Chapter 10

The Greatmage condemns Guyanno to the Great Chasm, and the rest of the Greatwinds are left to either rot or prosper. Fire will feed either.

Chapter 10

           Zephyra’s hands were nearly bloody, her nails gnawed down to the cuticle on nearly every finger. She stood in front of her mother, who held her with a firm grasp. Gale draped her arms over Zephyra’s shoulders and pushed her hands into the girl’s sternum, trying to bring her even closer. Tears lingered in Gale’s eyes. The refusal to let them fall was almost unbearable. She had been mostly quiet the few days prior to this condemnation, only talking to her daughter and ignoring all others who approached her. It was the only way she could think of to look strong. There was no way to use physical or mental prowess. They were prisoners in Leonia, the deepest and strongest hold in the entire realm, more untouchable, she thought, than even The Tear. To resist would be folly, but to give in would be even worse. So she remained stonewalling.

           Zephyra’s ducts had to be nearing dry. Her tears trickled day and night, and the flow steadied as the last hour approached. She was too young to bear the mysterious strength of a woman, but old enough to fully understand the situation. Her life was now a game to her captors, and the one who scared her most stood too close in too tense a moment. Wyland Ness did as he pleased, and while it was never anything out of line, he still terrified Zephyra. That was the man who stood next to her, as they waited for her father’s condemnation. She didn’t dare turn and acknowledge him, but his eyes burned into the back of her head from time to time, and it was a feeling she had come to know and hate.

           Gale’s boys acted as boys would. They looked upset, but it was more about anger than sadness. If they were fools they would fight to the death in the name of their family, but that would be folly. Emotions were etched deeper into Gustavo’s face. It was evident that he felt he had failed everyone. He was to take care of his family in his father’s absence, but that was impossible. Samiel was hard to read. He wanted no part of this. There was no fierceness behind his eyes, neither sadness nor rage. And rather than staring into space or keeping his eyes pointed to the ground, he turned his head around and around in every direction. Perhaps he was in shock over the crowd that had gathered, or perhaps he was envious of the stir one man could cause with an execution. Greywind kept his eyes on the boys as he stood behind them. His feebleness was evident, but he would die in an instant if something went awry and anyone tried to touch the remainder of his family that still clung on to a chance at freedom.

           On either side of the three Greatwinds stood Antaleone and Alheena, looking to lose patience as they waited for the unveiling. Skalla was by her niece, looking ever forward, marveling at the edge of the chasm, wondering what lay at the bottom and just how high the pile of bones had risen. It was Alheena who first pointed at the Greatmage when he came out of a nearby door. There was only darkness behind him, and he walked to the center of the pulpit by himself, a rarity for sure. The daughter of fire pointed, and all the other eyes followed. The crowd behind went from rumbling to buzzing to silent by the time their Greatmage reached the second tier of Leone’s Ledge and stood still.

           “It has been some time since we’ve gathered here,” he started, and the area remained silent. In truth, it had been some time since he’d left Undershadow. “I welcome all the mages of the Blazelands and those in the crowd who chose to be here. It gives me great joy to know that even those from distant dwellings came here to pay tribute to our ways and punish those who sway from them.”

           Where other such gatherings would expect a rousing cheer from the crowd, this one remained quiet. The Greatmage looked at Gale, looked into her, and let his eyes shrink down to slits as his mouth curved upwards. “Bring forth the condemned!”

           From the same door came Arroyo and Ayorro, Guyanno’s arms locked in theirs. His legs moved uncertainly, so the two men had to guide and nearly carry him. The bag over his head hid his face, but whatever clothes Guyanno wore before were now little more than shreds. His body mass was not quite as large. His skin looked greasy, and filth covered his bare feet. His steps faltered a few times as he climbed the stairs.

           “Father!” Zephyra yelled. She wasn’t going to move, but Gale pulled her tighter anyway.

           “Silence, girl,” Ness said behind them. Gale offered him a cold, unforgiving glance which only made him grin.

           What attention Zephyra brought to herself was soon back on Guyanno as the two men forced him onto his knees beside the Greatmage. The two royal guards kept their hands on his shoulders to steady him and keep him from trying to run. The Greatmage himself removed the hood, and it was obvious Guyanno hadn’t seen the light in days, even if it was mostly shrouded by dark, sooty clouds and plumes of smoke.

           Guyanno took a few seconds to adjust and then looked straight ahead, between the two groups formed in front of him on either side of the pulpit. He saw the crowd behind the assemblies. It was huge in mass, and dense. The onlookers held their words and stared at him. Guyanno overcame the shock of that and finally he saw his family. The Greatmage’s family flanked his two sons, a sight that made him nauseous. Samiel’s eyes were on the Greatmage, a disconcerting fact, but he figured his younger son perhaps wasn’t as strong as his older. Gustavo met his father’s eyes. Guyanno nodded, and Gustavo did the same, his face serious, but the lump in his throat bobbed up and down as the emotion he held back tried to break through.

           He looked over at his daughter and wife next. They were flanked by mages of high rank and repute. He spotted Bastion Antrum and Wyland Ness next to Gale. Then he watched his daughter wipe tears from her face, but more came, and he wanted nothing more than to hug her. Gale held their daughter, and he imagined standing behind her in the same position, his lips finding the nape of her neck to place butterfly kisses as the bumps spread across her sensitive skin. He couldn’t meet her eyes, though. He knew he had never looked so weak, and it was embarrassing enough that everyone could see him. He didn’t want to look at her seeing him, seeing into him, seeing through to what little remained.

           “You may come forward for your last words,” the Greatmage said, meeting Gale’s eyes again. The woman stepped forward, Zephyra clutching her hand. “Only you!”

           At that, Wyland gripped up both of Zephyra’s arms. His fingers were like spider legs, but they dug into her like vices. Gale let go of her daughter and gave her a reassuring look before glancing again at Wyland. The mage released his grasp, but lingered eerily behind the girl, ready to strike again if needed.

           Her legs were shaking, and she hoped her dress hid that. She didn’t want Guyanno to see her fear. She wanted him to think she’d be strong and safe when he was gone. It was hard to display. The steps felt much higher than they were, and she looked out at the enormity of the crowd from her new height. Her heart dropped, and the heaviness of it suddenly brought her to a new reality. These were her last minutes with her husband, and she didn’t know what to say.

           “Guy…” slipped from her lips as she fell to her knees in front of him. Her fingers found his skin, and it felt as dirty as it looked. The scruff had grown into a beard. Finally, with the urging of her hand, she forced their eyes to meet.

           “Gale,” he said, and his voice sounded as weak as he was. “Are you okay? The kids?”

           “Yes,” she said, nodding her head at the hopelessness of the question. “Yes, I’m fine. We’re fine. You. I love you.”

           “I love you, too,” he said. He was finding his voice again, though he kept it at a whisper as he let his forehead move forward to lean on hers. “You’ll be free soon. Evest won’t stand for this. They’ll come for you. I have more strength than it looks.”

           She believed it as little as he seemed to, but she smiled, and let out a deep breath. It was fresh, and Guyanno breathed it in, closing his eyes as he did so to remember this moment. He moved even closer, and their noses rubbed tenderly before he moved even closer yet. Their lips met, and lingered, and danced for a bit. They could taste each other’s tears. They flowed freely from closed eyes, and in that dark silence of that moment they only had each other.

           “Let the flames rise!” the Greatmage shouted.

           Arroyo pulled Gale away forcibly and nearly shoved her down the steps. Gale moved backwards to regain her place behind her daughter. She only watched Guyanno, and he only watched her. But all around, mages burst flames forth into the air, lighting torches and pyres and the sky itself. This was when the crowd burst also, their shouts for justice and their jeers towards the Greatwinds finding their ears. They tried to tune it out as best they could, but it was impossible. The situation itself was overwhelming.

           The two escorts brought Guyanno to his feet and pushed him up another set of steps to the third tier of the pulpit, wide enough for just one pair of feet. At the same time four young mages brought a huge mass of rope forth, and then separated. One took a single knotted end up to Guyanno while the others dropped the rest of the heap at the bottom of the steps before him. Every pair of eyes seemed to notice the rest of the rigging then. They followed the rope up and around. It weaved from wall to rooftop to wall and so on, tied around metal hooks until it dropped down and sat in another heap by the first tier. The Greatmage stood next to the rope. It had to be hundreds of feet long in total. He held it up as the crowd cheered heartily. Arroyo and Ayorro stood on the second tier, just below Guyanno. They watched with the same stoic anticipation as the thousands who had gathered.

           “On this day!” the Greatmage shouted. “Guyanno Greatwind is condemned to the Great Chasm by decree of Antaleone Antrum the forty-ninth, Greatmage of Blazelands!” The roars intensified, and the small flame rising in the Greatmage’s free hand grasped the rope. He whispered words in a hushed, foreign tongue, and the rope caught. It burnt slowly. “Do as you will, Guyanno! You are free!”

           Guyanno looked at his family, and the burning rope, which would soon burn all the way to the last hook and snap. He clutched onto it as best he could, wrapping it around him to hopefully provide some sort of steadiness. With one last look at his sons and daughter, his elderly father, and his grieving wife, he dropped off the edge of the pulpit, off the edge of the chasm, and let his feet guide him down.

           The mass of rope on the second tier lessened and lessened as Guyanno brought more and more of it with him. But the rope burnt from the other end, from wall to ceiling, from hook to hook, slowly and torturously. The mages and the whole of the Blazelands in attendance marveled over the flames skulking across the dying twine. Gale only watched the mass of rope, the slack the enemy had given Guyanno, the toy in this despicable game. She looked away only for a second to see her daughter staring much the same as she was. Greywind also stared at the mass, waiting for it to disappear off the cliff, as did Gustavo. Samiel’s eyes were on the other end, watching the fire move.

           The mass was about half of what it was in the beginning. The minutes felt like hours. The burning rope neared its last hook. And then suddenly the mass of rope started disappearing quicker, too quickly. Gale brought a hand to her mouth, imaging Guyanno missing his footing and falling to his death at the bottom of the darkness. Alheena and Skalla shared a glance of confusion. And then the rope burned around the final hook that supported Guyanno’s weight. The flaming rope was no longer the excitement. Rather, the rest of the rope would soon spill over the edge. Sure enough it continued to vanish. Its lit end danced up the steps to the third tier and then disappeared into the darkness to meet Guyanno’s lifeless body at the bottom. The cheering continued as the Greatwinds stared at the edge.

           “Return them to their rooms,” the Greatmage told some of the nearby guards. They separated the Greatwinds. They went without resistance, Gale going last. She passed the pulpit, guards pulling her along. Her eyes lingered. They lingered on the edge, where she had just watched her husband fall, and she could feel her heart falling in after him.

            They laid in the dark for hours, in silence. Gale and Zephyra were alone, without the man who made their lives complete. It wasn’t much different from the nights they spent snuggled together in Whisperwinds. Guyanno hadn’t spent a night there with them for years, always having his duties to perform instead. But it felt different, of course. Gale would never again receive his letters by blackbird. She wouldn’t know in the back of her head that she would touch him again. It angered her to think that their last moments together were in front of their most passionate enemies. Still, she was thankful that she had it. Never would she forget the feeling of his lips, no matter how dry and quivering they were. His smell was almost nauseating, and it lingered in her hair a bit. Still, she sniffed at it often as she lay in her bed.

           Next to her, Zephyra had removed herself from her mother. They lay entwined for some time before separating. It seemed they both wanted to be alone. All they could hear was each other’s breathing. At times it was labored, but more often it was calm and consistent. Their own minds held them prisoners, more so than the room they were locked in and the city that surrounded them. Guards left them in their bed chamber with the candles on the walls and flat surfaces lit, as always. Gale blew them all out herself, leaving them in considerable darkness. The last thing she wanted to see was a flame, and the last thing she wanted to feel was the heat from it. And there was no wind in the room. There was nothing to make the flames dance, make them realize they were mortal and vulnerable, extinguishable. It was as if all the wind in Leonia had gone down the chasm, too.

           Gale pondered if new winds would rush in from the south. Surely, the greatest army Whisperwinds could amass would be no match for even Leonia, much less the whole of the Blazelands. Somehow, someone had to know that Gale and Zephyra were missing. Evest would not let that stand. He would not allow his cousin’s wife and children to remain captives. If he couldn’t defeat the Greatmage with power, he could barter their release. Gale started thinking of things the Greatmage would accept in exchange for them. Every idea she thought of had some counterpoint to put it out of her head. Would Evest ever trade away a capable man with the skills of a mage or seer for a widow, two untrained boys and a girl on the brink of womanhood? Would he give up his riches, his spoils? Gale didn’t know, because Gale barely knew Evest, the lord. She only knew Evest, the young man that lived within before his lordship became his defining trait. It was easy to trust in a friend, a relative. It was hard to trust in a lord.

           The clinking of the key in the lock was loud in the quiet room. Zephyra stayed still on the bed, but Gale sat up and watched the door intently. The Antamage walked in and let a few small flames escape his hands. They floated casually to the candles, which lit again with new life. Wyland Ness and Bastion Antrum followed behind him. Arguably, these were the three strongest and most influential fire mages underneath the Greatmage. And they stood before her, three men with the capability to kill with as little as the snapping of fingers. Gale gulped deeply, her throat suddenly dry.

           “Why have you all come?” she asked. There was no fear in her voice. She had been scared enough, and was becoming numb to it.

           “It’s time for Zephyra to come with us,” Bastion said in a deep voice.

           “With who? To where?” she asked, and fear gripped her again. What else could these animals do?

           “To Scorchfort, as I mentioned when we spoke last,” Wyland answered. His thin lips curled up. “She will be under my watchful eyes.”

           “You’re not taking her anywhere,” Gale said indignantly, foolishly.

           “Zephyra Greatwind!” Antaleone shouted. “To your feet.”

           The young girl sat up and rose to her feet, robotically. She looked over at her mother and saw uncertainty in her eyes. “Mama?”

           “Please, no! I’ll do anything!” Gale pleaded, rising to her knees in the bed.

           “Wyland…” Antaleone said, nodding at the girl.

           The mage moved to the side of the bed, and with his hands on her arms much like they were at the condemnation, pushed her forward, towards the door.

           “NO!” Gale yelled, crying again. “At least let me say goodbye, you… you…”

           “You’ve had hours to say your goodbyes,” Bastion said, turning away next, following Wyland and Zephyra out. He turned to look at Gale again. “Surely you didn’t think we’d keep the remaining Greatwinds together, did you?”

           “Zephyra! ZEPH! I love you!” Gale said, and she fell into the mattress, burying her face and wailing into it. She raised her head up again to look at Antaleone.

           “Why? Why my daughter? She is no mage… no seer… she is of no value to you.”

           Antaleone looked down at Gale, and in the sternest of voices said, “You must not know dear Wyland Ness very well. Your Zephyra… she is the type of person he considers to be of… highest value.”

           Those words stung Gale. Antaleone knew, and he watched her cringe for a few moments before turning to leave, locking the door behind him. In her despair Gale fell back into the bed, but only for a moment. Her sons entered her head. She shot up like a geyser.

           “WAIT!” she shouted to no one. “My boys! What will you do with my boys?!”

           No one answered her, and no one would, as she got to her feet. Around the room she sauntered, blowing out the candles again one by one, hating the warmth as her face came close to each one. She returned to her bed, as alone as a woman could be.

           There was no sense of time, or space, or reality. When he woke he wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious. He wasn’t even sure if he was alive or dead. Was this the afterlife? Darkness surrounded him and silence drowned him. Hell couldn’t be much worse, even with the most vivid imagination. Perhaps there would be fire, but all of that was high, high above him. This was deeper than the hell of Leonia. It was void of life.

           His last memories were scaling down the chasm wall, further and further. He would look up occasionally, and the sky became a crack, and then a slit. And then he lost his footing, and his downward climb became a scrambling fall. He bumped off the wall, scratching and cutting and bruising himself against the unforgiving stone. His feet dangled awkwardly and searched desperately for a footing, but he couldn’t find any. He didn’t look up after that. He couldn’t. By the time he regained himself the rope must have just reached the end of its burning point. It gave completely. He fell again. There was no way of knowing how far he had made it down or how much further it was to the bottom. He remembered closing his eyes, hoping it would only be a few seconds, and then he pictured his wife’s face, and relished in the air he cut through and the way it felt on his skin, and then it was all black.

           He lay still for some time, nearly an hour, before even trying to move. His body ached. His head spun. Surely he was bleeding here and there, but there was no way to inspect or treat the wounds, not in this environment. Rock lay underneath him, and it was just as still. His mind dwelled on his family, on his sons staying strong and his daughter looking lost. And then he thought of Gale. He missed her most of all, and he wondered if that made him a terrible father. That thought pushed its way out as he remembered her, and smiled. It was more than missing. It was deeper, as deep in the earth as he. And then, after that time of stillness and longing, he sat up, letting out a loud grunt. Perhaps he wasn’t as broken as he originally thought. It wasn’t until he got to his feet that the pain really made itself present. Once his joints started moving, they showed him just how inflamed they were. His legs felt worst, having taken most of the beating from the wall during his descent. The lower back was nearly as bad. It was likely that’s what took the majority of the landing. It wasn’t broken, perhaps not even fractured. Still, it was enough to make him wince with every movement. He knew that if he moved he wouldn’t recover. He knew that if he stayed he would die. And he wasn’t ready for that yet.

           Clearly there was no way of knowing if anyone had ever made it to the bottom of the chasm alive. Many of the condemnations were made after the guilty party was already dead. Some of them were hanged and lowered on their noose. Others’ throats were slit, while others still suffered excruciatingly long tortures until death mercifully took them. The chasm swallowed their souls and condemned them to darkness and loneliness. On the rare occasion that one man had accomplished enough in his life, they were treated as Guyanno was. In the eyes of the Greatmage, this was a gift. In the eye of the accused, it was a curse, a prolonging of the inevitable, a kiss from death that lingered too long before swallowing them whole.

           After just a few steps on his newfound feet, he heard a familiar crunch underfoot. It was bone, most likely, but Guyanno still reached down to make sure. He had snapped a long one, perhaps a femur or rib. He felt around a bit in each direction until his hands finally felt the shape of a cold, thin skull. He let his fingers roll over the roundness of the top, travel down the concavity of the cheekbone to the upper jaw. The lower jaw was gone, whether in this life or the last unknown. Guyanno found an eye socket, and let his fingers trace the outline. He crossed over to the other, and as he completed the circumference he felt something warm and wet slither against the skin of his thumb. It made him jump, but only in his mind and heart. He kept his hand steady. The crawler made its way onto the top of his hand and he covered it with his other. A bloodworm, thick and warm and pulsing, sat cupped inside his hands. Guyanno was no stranger to survival, or the grosser side of the human pallet. His had never become sophisticated. Early in life, before he knew or was told any better, he became accustomed to nearly raw meat, sometimes of animals that others would never touch. Guyanno was no savage, especially in his later years, but he knew how to live like one, and he knew he had to.

           It felt like a boneless finger as he slid it into his mouth. He imagined it was his wife’s, and he let it glide between his lips and over his tongue. But it was long, longer than he had thought, so he bit it in half. Blood shot into the back of his throat and trickled down his chin. It was likely that of men and women who had been condemned. He wiped at it, and the sudden idea of cannibalism leapt into his head, consuming his thoughts. Gagging, he held half the bloodworm in his mouth, and then worked to regain his mind. It took a minute before he was able to chew, and then another minute to swallow. There was little flavor, and little mass, but it would provide some sort of energy. He took the other half down in much the same manner.

           And then he started walking. Every once and a while something cracked or squished beneath him, but he paid it no mind. He was no stranger to death, for he had dealt it countless times, and he was ready to embrace it. First, however, he wanted to take it on a wild chase through the chasm. His reasons were limited. He had no hope of finding humanity, or even an animal that could achieve near-human emotion. He had no hope of escaping, or seeing the sun again, or feeling water or wind, or hearing a bird. He just wanted to live a little longer, with his thoughts and the beating of his heart.

           He walked and walked, resting here and there against a wall or on a large rock that could serve as a seat. He found a few more bloodworms, storing some in his pocket while eating others. And so his life went on, in darkness and loneliness, but also in stride.

           It had been a couple of days since the Greatwind boys had seen a face other than each other’s. They were locked in their new room, the small slider installed in their door opening twice a day to give them some food and drink and fresh clothes. It was a miserably dull existence, but they couldn’t have lived it more differently.

           Gustavo was reserved and still. He ate the bare minimum before throwing his plate to the ground. He slept with fits of nightmares and spent his daydreaming hours much the same. His mind was a jumble of scarring images of his father’s condemnation. At times he felt like he was losing his mind, letting it get the best of him. There wasn’t much hope left. Of that he was certain. When he watched his brother, and on the rare occasion that they spoke, it infuriated him even more.

           Samiel paced the floor often. He slept through the night and woke refreshed. To occupy himself he’d move his fingers back and forth through the flames of the candles around the room and read the books on the shelves. He cleared his plate morning and night and eagerly wore the Leonian garments provided to them while his brother still wore his traditional Whisperwinds robes, tattered and dirty as they were. And when Samiel asked his older brother the same question hour after hour, they had nearly the same conversation. Except that this time a visitor interrupted them during it.

           “When will they let us go?”

           “Why do you think they will let us go?” Gustavo asked, unexcited to play this game again, but enjoying the interaction all the same. “Why would they let us return home, after what we’ve seen? We’re their prisoners.”

           “I don’t want to go home,” Samiel said.

           “Then where would you go?” Gustavo asked, shocked. Samiel hadn’t said that before.

           “I just want to be let out of this room.”

           “They’re not going to ever let us out of the room. If anything, father’s friends will take us from the room. That would be a blessing.”

           “You’re a fool, Gus.”

           “A fool?” he sounded offended.

           “Why would you want to be saved from this place? Father is gone, and mother is likely broken. You want to go back to that hole in her village? That’s not my fate.”

           “Our fates will likely be death.”

           Samiel turned away from him and started browsing through the leather-bound books again. Most of them were thick and of the historical genre. He fingered one for a bit and then pulled it out, scanning some pages.

           “What fate would you prefer?” Gustavo asked, both wanting and not wanting to know. He read the title of the book when Samiel pulled it to his chest: Alive, Ablaze. Gustavo stared at the book, and then let his gaze move upwards. His brother’s eyes were waiting for him.

           “To never feel the wind again, and find something that sparks my spirit, and let it grow.”

           Gustavo had no response. He didn’t imagine many people would. He just remained sitting on the foot of the bed, and watched his brother take his new book to the armchair in the corner. Samiel sat and dove into the first page. Gustavo started picking at his nails. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to see through it, to see the sky and let something bigger than the both of them give him an answer. And then the door unlocked. Jannish D’Urian entered.

           “Young Samiel,” he said, finding the boy in the chair. His eyes never even looked in Gustavo’s direction. “Please, come with me.”

           “Where are you taking him?” Gustavo asked.

           Still, Jannish did not look at him, but he did answer. “To a separate room. We think it unwise to keep you together.”

           “Don’t you dare hurt him,” Gustavo said, standing.

           Jannish looked at him then. “He’s the only one I wouldn’t hurt, if it was up to me.”            He then returned his attention to Samiel, who was on his feet, on his way to returning the book to its place on the shelf.

           “Wait, boy,” Jannish said. Samiel looked at him. “Alive, Ablaze?”

           Samiel only nodded, his face almost expressionless.

           “That is more than a book. It is a revelation. Bring it with you.”

           Samiel put the book at his hip. Jannish put a hand on his shoulder and said, “there will be a much larger selection of material available to you now, and an opinion if you seek it.”

           Gustavo watched as Jannish guided the younger boy into the hall. “Samiel…” he said, wanting his brother to say something, to look back, to acknowledge him in any way. But he did not. Jannish locked up behind him. Gustavo remained on the foot of the bed, his fingers intertwining in stress, his eyes staring at the door, his mind at more of a loss than before.

           Guyanno’s sense of time had all but disappeared. Even when he was brought from his cell before the amassed on the edge of the Great Chasm, he wasn’t sure what day it was. If that afternoon the sun hadn’t peeked through the dark clouds and soot that usually encased Leonia, he wouldn’t have known if it was day at all. On its path from southwest to northeast, the sun never crossed over the chasm. It rose on the edge of Whisperwinds. It set deep in Shadowsea. And this far down in the vein of the world, he knew that he would never see the sun. Still he hoped that he would see its rays. He hoped the dark clouds, void of rain in this arid region, would break long enough for him to tell if it were night or day. It hadn’t happened, at least not in his waking hours, since he woke on the rock floor.

           His first leg of the journey lasted for what he imagined was six hours. After that he slept against a smooth wall on the flattest bit of land he could find. It was a fitful sleep, and he woke up in an awkward position with a sore neck, but he felt refreshed after it. And that was how it had been, for what he guessed had to have been close to a week. Never did he move quickly, and so he was sure he never covered much ground in one drive. The cuts on his legs had mostly healed with no signs of infection. For that he was thankful. His back was still sore, as was his neck, all the time. Now, however, that was more likely from the lack of a mattress or pillow and less from the fall.

           His legs would start feeling wobbly and his knees weak, so he’d find another suitable resting place. His heady scent was probably the reason he was able to find food. It came to him after some time of stillness. Usually he’d snap the neck of a rockrat and tear through to its insides. Somehow, despite the levels to which he had sunk, it was unappetizing for him to eat the fur. He’d come to treat bloodworms as a snack of sorts, something he’d eat on the go or scrape off the ground to save for later if he had stepped on it. Each one had a different taste, depending on what it had fed on to gain its mass. It was like unwrapping a sweet without knowing exactly what it was. He tried a blackslug, but threw it up shortly thereafter, deciding to toss them away from then on. The large cockroaches had some crunch to them, but they were harder to find and hold onto. Spiders were common, but he knew some would be poisonous to consume. And so he ate rats and worms and once a bird that had perished over the chasm and fallen to the bottom. He felt himself shrinking, losing his mass slowly, but he had enough sustenance to stay on the go.

           He was taking his tenth walk along the bottom of the Great Chasm when he found a cave entrance. It was a strange thing, to find an opening in these walls. The last Earth Elemental pulled the world down around him, and it was long thought anything that might have existed before the collapse had been sealed. But this hole was not. This hole was likely created in the time after the collapse. Had one of the condemned found a way to start digging into the wall? How far could he have gotten? Or was there something lurking in these depths that no living eyes had ever seen? Was there a lair somewhere in that blackness? Both of these thoughts scared and exhilarated Guyanno. He wanted to know the answers to his questions. But first he waited.

           He found a level patch of ground almost directly across from the mouth in the wall. And there he waited, eating what came to him, but not letting sleep take him. He hoped he was shrouded in enough darkness to stay out of sight. There was no way of knowing if anything would come out of this place, or return to it. And so he sat against the wall, remaining vigilant, letting his body recover and pondering his next move.

            He could keep going or he could journey in. The first would offer further repetition. He could continue on his way, looking up through the cloudy slit above, waiting to see a shimmer of sun or stars. The Great Chasm was nearly an oval. Guyanno wondered if he could make it back to where he started. Then he realized he would have no way of knowing. This place was more and more of the same, collapsed earth that had settled into place over the centuries. At times he had to climb, up or down depending on the slope of the land. But always there was stone underneath his feet, impossibly high walls on both sides, and a sliver of hope above. It was sad to think that a hole in a wall offered more possibility and excitement than the current existence he endured. But that was the truth of it. The going would be much harder though. He would truly be in the dark then, relying solely on his senses of touch and smell. Should he give up sight for the chance of something new? If there was one positive of it, he’d die in a manner he would never see coming.

           He finally laid on his side and let himself sleep. When he woke some time later his eyes once again studied the entryway. He didn’t sit up or rise to his feet. He just remained on his side, his arm under his head, staring at the hole. What brought him up wasn’t the cave, or anything around him. It was above. It was the cawing of some bird. At first it sounded like only one. Guyanno then heard a full flock, and each bird’s call was painful to the ears. He hadn’t heard anything in days aside from the squishing of food in his mouth or falling pebbles underfoot. The birds flew overhead, but before they all passed they started to turn back. And it wasn’t long until they were circling him, at least twenty. They were blackbirds. A few dropped bread to the ground. One dropped a large backpack. Another dropped a bag that landed with a thud and turned onto its side to spill out with fruits. A blanket fell not five feet from Guyanno, and wrapped inside it was a bundle of clothes and leather sandals.

           The biggest blessing was not food or clothes or any other comfort. It was a windwhip, with a large ametrine windgem pressed into the pommel. Guyanno grabbed that first, and then gathered the food and the clothes and the blanket. He brought everything together, biting through a plump blood orange, the juices of which trailed down his chin until he stopped them with his fingers and sucked them dry. His backpack was full of food. His clothes felt clean and comfortable, and the bag with vials of medicinal cures and bandages meant he had the time and the means to dress his remaining wounds. There was life in him before, plenty of it, but now he felt human again. He stuck a dagger that had fallen into the belt around his hip. He put his pack on his back. He stared into the darkness of the cave, and it stared back at him with one blank, black eye. And then he walked across the floor of the Great Chasm, his hand firmly wrapped around the pommel of his new whip, and he entered the earth that had tried for some time to swallow him but had until now failed.

           He stepped into the unknown, and in this new darkness he smelled Zephyra’s rosy scent. He felt Samiel’s arms around him in an embrace and he saw Gustavo conjure his first cyclone. He tasted Gale, her mouth and skin and her wetness all at once. And he felt himself, his heart and his soul and his mind and his vigor. They were all pulsing, and they were all connected. He turned a couple of corners, rounded a few curves, and when he finally looked back, all he could see was nothing.