018 - Masquerade

Jacob looked around the new cell. It had more of a window than the first, still barred of course, and furniture. There was a table in the middle with a bench behind it, both made of the same rough, splintered wood. On the table was a simple wooden plate. He sat down and waited; whatever was coming, would come.

He had thought the group would by-pass Ironhaven in its flight, that he would never find out what the dying preacher had been talking about, never discover what door the key he had been slipped would fit. He thought about the dying man’s last words.

“The inner sanctum, the unholy truth...”

Jacob had questioned his faith, questioned Heaven, when maybe all along it had been guiding his steps, even his doubt. But it had led him to this place of contradiction and corruption, it had led him to his new companions, skittish Nelya, impetuous Cassidy, chimerical Frida.

He came to a conclusion. He would tell them about the key. Heaven had put them in his path, surely for a reason. He needed their help, as they doubtless needed his guidance.

At that moment the heavy door swung open and a robed figure stepped in. At first glance he thought it was a brother of the High, as he had been, but as his gaze travelled upwards it came to the mask. A grotesque distortion with bulbous cheeks and wide, pursed lips which brought to mind a frog’s face. It was carved of wood, well-polished and with a short, thick line marked down from the right eye in a darker stain.

Jacob thought he saw a flicker behind the eyeslits, a blink maybe, but nothing more.

“I am to be your facilitator.”

“My facilitator?”

“Think of me as a tool, to ease your participation in dialogue with this city.”

“You want me to talk? Ask me a question.”

The masked figure sat down. Jacob couldn’t decide if it was a man or a woman. His instincts said man, but the mask muffled its voice, the robes hid its shape. It placed a thick candle on the plate and lit the wick with a match struck on the stone floor. The candle gave off a pleasant odour that reminded him of the cooking pots of the village he had tended.

The mask tilted to one side, as if studying him, “How am I to know what questions need asking?”

Jacob frowned. He was not equipped to deal with this.

The smoke from the candles seemed to be thickening, filling the cell with harsh, billowing clouds that made his throat ache and his eyes stream. He tried to focus on the figure but the mask swam and disappeared in the writhing grey around them.

There was a shouting and hollering from all around, ecstatic whooping and hideous screams, the crackling of burning wood and straw. He saw the panicked faces of the villagers he had cared for, and the distorted, vicious faces of savages emerging from the smoke, faces painted with blue swirls and fresh red splatter. He hid. He cowered as the villagers died and through the capricious smoke he caught glimpses of slaughter, brief flashes of butchery.

Jacob sobbed. He cried out as he felt a touch on his shoulder. But it was only Brother Silas, trying to console him, to convince him to go to the city of Ashfall and talk to the High priests there.

No, he had already been to Ashfall and there were no answers there, only disappointment and disillusion. That was why he had set out alone, to find himself.

Brother Silas reminded Jacob that he had found more than himself, that he had found Cassidy, and Frida, and Nelya. He had. He was confused. Brother Silas had been head of his old mission, part of his old life, before he had met those three.

But Brother Silas would have seen what Jacob saw in them. The good swaddled in fears and distractions, the need for guidance.

Jacob told him all he knew about them.

There was sharp clack and clunk that cut into his hazy thoughts. He blinked his eyes open. His head was resting against the rough table and he straightened up, light-headed. The cell door swung open and as the masked figure left it looked back over its shoulder.

“Thank you, Brother Jacob.”

017 - Returned

Cassidy sat on the cold stone bench, her wrists manacled to the seat between her thighs. She leant back against the rough stone and tried to figure out the next move. Voices emanated from beyond the bars of her cell. She thought she could hear Frida's voice somewhere back down the hall.

Outside the bars of her cell thin grey tendrils of smoke whipped at the air and disappeared. They squirmed between the bars and collected around her feet like snakes. The stench filled her nostrils and made her feel sick. The offensively sweet aroma reminded her of the old caravans.

Distant footsteps began to echo along the corridor outside the cell. A figure, robed and hooded, arrived outside the rusted bars in front of her. She couldn't see the face, it was hidden by a wooden mask with an obscene grin. It was impossible to tell much about the figure but whoever it was had been subject to what Ellis called 'good livin'. The stomach was as round as a barrel and the robe hung from it like someone had slung a sack over a globe. In his hand he carried a lantern lit with a dark green candle.

The figure reached for a stool and pulled it up in front of the bars. He at there for a moment saying nothing, just staring out silently from behind the empty eyes of the mask.

"I don't care what you do to me you coward. I'm not telling you a damn thing. The second I get out of these chains I'm gonna snap off your favourite appendage and choke you with it."

A low, rumbling chuckle emanated from behind the mask. The huge barrel stomach began to bob up and down as the figure's shoulders shook with laughter.

A chill ran down Cassidy's spine. No. It couldn't be him. Not now. Not after so long.

Her mind raced and she yanked hard at the manacles to no effect.

"Hooooo! Now if my perdy little sunrise didn't go an' get herself a mouth. You get that from your mother's side. Weren't no-one that could turn the air blue like a darklander and your momma was no different. Garth used to call em a bunch of shit-mouthed savages. Never did get round to teaching him the meaning of irony. Oh, almost forgot m'self!"

The figure reached up to fiddle with a clasp behind the mask and as the wooden face slid down it revealed a face she hadn't seen since she was a child. Two warm eyes looked out from behind a wind-burned face. Every inch that wasn't pink and sweaty was covered in a bushy, salt-and-pepper beard.

"No! You're..."

"Dead? No shit sugar-lump. There's no gettin' anything past you is there?"

"But... how could..."

"Hush now, darl'n, ain't no point fussin'. Time's short enough without us havin't to fill in all the blanks. All that matters is we're here now. I came back to see you."

"No, I saw you die. There ain't no coming back from that."

The figure got up and walked toward her. As he did, the bars slid aside to allow him through. He sat down next to Cassidy and put an arm around her shoulders. She could smell his old familiar aftershave but something else too. Something bitter and earthy. Something old.

"Now listen buttercup. Dyin's just one o' those things we all have to go through. I did it, your mother did it. But don't go gettin' any ideas now. You got some work to do. Do you remember that place I took you to back when I was still topside? My field workshop?"

"Wait, what the place out past The Blackspires?

Her father's eyes lit up. But not in anyway she'd ever seen when he was alive.

"Bullseye, jellybean! Remember I sat you up on the counter while I sorted out the haul? Roasted one o' them big birds right on the roof under the stars."

"I think so, I don't know it was a long time ago."

"Course you do!" he bellowed. "Listen Cassie, I need you to go there. There's something you need to see."

"What? You can't be serious! That's right on the darklander doorstep. It's suicide!"

"Oh hush! Ain't no daughter of mine gonna get strung up by tree-folk. You'll be fine."

Cassidy opened her mouth but she had no idea what to say. Her eyes welled up. This was too much. Tears began to stream down her face. The giant of a man stood up before her.

"Time to say goodbye, honeybear."

He opened his arms, filling the whole width of the cell as he did so. Cassidy closed her eyes and waited to feel him nearly squeeze the life out of her like he'd done when she was a girl. When nothing happened she opened her eyes. Her father had gone and the bars were back across the front of the cell. All that remained was a masked figure standing at the bars. They wore the same robe and mask as her father but were a fraction of the size. The figure said nothing and after a moment they turned on their heel and walked away.

016 - Sundown

They waited in the cell, silently watching the sunrise. There was always the chance of a last minute reprieve. A flustered guard would stand at the door telling them of a dreadful mistake.

 

Instead there were heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. A key turned. An Ironguard soldier entered. He pointed at Jacob.

"You’re first," he said. He indicated with his heavy gauntlet towards Nelya. "Then you."

A pair of guards appeared to escort each one of them silently into a different cell off the main corridor. Once Garth and Cassidy had gone, Frida was taken down the corridor past their cells. She was pushed into another cell, with a heavy door and stone walls. A window at shoulder height tempted her with its warm light. A low table sat in the centre of the cell, holding a shallow bowl. In the corner of the cell a few small insects buzzed around a dark stain.

A masked person entered. Frida had heard of Ironhavan’s inquisitors, she thought they might be priests like Jacob. The inquisitor’s wooden mask was an intricately carved face, the mouth exaggerated and grotesque, behind it, covering the head completely was a waxed leather hood.

 The inquisitor began to question Frida, asking simply about who she was and where she'd come from. The expressionless face maintained a consistent enquiring tilt when Frida spoke. It unnerved the young wiretap. 

"Consider me your interlocutor, a participant in a civil dialogue." The mask nodded, tilting, to one side. The voice was muffled.

"I'd like that," said Frida," I don't really know why I'm being held here."

There was no reply, the face tilted upright. 

"I'm a licensed wiretap, operating for the Markermeer Caravan," she said. The figure remained unresponsive. From the shapeless robes the inquisitor pulled out one of Frida's eel battery jars, placing it on the table without comment.

"Tools of the trade," Frida stated. She felt sympathy for the trapped writhing eel.

Although nothing was revealed by the shapeless clothing, Frida was convinced her interrogator was a woman.

The inquisitor placed a candle in the bowl on the table.

"Face the window, watch for sundown," the mask told her.

Frida looked out of the window, the sun was still rising. Her view was across the execution yards to a scaffold, built of metal and stone, permanent. The yard was deserted. She felt the sudden drop in her gut.

The inquisitor spoke again, answering Frida's unasked question.

"The executions occur at sundown."

There was a smell of rosemary in the cell, it smelt comforting, homely. There was no physical threat made, but as her interrogator spoke Frida's willpower diminished. She was terrified, facing the execution yard whilst the inquisitor stood behind her. Without thinking she found herself blabbing. She had been tortured before, it happened to wiretaps during training to test their integrity.

There was something descending from the sky above the yard. A metal insect the size of a long-shore ship began unfolding limbs. As the insect descended, heat and dust blew into the cell. Frida began to make out a doorway and windows on the insect. It had come for her. Her inquisitor had disappeared. She grabbed the opportunity, stepping back and throwing the eel battery at the wall. It exploded, leaving a smoke filled hole. She crawled through the gap, running towards the metal insect that hovered above the yard.

She clambered up the scaffold, cautiously grabbing the struts by the insect's open doorway. Once inside she felt the ship ascend. Through its dirt streaked windows she watched Ironhaven disappear.

The sky insect had no occupants. She found a wooden seat with a window to the onrushing clouds.

A voice spoke to her, the voice of the metal insect.

"What about your friends? Should we not return to rescue them?" It asked. 

She told it about her friends, she felt guilty about them. Aside from Cassidy, she had only known them for a short time. The voice asked her what she wanted and where did she wish to go. She thought about it, there was only one place she wished to go, ever since she was a child.

"To the stars," said Frida.

"To the stars," the voice repeated and chuckled. 

A door slammed.

The cell returned, hazily drifting into focus. She was sitting with her head resting on the table. She felt heavy, drowsy. A tiny fat asymmetric insect sat in front of her on the table. She recognized it. She had found it years ago in the rubble of an eviscerated city. At first, she had mistaken it for real beetle. It was so small and insignificant. How odd, she had thought, an insect with letters etched on it. Then she discovered something else. It had tiny doors, windows, engines and stubby wings, all scratched away by time. This was a child’s toy of a space machine. She hid it in her possessions, wrapped up, telling no one about her find. The inquisitor had taken it from her bag and placed it on the table in front of her. The deepest secret she held; she had seen the remains of a real one, its weathered carapace rotting in a salt marsh.

The faint odour of camphor remained, it emanated from the extinguished candle, smoking in the centre of the table.

Her other belongings were littered around the cell. There was a torn paper label on everything, written in Frida's own handwriting. She examined the pieces of paper, the scraps contained gibberish words or nonsensical rhymes.

Frida panicked, alarmed at how the drug loosened her tongue. A rising feeling of nausea struck her, what had she revealed about her new friends and the secrets of Fairfield. She wondered what they had threatened Cassidy and the others with. The sun would set soon, over the gantry yard.

She picked up her clothes. They had been left neatly piled on the chair. She held them tightly. She felt how coarse they were. She inhaled their strong earthy smell. Then she began to cry.

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015 - Caged

The Ironguard were smarter and more capable than the Grinders had proved to be. Nelya swallowed down her instinct to flee and find a place to hide among the trees. With no-one to help her there would be no point.

“Weapons on the floor,” barked the man. “slowly.”

She hesitated. Only for a second, but in that second the man had moved closer to her and pointed his gun at her head.

“Don't even think of it, Darklander,” he spat. “On the floor.”

Very slowly, she put them on the floor.

“Good little savage. Tie her up. Tie them all up. Let's not take any chances here.”

More Ironguard appeared from among the trees, bringing rope with them. Nelya was tied tight enough for a tingling numbness to set into her fingers. No-one else even struggled, though Jacob was approached with wariness. Their horses were captured with speed and a surprising gentleness.

They were led - and pushed, if they went too slow – through the trees till they reached a small clearing. Their arrival startled the birds roosting there, who took flight with a skirring of wings. Nelya glanced over the clearing, the small, high-sided cart, the horses grazing contentedly, the still-warm campfire. The cart tracks leading from the clearing were a day or so old, laid down after the heavy rains.

The Ironguard had been waiting here for them before they'd even left Fairfield, and they'd been aware of the likely route.

“In the cart. No talking.”

They bundled in, followed by two Ironguard who sat with their weapons drawn and ready.

“Sit tight,” one said, with an unpleasant grin, “We're going to Ironhaven.”

Jacob groaned, and slumped back against the high sides of the cart.

Ironhaven, then. Nelya watched the faces of her new companions, all tight and ashy with worry. As the cart juddered into movement, she tried to think of a possible way out of this.

She couldn't do it. Every idea she had required skills or understanding this group simply didn't have. As the cart left softly wooded areas, went through rough scrubland and finally onto the now-familiar dry dirt of the road, her plans became strange and wild, before fading.

There was no way out, at least not from this cart, rumbling along under the baking heat, surrounded by mounted and armed men. Their horses and weapons held captive.

She would just wait, instead. They were being taken in alive, which meant there was going to be a chance for escape or bargains at some point. Patience and thought rarely led her down the wrong path.

It was acting on impulse that made things go wrong.

Ironhaven showed as a dark blot on the horizon, growing closer with every mile.

Just before sunset, the cart pulled up outside the walls. The five of them were ordered out, and led through a small, side gate. Whatever this was, it was to be done quietly.

They were blindfolded. She heard the others stumble and shuffle amongst the sounds of booted feet. Even she was clumsy, with no sight to judge things.

They walked on dirt for a while, and then on stone. The air changed to cool and damp. The damp had that creeping feel that reminded her of caves.

A few more steps in the dampness, then hands on her back shoving her to the floor, and the sounds of other people stumbling, falling, grunting, and a sharp swearword in a voice that was surely Cassidy's.

A boot on her back, just between her shoulderblades. The sound of knife on thick cloth, and her hands were free. Free, but too numb and sore to push herself up and run for it... and almost as soon as the boot was removed, a door slammed and locked behind them.

A moment of silence, as she nursed blood back into her hands and arms. She removed the blindfold, to find herself in a dark, damp, rough stone cell with the four others. A small window – too small to wriggle through, even if she could climb up to it – let in the dying light. Frida cleared her throat.

“Well, they could have asked nicely.”

Cassidy broke out in snorting laughter, and after a second Garth joined her. Jacob, serious, only shook his head slightly.

“We're in a cell,” he said. “and we don't know why.”

“There are worse places.” said Nelya. “As long as we live, we can escape.”

“Worse places? Right now, what could be worse? And don't say dead, because that could very easily be coming.” snapped Cassidy.

Nelya waved her hand, though as the gloom gathered it seemed unlikely anyone would see it. Death was a fact, and not something she feared.

“We could be lying broken-limbed in a cave, with our insides spilling, knowing all that will come for us is a hungry beast. This is how my brother died.”

There was another silence, this one longer and deeper than the other.

“Yeah, alright.” said Cassidy. “I'll give you that. That sounds much worse.”

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014 - Flight

“Going somewhere?”

Jacob jumped at the unexpected voice from behind. Cassidy shoved him sideways, standing and grabbing her pistol off the ground in a quick snap. She aimed into the brightness of the courtyard and her face shifted from startled, to relieved, to annoyed.

“Garth!”

“Um... bad timing?” The big lad's cheeks reddened.

Cassidy put her pistol away and wiped her face again, her eyes weren’t streaming anymore, but there was still grit stuck to her cheeks.

“What are you doing here, idiot?”

“Nice to see you too. Ellis didn’t say?”

“Didn’t say what?” She rounded on her brother.

“Ah,” Ellis looked nervous, “I can’t come with you, Cass, you know I can’t leave Fairfield.”

“But,” her jaw clenched, “Firebrand?”

Jacob went back to the horse he had been given, pretending to check the tack. He had ridden before, but not often, and he wouldn’t have had a clue if the gear was on incorrectly. He just wanted to give Cassidy some space.

Ellis put a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. “You know Hazard isn’t fit for riding anymore, Garth’s taking Firebrand.”

“Why him?” She glanced sideways, “No offence.”

Garth smiled, used to Cassidy’s abruptness, and perhaps he had a little more compassion than Jacob had given him credit for.

“Three girls with one man? Jacob may be built like a bullhorn but that’s just too much temptation to put out there.” He gestured widely: out there, beyond Fairfield, beyond the world they knew.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know, but the less that’s put to the test the better, right?”

Garth reported that the coast was about as clear as it was going to get. In the day that had passed the Grinders seemed to have dried up with the rainwater. There were bound to be people watching, but with the change in numbers, the disguises, it might be the best chance they had. After all, they were just a farmer and his hands going home after trading at the caravan.

Cassidy kept finding little reasons to delay but after a final moment with Ellis, they eventually left. They rode north, to Breckle Forest. The road was baked into hard, crumbling ridges, everything went back to dust far too quickly.

Heading north made Jacob nervous, but he knew they were planning just a few hours ride before they cut west. It was calculated to throw off anyone that might see them leave and then take them around the top of Ironhaven.

Except for a few leercats slinking along parallel to their path they saw little else by way of life until they approached the everpines of the forest. The trees were well-suited to the sandy ground and had a better time of it than most crops. There were bird cries and animal calls in the woodland, but Jacob had never been any good at identifying them.

Protected from the sun there was still a fresh, moist smell to the cool shade of the close trees and the horses’ steps were muted by the carpet of brown needles. Garth slowed them down and peered carefully into the undergrowth to their left before he called them to a halt.

“I can’t believe it’s still here.”

Jacob looked into the forest. He couldn’t see anything.

“It’s an old hunting path. My da brought me here a few times after grabbits and Shy Deer. Never did catch anything.”

Cassidy jumped down, “Be best to lead the horses through, keep a tighter path.”

Garth nodded, “Makes sense. I’ll go last, see if I can’t lay some misleading signs.”

Jacob carefully dismounted, sore already and glad for the change. He tried not to look too obvious as he rubbed his thighs.

“You’ve done this before, Garth.”

He grinned, “Misspent youth.”

A deep voice rang out from the shadows ahead of them, “Must’ve been, to lead you here.”

“Bandits.” Cassidy’s pistol was back in her hand. She must have spent hours practicing that draw.

“No such luck, Miss.”

Another man’s voice, from the right hand side of the track.

“Ironguard. And you’re surrounded. Don’t be stupid.”

Cassidy and Garth cursed. Frida went pale. Nelya bristled, looking quickly left and right.

A man stepped out from behind a wide trunk. Jacob could see the ends of a big crossbow and a quiver of arrows slung on the man’s back. In his hand was a heavy-looking black pistol, an antique about twice the size of Cassidy’s, straight edges, clip loaded, an unusual thing to see, and deeply dangerous. His face was rough, pocked and stubbled, and his dark eyes looked as vicious as his weapon.

“Just be glad we’re not the Grinders. We’re bringing you in alive.”

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013 - Portent

Cassidy leant, arms folded, against the wooden stall watching Frida and the others prepare their horses out in the courtyard. The sun was rising and the stone beneath them seemed to glow with its own warmth. She had chosen to make the most of the shade in the gloomy stables, behind her the door to the windowless tack room stood ajar revealing piles of worn saddles and rusted stirrups. By noon they'd be riding in the full glare of a merciless noon sun, their clothes stuck to their backs like a second skin. She felt a cool breeze stir the hair from her neck. It'd been too long since she'd been back here. She took a deep breath, letting the earthy smells fill her nostrils.

Out in the courtyard Jacob struggled with a wilful palfrey that refused to stand still and let him finish loading it with supplies. She chuckled to herself in the knowledge that it was difficult to load up such a young horse and this one was nigh impossible. The horse had had nothing but men on its back ever since she'd known it. She immediately saw the irony and chose to ignore it.

Frida took the bag from him and fixed it along with her own. Gravity was obviously more accustomed to carrying Frida and her equipment and didn't seem to mind the extra weight. Meanwhile Nelya was perched unsteadily atop Ellis's old jennet. Had she been given a horse like Jacob's she would have been shaken loose or fallen of her own accord within a half-hour but the smaller breed seemed to suit her. Klop had been Ellis's childhood horse and though older and smaller in stature than its fellows, it had been ridden well and often by its new owner and the muscled haunches hinted that it could hold its own on the road.

Ellis was in the yard tending his current horse, Firebrand, named on account of it's copper colouring. Cassidy's own horse whickered in the stall beside her.

"I know, girl" she said aloud, not taking her attention from the riders ahead of her. "We'll be off soon."

Cold

Cassidy drew a sharp breath in as she felt steel press at her windpipe. She raised herself onto her tiptoes to try and pull away from the blade but it followed her.

"Be still" a voice breathed into her ear. "I've come to say a piece and then leave you to your travels but you must be silent as the grave. I do not mean to trouble your companions."

"What do you want?" Cassidy croaked.

"Merely to set you on the right path. Help comes in many forms besides those hidden beneath the dirt in leather-backed chairs. Their thick blood and thin minds will only get you so far. But first, a warning."

"A warning?" Cassidy gazed helplessly as her friends busied themselves with their mounts, unable to call for help, though now the dagger had let up enough that she could return her heels to the ground.

"The iron men come with their worms and their lackies because of who you are, Cassidy. Because of what you are."

"What? What do they think I am?"

"Thinking is none of it, girl. They are guided by ancient words. Prescribed when our world was but a doubt in the mind of men of fire and steel and emerald light. In their minds these words hold infallible truths. If it is written, it is already done. It is their unshakable devotion to this belief that drives them to you."

"What would they want with me? I've barely been out of this town my whole life except to chase off leercats." Cassidy, finding a small repository of confidence, began to edge her hand toward the pistol in her waistband.

"Indeed, and when you were out chasing wildlife, they had men searching the ruined places and darkened corners."

"For what?"

"Answers. The kind that have laid buried for a long time and would have done well to stay that way. Tell me, what do you know of the markings you carry on your hands?"

"My mother drew them on me when I was an infant. It made my father furious. She said they were to protect me." Cassidy felt her wrist touch the ivory grip of the pistol. Just a little further.

"Your sigils may be more than your mother would have had you believe. The children of the darklands all carry them but none like yours, not for a long time and for good reason. Even amongst your mother's people, yours would be considered... dangerous. To put them on oneself would be foolhardy, to scrawl them on a child... unthinkable. So the iron men follow the scribblings of dead men straight to your door. They mean to take you, Cassidy, regardless of the cost, and they will go through anyone to do so."

With his spare hand the stranger rotated her head toward where Nelya was still struggling with her horse. He leaned close enough that Cassidy could feel his breath in her ear.

"Do you mean to make them pay the price for her mistake?"

Cassidy saw her opportunity. The stranger had inadvertently rotated her neck away from the blade and it gave her the window she needed. In a blink she grabbed the pistol and struck the stranger's arm away with her forearm. She span around to aim at the stranger but instead her eyes were filled with stinging dust. She dropped the pistol and fell to her knees cursing the stranger, her blinded eyes gushing to remove the debris.

When her sight returned, the stranger was gone and the rest of the group had run over to see what was going on. They arrived to find Cassidy spitting chalk dust into the hay and using curse words that Frida hadn't heard outside of a roadside grog-house.

"What happened?" asked Jacob

"Nothing," she growled back. "C'mon, we're leaving".

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012- Mystic Frog

They descended underground where Ellis waited for them. Cassidy grabbed her brother by the arm, manoeuvring him away from the others. She waved the group on, towards one of the numerous shelters the network of tunnels provided. They walked on, torches illuminating the damp concrete. Jacob had become stoic, reapplying the bandages to his arms. Nelya remained tense and cautious, ready to protect them all. Frida begun to whistle a tuneless childhood song.

They had travelled a short distance when Cassidy caught up with them. She quickly wiped her dirt and tear streaked face before reaching them. She took the lead again, following the markings she herself had written as a child.

They had questioned the elders, gaining vague reassurances and unsatisfactory answers. There was a greater threat to Fairfield and the other communities. Now they were supposed to hide and await an escape attempt.

“What did he say?” Frida said, speeding up her pace to walk alongside Cassidy. Cassidy just held up her finger, pointing it at the roof. 

 "So, how do we know what's going on up there?" asked Jacob.

"I think we can trust the Domarrah," said Cassidy, "and my own brother." Although the others were not convinced that even she believed that.

They had reached a narrow side chamber that lead through into a wider compartment.

"I'd feel safer following the Mystic Frog," said Frida. She indicated one of Cassidy's juvenile scribbles, a crude frog shaped symbol scrawled across a redundant warning sign.

"It's upside down," said Jacob. He placed his palm on the metal plate and rotated it. The plate hid a small recess, empty except for a desiccated grey orange. The grey husk rolled out onto his hand. Behind it he could see the pale blue fluorescence of a Lashline. He stepped away to allow Frida access.

"Always trust the Mystic Frog," said Frida, as she began uncoiling wire from the delicate device around her neck. "I may be a while." 

She continued fiddling with the wire. Within a few moments she had taken her jacket off to untangle it. She clipped the wires to the Lashline, cupping the Tapbox device gently in her hand. Then she sat cross-legged, closed her eyes and concentrated.

The others watched her, waiting for something to happen.

"It's not really a frog," said Cassidy.

Nelya nodded. She explained to Cassidy that she had seen the symbol before, in the wilderness, in the places her people avoided. Her people would not communicate with the voices of the living ghosts. 

Frida continued to nod her head to the sounds of the Lashlines. Cassidy rummaged through the food Ellis had wrapped for them, handing small parcels to Jacob and Nelya.

They ate without talking, waiting for Frida to finish. Coiling up her wire, she began to relate her assessment of what she had heard. The news from the Lashlines confirmed what they had guessed; the Grinders were not the only people out there. Something else was emerging from the East. The remoter outlying towns had ceased communication. Other towns were sending brief messages to friends and allies requesting assistance. From the West, from IronHaven, there was confusion; the city had become paranoid about outsiders and its citizens panicked by mysterious deaths.

There was a solemn silence after Frida’s report. They had no option but to trust Ellis and the Domorrah, accept the escape plan, get out of town and keep running. Head North West, skirting the borders of IronHaven. They settled down to rest in the flickering light of torches. Trouble could find them later, now was a time to sleep.

The sunlight burnt their eyes as they emerged into the clear skied morning. A day had passed underground, a day of preparing and planning. The art of practical disguise was to blend in, to be boring, to avoid attention. Frida had learnt this travelling with the traders. She was proud of Nelya’s transformation into a Harvest boy. The loose overalls and dull colours hid the wild girl's form. Dressing the others was easy compared to Nelya, even with Cassidy reassuring her. Putting a Leercat in a clown suit may have been easier than covering her facial tattoos.

The early morning streets were still busy with locals and the numerous bright awnings of the caravans when they stepped out of their underground shelter. A non-descript group of farm workers wearing cloth masks, they were covered in a pale white dust from the outlying fields. Frida and Nelya, who were naturally darker than the others, looked unrecognisable. They walked through town, hoping that whatever deception Ellis had planned would work. There was no sign of Grinders; possibly they had retreated, waiting for Cassidy’s gang to leave. Passing through the caravan traders unrecognised, they travelled up the main Avenue. Ahead were the low walled buildings where the rescue would occur.

For a long while Cassidy stood looking back at the Oasis, the inn that had been her home for so long. The others could all relate to her sense of loss. Frida gave Cassidy a gentle nudge. Time to go. They all moved off in different directions, each taking the path assigned to them. The plan involved scampering along the centre of the low rooftops, avoiding the chance of being spotted by a casual observer from the ground.

The ochre mud brick courtyard was well hidden. There was one main exit, a wide archway leading out into the countryside. The only other access was from above. The group quickly descended the carved brick staircase. Stepping down into the courtyard, they could see movement in the alcoves that surrounded the central square. A deep green lichen covered the few areas of concrete or stone that extruded out of the mud brick surface. It grew especially thick in the dark alcove where five horses had been tied up. The horses continued to graze on the lichen as the group crossed the square towards them.

“I assume this is our escape plan,” said Jacob. Cassidy nodded. 

“I assume you can all ride?” Cassidy asked. 

Frida’s heart jumped. There alongside the other horses was her own, Gravity. They were riding out of here, right now. The gate was open, the road beckoned. 

“But why have we got five?” Nelya said.

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