oriyan next to him.

  “Ar— are you… are you okay?” She asked him.

  There was the thin smell of alcohol on her breath, the boy was noticing. “Fine,” he said.

  “I don’t— there isn’t— oh Gods, where has my head gone?” She nearly dropped her weapon on the floor. That would have been embarrassing.

  Nella moved down the stairs, she eyed Oriyan on the verge of collapse. “Are you okay there?”

  Oriyan laughed. She had no clue why, but she just did. “I’m… oh, I’m swell.”

  Penn then climbed down after. Oriyan was half-expecting Jigam, probably the Ieran Emperor himself to follow on.

  “We all good down here, lads and lasses?! Heading off in a couple minutes!”

  “How long is that?!” Someone shouted.

  “A minute is sixty seconds!”

  “That doesn’t help!”

  “This bloody translator,” Oriyan overheard. “We’re off in a bit! Happy?!” Penn was about to head back up top, before seeing the girl lying her head on the hull. “Oh, Jesus, are you pissed?!”

  “She certainly looks like it,” Nella said.

  “Nella, babysit Iggle Piggle and Buzz Lightweight here, would you?”

  “Aye, Penn.”

  The boat rocked, the sails would have been unfurled. And off the whole group was along the river. From what Oriyan heard, there was only one death amongst them, and that was from a building toppled over.

  Nella sat next to Oriyan, rubbing her back. “Have a lie down when we get back.”

  It was weird, like a million thoughts and feelings suddenly rose from the waters of her mind. She felt like screaming, crying, laughing, even coughing.

  She chose crying.

  Right onto Daifan’s shoulder.

  He didn't even protest, he just accepted it. There was a light tap from his arm on her back.

  “I want to go home,” she squeaked.

  “You didn’t even have much of the bottle,” Nella remarked. She said to the boy, “Pass me that bucket there?”

  Before anything could happen, Oriyan threw up over Daifan. He stood up, silently staring in horror.

  “Christ, I said pass the bucket!” Nella shouted at him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be…” Oriyan tried to get her breath. “Don’t— d— you’re… you’re mean— you’re a meanie, Nella.”

  The rest of her lunch abruptly came out, thankfully belching into the bucket. She wiped her mouth, then continued to cry.

  Daifan sat back down beside her, the sick on his arm staining Oriyan’s own clothes. It was probably his little bit of revenge. Or maybe, he was just trying to be nice.

  Her head ended up on Nella’s shoulder. The crying stopped. The snoring began.

  “Witaenal most certainly has fallen from grace,” the voice told Daifan. “Perhaps it was always like this, and I only saw through a silver veil. I only ever conversed with the priests, never the common-folk.”

  Daifan tried his best to ignore her.

  All the other Humans in here had sat themselves down. Some were proud, some were tired, none were regretful. Aside from Oriyan herself, she seemed… she seemed like the only ‘Human’ here. The only one with any empathy, albeit very caged in all of this.

  Oriyan continued to snore next to him. It wasn’t the most ideal situation. Today was like having fifty different hands on his throat, but, for once, he felt like he could finally breathe.

  “Enemy archers on the port side!” Someone above exclaimed.

  “Go up, I must see!” The voice ordered.

  Daifan remembered the roots, he didn’t want them to come back. He headed up the stairs to Nella’s dismay.

  Immediately, he could no longer hear once a chorus of bangs followed. His ears rang, he fell to the ground, watching as everyone aimed their weapons to shore. He couldn’t see what they did, they just pulled something, and the whole thing would vibrate, sometimes sending them back.

  “Those have no place here!” The voice cried.

  Arrows darted past, some hit the deck, some hit a few people.

  Daifan was dragged by Nella back under. He didn’t hear anything she said, but her lips went something along the lines of, ‘You’re a complete idiot’.

  He was back near the hammock now, Oriyan had taken up all the space inside it. Slumbering like a baby on a pile of bile-covered rocks.

  ‘Do not go anywhere,’ Nella probably told him. Everyone ran up, weapons in hand.

  Daifan’s hearing faded back in. The boat suddenly tilted, it was turning around.

  “They are going towards the ocean,” the voice said. “An odd move.”