The World of Myth Magazine

Faster, Nedra whispered to herself.

Arula's red sun was rising. Crimson time. Already the sky was suffused with soft rose. Soon, very soon, the Falgi would be waking, unfurling their powerful wings, sharpening their claws against their cruel beaks. Nedra pushed herself harder. Orel would be waiting and worrying.

The sisters were very different. Nedra was curious and audacious. Orel, three years older, was so timid she seldom left their cave.

Instead of sleeping during crimson time, Nedra spent hours exploring the caverns underground. She delighted in discovering new tunnels and small, misshapen hollows filled with crystals. When darkness came, she eagerly rushed outside.

There were other restless spirits like herself: Gala, who looked fragile, but was feisty; Krin, so beautiful that Nedra blushed when he glanced her way; Sarn, a little older than the rest, offering quiet wisdom. They would meet at a spot near Orel and Nedra's cave, a cluster of boulders lit by the pale glow of Arula's three moons and numberless stars.

Nedra liked listening to Sarn's stories, especially when he described the origins of their world. With its bulging, rounded bottom and flat top, Arula was like an apple cut in two. Everyone knew that if you walked five days in either direction, you'd fall off into space. Sarn explained that their planet had been divided following a long war between the makers. After years of destruction and terrible bloodshed, they'd split the planet in two, then moved the halves apart so that several galaxies lay between them. Then they'd fled.

"When did all this happen?" Nedra asked.

Sarn gazed into the distance. "Before we counted time."

Nedra pursed her lips, dissatisfied. "Who were the makers, Sarn? What did they look like?"

Sarn smiled, one of his rare smiles. "They looked like you, little princess," he said, tapping her pert nose.

Nedra blushed. "I don't think they looked like me. Perhaps like you."

Nedra knew that Sarn had been beautiful once, as beautiful as Krin. But, years before, he'd dared to venture outside during crimson time and had been captured by the Falgi. Instead of devouring him, they'd let him live and kept him as a plaything. Incredibly, he'd managed to survive. Though his luminous green eyes were undamaged, his face, body, and spirit were webbed with scars.

"Don't you know how the makers looked?" Nedra frowned.

He shook his head. "No one really knows. I've seen them faintly in visions. And in dreams."

Just then, a new and horrifying idea wedged itself into Nedra's thoughts.

"Perhaps they looked like the Falgi."

Sarn sighed. "Perhaps they did."

Nedra laughed to cover her fear. "And perhaps you're only teasing me," she said.

"Every day you come in later," Orel grumbled.

"No," said Nedra. "Most days, I start for home well before crimson time."

"You don't. You come later and later."

When Orel was in this mood, they couldn't talk.

"Nothing will happen to me," said Nedra gently.

Orel and Nedra lived alone. Their parents had died in an epidemic of Arulan plague when the girls were small. Since children were less vulnerable to the disease, they had survived. The machines the makers had left provided them with everything they needed and tribal elders looked in from time to time.

Their cave was a pleasant space. They'd painted the walls soft blue. There were large, fat pillows on the floor for sleeping, lounging, watching the pleasure screen. Discs left behind by the makers showed Arula as it had looked centuries before.

"So many trees," said Orel, her voice filled with longing and disbelief.

"Yes," said Nedra, "and children played outside during crimson time. Sarn has told me." She longed for the freedom that existed before the Falgi had swooped down from some dark corner of creation to prey on them.

Sarn told Nedra they had toyed with him for days. They'd pretended to turn away so he could run, then snatched him back and clawed him until he bled, though not so copiously that he would die. During the hours of darkness, when Falgi slept, Sarn was locked in a cage. Exhausted with fear and pain, he slept deeply and dreamed of home. In some dreams, he ran through a labyrinth of tunnels towards his cave, but never reached it. He woke sobbing. One night, Sarn pushed at the door of his cage, and it fell open.

At first he thought letting him escape was part of the Falgi's game. For agonizing moments, he held back, cowering within the darkness. Then he ran, limping, gasping with terror, expecting to feel sharp talons tearing his flesh. But he reached home without being seized again. He slept for days. As his wounds healed, he slowly picked up the threads of his former life. Sarn was an artist. He painted murals for the villagers, adorning their windowless caves with breathtaking landscapes.

"I was young, I couldn't resist," Sarn explained when Nedra asked why he'd left his cave during crimson time.

Nedra understood. One morning, driven by curiosity, she'd opened the door of their cave and taken a few steps into the light. She would never forget how the rocks and sand glistened. Then Orel screamed in fear, and Nedra had hurried back and flung the door shut.

An orange star fell below the horizon. The four friends watched its glowing trail. Nedra glanced over at Krin. He seemed moody; his eyes fixed on the sky.

"I want to travel to the world's edge," he suddenly said, "to the rim of the abyss where that star fell."

Nedra gasped. Her heart gave a painful leap.

"Krin is courageous," said Gala, batting her lashes.

But Sarn's eyes flashed. "A dangerous desire."

"There must be caves on the way, places to shelter during crimson time."

"That is far from certain," Sarn retorted.

"Sarn is a coward," said Gala petulantly.

Nedra knitted her brows. Gala was the baby of the group. They'd always laughed with her, protected her. She lived with her brother, Blen, who was as solid and grave as she was effervescent.

It was Krin who defended Sarn.

"Caution is not cowardice," said Krin.

Gala pouted and played with her fingers. She'd painted her round, childish nails a vibrant yellow.

"This is a terrible place," Gala said. "We have no power here. Only the Falgi have power."

Sarn chuckled, a low and bitter sound. "The Falgi have no power, only brutality."

Gala frowned. Sarn's distinctions were tedious and confusing. She scraped away a flake of yellow polish.

Krin was restless. "Come, I'll take you home," he said to Nedra, grasping her hand.

Thrilled by the warmth of his skin, she leapt up. For a while, they walked in silence.

"Would you really make that journey?" Nedra asked.

Krin didn't speak. His eyes searched the horizon.

"Would you…?" Nedra repeated. It was a natural question. Why did she feel transparent and ashamed?

"I will," said Krin, staring at the sky.

Later that night, the sisters heard a soft noise near their door.

Orel jerked an arm out. "Don't open it," she said.

"Hush," said Nedra. "There is nothing to harm us in the darkness."

She pulled the door open. Gala rushed into the room and dropped onto one of the cushions. "We mustn't let him go."

Orel looked bewildered and alarmed. Nedra went to her and pressed her hand.

"Krin wishes to see the borders of our world."

"He mustn't go," Gala burst out.

"But you said Krin was brave."

"He is brave," Gala sighed. "We know he's brave. He doesn't need to go."

"What a child you are," said Nedra, and Gala pouted.

The next night, Nedra told Sarn about Gala's visit.

"Young men will do what they want," he said gently. "How is Orel?"

Before Sarn had been taken by the Falgi, he and Orel had been friends. More than friends. He would visit, and his visits made Orel happy. When he fell prey to the Falgi, she grieved for him. "Why do they die?" she sobbed as Nedra held her, "why must we lose everyone we care for?"

Orel was overjoyed when Sarn returned. She longed to tend to him and comfort him. But Sarn had changed. He turned away from her. "Pay no attention," said Nedra, "go to him. He believes you deserve more than a scarred body and wounded soul." But Orel was hurt and bewildered, and much too shy to pursue Sarn openly. Their time of thoughtless happiness was over.

A few nights later, when Nedra arrived at the boulders, Krin and Sarn were deep in conversation. At first she only smiled at their solemn faces. She knew they enjoyed debating obscure issues of philosophy. But then, in a flash of intuition, she understood they were planning Krin's trip.

Krin had a large pack made from heavy cloth and was showing Sarn what was inside. Sensing Nedra's presence, they glanced up. Krin shut the flaps of the knapsack. The blood rushed to Nedra's head. Blurting "I hate you both," she turned and ran.

She moved quickly at first, propelled by anger. But, after a while, her steps slowed, her shoulders slumped. I behaved like a child, she thought. But they should have told me, shared their plans with me. She twisted the small silver ring on her middle finger, a love gift from her mother. Touching it always calmed her. But not tonight.

At home, Orel sensed Nedra's mood.

"What's the matter?" she said, hurrying to her side.

Nedra shook her head, but moisture glistened in her eyes.

Orel pulled her down to a soft cushion. "The Falgi…?" she gasped.

She had to be strong for Orel. "No, dearest…nothing like that." She was about to explain, when the sisters heard a rustling outside. Guessing who it might be, Nedra ran to the door and pulled it open.

Sarn and Krin were standing on the threshold. Sarn gazed down at his feet, Krin stared at Nedra.

"You shouldn't have run," he said.

Nedra's heart pounded.

"Sarn…" Orel whispered.

But Sarn looked away, closing the door behind them.

"We would have told you," said Krin in a low voice.

Orel tore her eyes from Sarn. "Told her what?"

The men were silent.

"Told me what?" said Nedra, folding her arms.

"About the journey," said Krin.

Reluctantly, Sarn looked up. He cleared his throat. "In two days…Krin and I…will go together."

Orel launched herself at Sarn. She wound her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.

Sarn flinched. "You mustn't," he said in a low voice.

Orel pulled her head back. "Mustn't what?" she challenged. Clasping him even closer, she burst into tears.

Confronted by two women with furious faces and streaming eyes, the men were at a loss. They'd planned to reassure, then slip away, but found themselves in the middle of a war. An unfair war, they thought, fought with tears and reproaches and, worst of all, love.

Orel wasn't prepared to let Sarn go. Losing him again would be worse than any torture she could imagine. She couldn't get enough of watching him, of gently touching the scars that marred his cheeks. If he insisted on helping Krin, she was determined to go with them.

As for Nedra, she'd always dreamed of such a journey, of standing on the spot where life as they knew it ended and began.

"Together…or not at all," Nedra urged.

They spoke for a long time until, compelled by guilt and love, the men relented.

Their greatest problem was that none of them was familiar with the country beyond their village. If caves were few and far between, they could find themselves in the open at crimson time.

Another problem was Gala. She'd be angry at losing her companions. Gala had changed. She was often cranky and demanding, and openly jealous of Krin and Nedra's bond. But Blen was a steadying influence. They would ask him to come that evening and he would help.

Sarn broke the news. Though he spoke to Gala as gently as he could, Gala covered her ears and began to shriek. When she was out of breath and tired of shrieking, she pressed her lips together and turned her back. Finally, she walked away and Blen went with her.

"I hope they die," Gala murmured.

Blen stroked her back lightly.

"They never liked me. They were just pretending."

Just then, a stream of music broke the stillness. Gala's eyes searched the landscape. Not far away, a slender form was sitting on a boulder, strumming a small harp.

Gala fluffed her hair. "Who's that?" she said.

"One of the new clones."

"Oh," said Gala, "how graceful he is, and how beautifully he plays." She pulled at Blen's hand. "Let's make him welcome."

The next day was devoted to preparations. Each of the four friends filled a knapsack. Krin would carry a folded tent, camouflaged to blend with the surroundings. Both Krin and Sarn packed knives. Nedra and Orel chopped their long hair short. All four rubbed protective balm over their bodies. As soon as darkness fell, they set out.

Krin led, with Nedra close behind. Orel's hand slipped into Sarn's. They walked together. Later, she drifted to Nedra's side.

"This is the happiest night of my life," Orel whispered, thoughts of danger forgotten.

As soon the sky began to lighten, they scoured the barren landscape for places to shelter. As Sarn had feared, there were no caves in sight. The landscape was flat and empty in every direction. Finally, they found a jutting slab of rock. They pitched their tent beneath it and crawled inside.

Pink light seeped inwards. Soon, they heard the thump of heavy wings and the clatter of beaks. They listened in horror to terrified squeals and whimpers as small creatures fell prey to sharp talons.

"The Falgi enjoy the hunt," Krin said stiffly.

Sarn nodded. He was trembling, but his eyes hardened with determination.

"We must rest," said Orel, gently urging Sarn to lie beside her.

Nedra curled against Krin, trying to ignore the sounds outside.

All day, they slept. Sometimes they woke and ate, or talked in low voices, then slept again. Finally, when night fell, they dismantled and folded their tent and journeyed on.

To everyone's surprise, the search for shelter became easier each day. By the fourth night, the landscape provided an abundance of small rocky canyons and spacious caves where the travelers could stay safe during crimson time. There were even patches of grass and dusty shrubs.

At the end of the fifth night, they reached the edge of a plateau. A single fiery star plummeted from the sky and dropped out of sight. Hands joined, Nedra and Krin ventured to the rim of the abyss and peered over, expecting to see the blackness of endless space. Orel hung back with Sarn.

Finally, Nedra said in a puzzled voice, "It doesn't seem empty at all." She shook her head.

"I see mass," said Krin, "shapes…foliage."

"Impossible," said Sarn, moving towards them. He squinted down.

Then Orel tiptoed to the edge. "It is not utterly empty," she said, bewildered.

"We must see it by daylight," Krin said firmly.

"No," blurted Orel.

Nedra came to her side. "Please, dearest. We have come so far."

Starlight etched Sarn's face. "We must," he said.

No one slept. At first light, Sarn and Krin unsheathed their knives. Without speaking, they lifted one side of the tent and emerged into morning. The girls followed, Nedra gently pulling Orel's hand. The air was fresh. A reddish haze was rising from the rocks. Entranced by the delicate beauty of the day, all four walked to the cliff's edge and looked down.

"It's not an abyss," Nedra breathed, "it's a valley."

"It's green," whispered Orel.

Just then, they heard the clatter of metallic wings, still at a distance but closing very quickly.

"Down to the valley," urged Krin.

Gripping the sides of the cliff, they clambered down, hidden by bushes and rocks. The foliage grew thicker as they descended.

"I hear the sound of water," said Orel, her voice filled with wonder.

As soon as they'd reached the valley's floor, they saw a rushing stream. They ran towards it and bathed their grimy faces and scratched hands. Schools of sleek creatures with silver fins swam beneath the surface. They were surprisingly fearless, brushing Nedra's fingers as they passed.

Orel stretched her face up to the sun. Just then, a dark shape moved from the shelter of the trees. Its body was broad and feathered, its beak crimson. A shriek burst from Orel's throat.

Nedra looked up, then froze. The huge bird stood nearby, gazing at them.

Falgi here! Krin and Sarn seized their knives and brandished them.

The creature blinked and stopped.

Krin began to move forward, waving his knife.

"Why do you threaten me?" asked the bird in a fluting voice. He sounded hurt.

"Wait," said Nedra, scrambling to Krin's side. She laid a quelling hand on his arm. "He resembles the Falgi," she said, "but has a gentle expression."

Krin held the knife steady, but he nodded.

Nedra walked forward slowly, bowing low. "We are strangers," she said, "please pardon us."

The creature inclined his head.

"What is the name of this country?" Nedra asked.

"Name?" said the creature. Lifting a long talon, he scratched his head. "This is home. It has no other name." His bright, puzzled eyes inspected the friends. "Once there were beings here who looked like you. In our legends, they are called the angry ones. They tormented and slaughtered one another. Lifetimes ago, they vanished. Some of our kind flew out of the valley to search for them, and they, too, vanished. Nothing is left of their savagery but legends. We live peacefully here, caring for one another."

Nedra slipped closer and touched the creature's feathers. They'd been warmed by the morning sun and were very soft. He made a warbling sound deep in his throat.

Krin slipped his knife back into its sheath. Sarn took Orel's hand as they walked forward.

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