OD by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Chapter 11

Before the door on the third floor of the old house on Kohlmarkt, Ottane had to pause for a moment to catch her breath, so quickly had she run up the stairs. She always felt anxious when she came here, and today she had proof that her concern about being caught was not unfounded.

Was someone following her? She leaned over the stair railing and looked into the dark depth. On the first floor, two women stood in the hallway, talking loudly and excitedly. But no one followed her, and Ottane was just digging the key out of her little bag when the door opened, and a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her inside.

Kisses overwhelmed her—wild, famished kisses in the dark—as if she hadn’t been here three days ago but three years. The terror of the past minutes threw her into the passionate embrace like a refuge.

Inside the meticulously kept little room, Max Heiland helped her out of her coat and took off her hat.

“Imagine,” said Ottane, still distraught, “I ran into Frau Hofrätin Reißnagel. The Hofrat lives two houses over, and I’ve always thought I’d meet him or her someday, and they’d ask what I’m doing here.”

“Did she see you?” asked Max Heiland, concerned.

“I don’t think so. I suddenly stood before her; I couldn’t dodge anymore, but I think she didn’t notice me. She passed by stiffly and stared straight ahead.”

“Then it’s all right,” said the painter, quickly reassured. “You must have an excuse ready for all cases. Something to get rid of people, because if you ever kept me waiting in vain, I might lose my mind.”

“And there were so many people on the street. I think a lot of them were workers; they had angry, grim faces and carried sticks; they moved in groups, shouting and singing. It was hard to get through.”

“Yes, I believe they want something from the government. I passed by Stephanskirche; they posted a placard there last night, calling on the Viennese to free the good Emperor Ferdinand from the bonds of his enemies, and it says that whoever wants Austria’s rise must wish for the downfall of its state leaders. They mean Metternich. And it’s said the students want to move to the country house in Herrengasse and demand that their wishes be brought before the Emperor.” He laughed cheerfully and placed his hands on Ottane’s hips: “But what do we care about the Hofräte, the workers, the students, Metternich, and the addresses and placards? You’re with me, and now the world outside can go to ruin. How long can you stay?”

“Not long,” pleaded Ottane, “maybe an hour. I must be home soon; the father is in an increasingly bad mood.”

“Oh, what’s an hour after three days of longing?”

A small table stood there with a bowl of pastries and a bottle of Hungarian wine and two glasses. Max Heiland moved it close to the sofa, poured himself some in a picturesque manner, and pulled Ottane down beside him. He bent her body back, seized her mouth, and kissed her so long that she felt she was suffocating, and her vision darkened. She forgot everything; everything had sunk and vanished; she was only a part of the life force coursing through the universe, blissfully stolen from herself and swept into another.

Max Heiland had found this hideaway for their love hours since his atelier wasn’t safe enough. Strange women came there, and Therese made surprise, mistrustful visits. She had asked: “Are you meeting with Ottane? Where are you meeting with Ottane? I know you’re deceiving me, but watch out—I’m not one of those women who let themselves be cheated.” Max Heiland also had to be cautious; no one suspected this nest. The kind, deaf old woman who had rented him two rooms in her apartment made herself invisible; she didn’t want to risk losing the good pay.

“Take!” he said after releasing Ottane. He broke a piece of dry pastry in two and pushed half into Ottane’s mouth; he was an exuberant, reckless, boundless-in-love big boy. “Your father is still in a bad mood? Have you told Hermine anything yet?”

“I don’t know if it might not be better not to tell her. She keeps asking why Schuh doesn’t come. What should I say? I tell her he’ll come back eventually. Maybe Schuh was wrong, and Hermine cares for him more than he thinks. But she has a way of not showing it.”

“Thank God you can show it,” laughed the painter and kissed her.

“She’s closed off and completely unapproachable. But I think she’s tormented, suffering, unable to explain it. And Schuh doesn’t come. The father wrote him a letter. He wrote that Schuh isn’t suited for marriage, that he lacks the flexibility and suppleness needed for it, and that Hermine has a similar character—stubborn and unyielding—and that she has therefore turned down other proposals. He should not disturb Hermine’s peace and should be content with her respect and friendship. And he wrote that this is by no means a reason to avoid our house, and he should come and must come. But Schuh doesn’t come.”

Ottane raises her head; it feels to her as if a distant noise is pressing in—murmuring of many people, a clamor that a marching crowd pushes ahead of itself.

“If I imagine,” says Max Heiland, “that I should always be with you and not reveal with a single word that I love you… I couldn’t do that; I’m convinced it would be impossible for me. How can your father impose such a thing on Schuh? I find Schuh is right not to come. I, of course, might have done it differently.”

“Yes, you…” says Ottane, looking at the painter quite strangely. Then she adds: “Father is conducting experiments with the Hofrätin, and he probably needs Schuh to discuss the matter with him.”

“Egoist!” Heiland declares with great certainty.

Ottane wants to reply, perhaps that all people are more or less selfish, but her attention is drawn to the noise on the street. What is that? Step and tread, step and tread on the street—a vast crowd must be passing below.

Max Heiland and Ottane stand behind thick curtains, shielded from the view of people across who lean out of windows, looking at the street, waving handkerchiefs, and calling down. Below, a dense throng of young people, row upon row, linked arm in arm, marches—feather hats, caps, waves, and shouts back and forth between the street and the windows.

“They are the students,” explains Heiland, “heading to the country house in Herrengasse.”

Ottane lets out a cry: “Reinhold is among them!”

“Why shouldn’t he be there? The youth is making its voice heard; it wants to be listened to.”

“But the father? And if there’s a tumult, a rebellion? And how will I get home if the streets are so full? I must leave.”

Max Heiland has a cure-all for doubts and anxiety attacks. He takes Ottane wordlessly into his arms and kisses her. And Ottane instantly loses her senses. She knows nothing more of herself, floats between being and non-being in a rapture where all form dissolves into luminous ether.

Reinhold, on this March morning that anticipates a piece of May, went to the Polytechnic as usual. But there were no lectures today; the students stood in the hallways and around the building. It’s said those from the university mean to get serious today and force a decision. Yesterday, the lecture hall was locked, but the university students forced it open, drafted an address, signed it, and two professors had to deliver it to the Emperor. And it’s said that Count Kolowrat, who is usually very accommodating and seeks to balance opposites, even Count Kolowrat has said: “That’s just what’s missing—that the students should make splinters for us!”

But the Emperor gave an evasive and delaying response, and now those from the university want to make it happen. In the suburbs, there have been already been said yesterday: “It’s starting!” And the workers didn’t go to work today, and some masters even released their journeymen themselves so they could be part of it. In Reinhold, enthusiasm surges—yes, now freedom will finally come; he feels the breath of great events, what happiness to be able to throw himself into it. Bent, twisted, crushed all these years, but now he straightens up; somehow, the surge also crashes against the rigid bonds of his own life. All tyranny shall be shattered; it’s also against the tyranny of fathers—Reinhold has a very comprehensive concept of the freedom that is now coming.

A young student hurries up: “They’re already heading to the country house.”

“Comrades!” shouts a broad-shouldered, bearded man next to Reinhold, “are you servant souls? Do you want to remain slaves forever? Always just put off? Forward, we march with them!”

And the broad-shouldered, bearded man grabs Reinhold under the arm and pulls him along. This broad-shouldered, bearded figure was once a small, pitiful tutor and house steward, a poor wretch and hanger-on named Futterknecht; long ago, he also taught Reinhold and, through detours via other households and families, found his way back to being a student. With every house, every table, every bite of educator’s bread, every reprimand, and even every praise, a drop of hatred was added to his soul. The years since have thoroughly cleared away his humility and obsession; they have let him grow into a broad and bearded man, and freedom has stamped a daring hat with a feather on his head. Through his age, his enmity toward tyrants, and his relentlessness, he has gained respect and weight among his comrades; they follow him, and now he marches at the head of the procession with Reinhold under his arm. Reinhold is very proud to be so far forward, the confidant of the leader. Yes, now freedom comes; they are leading freedom.

The people join in, workers walking alongside, encouraging with shouts, shaking their fists. Reinhold stands next to a ragamuffin with a coat like a map of Germany, stitched a hundred times over, and a dirty cap. His pockets bulge wide, stuffed with something heavy. Beside him hobbles an old, greasy, stocky man, striving to keep pace; he wears a broad-brimmed hat and a coat much too large, with sleeves turned up, and something heavy must be in the long tails’ pockets, for they slap against his thin calves with each step. And now the ragged giant laughs, reaches into his pockets, and pulls out a fist-sized stone, showing it to the other; the greasy old man reaches into his coat tails and also pulls out a fist-sized stone, showing it to the ragged giant.

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Chapter 10: Shadows of Sanctuary

The next day continued at a luxurious pace, the soft rustle of leaves and distant bird calls weaving a tranquil rhythm. For the first time, there was no hurry or pressing matter. He indulged in curiosity and took exploratory hikes away from the stream, the cool earth beneath his boots and the faint scent of wildflowers drawing him to interesting and promising areas that from time to time caught his attention.

There was plenty of small game, and he was always able to knock down some bird or animal for a quick meal, the crackle of its cooking flesh a comforting sound. He never thought about using his bow. He had no need for that much meat and didn’t want to waste the time curing and drying it into jerky.

As long as he was following the stream, he didn’t have to worry about getting lost or even using the map and compass. All he had to do was keep going downstream, the water’s gentle murmur guiding him. There were actually a few times when it was raining, the patter on his shelter a soothing lullaby, that he would set up camp for a few days in the same spot and just sit out the bad weather. It was so peaceful and beautiful, with golden sunlight filtering through the trees, that one day led to the next. There was no pressure to perform and no Rafe to challenge him or push him harder.

He loved setting his own pace and being his own boss, the freedom swelling in his chest. He moved as the spirit moved him, and his solo was more like a vacation than actual work.

When he arrived at the lake, he made one spot a semi-permanent base and spent two weeks there, just fishing, exploring, and working on his clothing and equipment. The lake was good-sized and fed by several mountain streams, its surface reflecting the fiery hues of colorful sunsets that painted the evening sky. But nights were not restful. His dreams turned horrifying—vivid scenes of people being slaughtered, their screams echoing, and ghostly figures drifting among mass graves, their hollow eyes pleading. The Lord and Lady never came to him; it seemed the dead walked in his dreams instead of the living, a chilling weight settling on his soul. One night, a low hum from a Federation drone sliced through the silence, its cold metallic glint passing overhead, startling him awake, heart pounding, as it vanished into the dark.

Game was plentiful, and he started a permanent camp similar to Rafe’s. No one seemed to be at this particular location, but he did run across the remains of old campfires and a few shelters. There was nothing recent. He saw many deer with young, and the bear had come out of hibernation. He saw one mother bear with cubs and gave it a wide berth, the musky scent of her fur lingering in the air. Spring was the natural time for most wild species to give birth and nourish their young. Many of them at one time or another came down to the lake for water, usually in the early morning or late evenings just before sunset. One morning, he even saw a cougar or mountain lion on the opposite shore of the lake, its stealthy grace sending a shiver down his spine.

It seemed like birds were everywhere, and he learned to listen to the forest and what it was telling him—their songs a lively chorus at times, or an eerie quiet that raised the hairs on his neck. At night, the trees would creak and sway in the wind, and he would hear night creatures prowl around the camp in the darkness, their rustling footsteps a stark contrast to Rafe’s reassuring voice. Being alone in the woods was a lot different than being with someone, and he thought that maybe his dark dreams and that drone’s intrusion were getting to him.

Tobal thought about the time that he would need to teach six other people to solo just like Rafe had done. He didn’t know if he wanted to teach anyone yet. It would be much more fun to explore and develop a permanent camp. Perhaps he would take his newbies down into this area. With that in mind, Tobal began building his own teepee-shaped structure. He could get the blanket material from Sanctuary later after the framework was completed.

He began setting up things he had seen at Rafe’s—a smokehouse, a rack for drying jerky, a sweat lodge, and several traps for fish and for quail. These were spares for later in the winter months since he didn’t need them right now. It didn’t take him long to realize that he needed more cord and string. He also wished he had something heavier than a knife to cut wood with. A good axe would come in handy. He remembered the one he had seen at the store in Old Seattle and tried making one like it. It turned out better than he had expected, and he used it to chop smaller trees for his shelters.

The days passed, and once or twice he reflected it was strange he wasn’t missing human companionship. He wasn’t even feeling lonely, just surrounded by a deep peaceful feeling, the warmth of the sun on his face a balm—at least during the daytime. Before he knew it, the month was almost up, and it was time to head for the gathering spot once more. It was almost full moon. The clan would be having circle, and they would be expecting him back.

He gathered enough smoked fish, rabbit, and venison jerky to last several weeks. He could supplement that with anything fresh he found along the trail. He hated to leave the lake, the gentle quacking of ducks and the splash of beavers tugging at his heart. He loved to watch the ducks, geese, beaver, muskrats, and all the other animals that visited the lake and called it home. He even toyed with the idea of staying, but it was time to go, and he knew he would be back.

As Tobal neared the gathering spot, he saw others heading toward the circle. When they waved, he felt like he was indeed coming home, a surge of belonging warming his chest. Nobody else whistled as they approached the camp, and they laughed at him. He asked why and was told there were no guards except on the trail that led from Sanctuary. Newbies were only to come into camp from that path. After they had joined the clan, there was no need for a guard. It was just part of the initiation. Tobal felt silly and wondered why Rafe had never told him that part of it. He remembered Rafe laughing at him the last time they had come to circle when he had been constantly whistling. It was so like Rafe to let him figure things out for himself.

He was in high spirits as he helped set up the structures and gather firewood for the bonfire, the crackle of logs and chatter of clansmen lifting his mood. He was enjoying being treated as an equal and kept busy throughout the day. He was feeling good when his friends showed up, congratulating him on his solo. He talked with Nikki; she had completed her training with Zee, and the Elders approved her for soloing this month. She was excited about it. Tobal made sure to give her a kiss for good luck. Nikki was a stocky, well-built brunette with an infectious sense of humor and an impulsiveness that got her into trouble at times, but she always managed to get out of it just as quickly.

“Hey, don’t I get one too?” Zee asked, pouting and tossing her braided raven hair back over her shoulder, her voice a playful challenge that hung in the air, a moment heavy with the promise of their shared journey.

Tobal moved over and gave her a big hug and a kiss. “How have you been?” he teased, his grin widening.

“I’ve been doing quite well, thank you,” she laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’m heading out for Sanctuary in the morning. You want to come along? It’s always more fun traveling together than alone.” Her smile was warm, carrying a hint of anticipation that lingered, a decision point that would shape their next steps.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said, considering the journey ahead. “How early are you planning to start out?”

“The sooner the better,” she replied, her tone firm yet inviting. “How about sunrise?”

“I’ll see if I can get up that early,” he griped, and they both smiled, the moment sealing their plan with a shared lightness.

He walked over and found out Kevin was going to try for a newbie and hoped there would be enough newbies for everyone. They congratulated each other on their solos and told stories about how it had gone. Kevin was pretty excited.

When Rafe showed up, it was kind of odd because he was alone and didn’t have anyone with him. After a warm hug, Rafe explained he’d been visiting others and taking it easy since his last training stint. He mentioned earning his sixth chevron at the upcoming awards and his initiation as a Journeyman in two weeks, a mix of nerves and excitement in his voice as he looked forward to the ceremony.

Later at the afternoon assembly, introductions were made for Tobal, Kevin, and the four other newly soloed Apprentices. They were brought out in front of the circle to the sound of cheering, good-natured applause, and joking.

The next to be brought forward was Rafe. Alongside Kevin’s teacher, Rafe was eligible for the Journeyman degree. They were called to the front as the sixth chevron was sewn onto their sleeves amidst joking and laughter. The Journeyman degree initiation was set for the new moon in two weeks at a secret location, marked on their maps but unknown to Apprentices.

He chatted with Wayne and Char for a bit before sunset. They were building a permanent base camp and planned on spending the winter together. That got Tobal thinking about the coming cold weather and how he needed to get prepared, resolving to pick up his winter gear cached at Rafe’s on the way back to circle next month. He figured he’d be okay for this month since the furs weren’t prime yet.

He visited with Tara for a while. She was concentrating on building a base camp and getting ready for the coming winter, hoping to find someone to share it with. She was disappointed when Tobal said he was planning to train during the winter.

The bonfire was lit, and word came around that there would be several Apprentice initiations. Ellen wanted to start early, reminding Tobal about the small meditation group the next morning to explore the Lord and Lady’s mysteries—a detail he barely registered in the moment. He almost forgot about it until he heard one of the guards boom out, “Becca Morgan is welcomed into our clan as a new member.” Along with the others, he was caught up in the shouting, applause, and craning his neck to get his first view of this new member of the clan.

As the High Priestess and High Priest began the initiation ceremony, Tobal found himself remembering parts, though some things seemed reversed. Then he realized the High Priest was doing the initiating, not the High Priestess, because Becca was female. It seemed the High Priestess only initiated male candidates, and the High Priest initiated female ones.

Tobal was admitted into the circle by the High Priestess with a hug and a kiss and found a place to sit on the northern side of the circle. He sat with others as the circle was purified and made ready for the candidate.

Everyone sat back in anticipation as Becca was led out, hoodwinked with both hands tied behind her back. Her guide was the same dark-haired girl that had been his guide, and he still didn’t know her name. He was going to have to ask someone. As Becca was initiated, Tobal found himself staring at her. Her tunic had been cut so short he could almost see where her slender white legs joined together beneath the cloth, and he found them incredibly attractive. The air buzzed with a rising energy, a warm current that pulsed through him, stirring a mix of awe and anticipation as the Lord and Lady’s presence began to form above the central fire.

He was watching the candidate—or rather, watching her legs—as the charge was read, reliving his own initiation in his mind. The energy built, a tingling wave that coursed through his body, heightening his senses with a vibrant hum. When the drums started and it was time to move around the circle and build the cone of power, he found himself dancing clockwise with the others. As he touched her shoulder and gently turned her, a spark raced up his arm and down his spine, a surge of electric thrill mingling with discomfort. What was going on? He was obviously aroused and attracted by this unknown girl, and he could even feel how she must feel as the focus of all this energy, her presence amplifying the circle’s power.

His elation turned to shock and horror as the Priest took the hoodwink off Becca, and her face was exposed to the firelight of the circle. As she blinked, he saw it was the girl who almost clawed his eyes out a year ago. An energy backlash hit him, a sharp jolt that twisted his stomach and sent a cold shiver through his frame, as if the circle’s power turned against him. She was being initiated into his clan and his circle as a sister. The realization unleashed a powerful emotional reaction—rage, betrayal, and fear crashing over him, his breath catching as his hands clenched, the weight of her presence unbearable.

Stunned and hurt, he got through the rest of the ceremony by retreating so deeply into his own thoughts and inner anguish that he hardly realized what was going on within the circle. He sat through three other initiations in a stupor, the meditation group forgotten in his turmoil. Later, when the party started, Tobal made a pretense of having a good time but soon slipped away, and nobody seemed to notice he was gone.

Tobal didn’t know if anyone had missed him. Overwhelmed, he left that evening and struggled his way up the cliff leading back to Sanctuary, forgoing safety precautions in his haste. He was well on his way along the narrow cliff ledge as the sun came up and shed its light into the valley, but the terrain was treacherous, and his mind was elsewhere. His gut churned with a mixture of raw emotions—anger at Becca, confusion about the circle, and a desperate need to escape.

It wasn’t fair. This was his clan, his circle, his people, and his friends. For Goddess’ sake, he was in the middle of the wilderness attempting to become a citizen of a Forbidden City. What was the likelihood she would be doing the same thing? The world simply wasn’t that small.

He was in a numbed state as he made his way toward Sanctuary for the first time. The trip was a blur, and he didn’t remember much. He ate from his own food supplies and didn’t bother hunting for anything but water for his two canteens, his focus shattered.

The cheerful, easy peace of mind he had experienced during his solo was gone, and he stumbled blindly along. The connection he had formed with nature was temporarily forgotten as the sun beat mercilessly down on him during the day, and he slept on the hard, unforgiving ground during the night. The next two days, it rained mercilessly, and he narrowly avoided a flash flood that swept his camp away, losing most of his supplies. The roaring water nearly took him too, a close brush with death that left him shaken. Nature’s unforgiving power was a stark lesson.

Luckily, he still had his map and compass in a pouch around his neck and was able to triangulate his position. He was wet, cold, tired, and hungry as he trudged across a muddy terrain made slick in spots by red clay that clung to his shoes, making every step a grueling challenge. The water had filled his shoes and sloshed between his toes, and he could feel blisters beginning to form on his heels from the chafing, each step a painful reminder of his recklessness.

When he arrived at Sanctuary—the processing building for the Sanctuary Program, overseen by Heliopolis with an unknown connection to the local Federation outpost—nobody was there. He was disappointed but also very humbled that he had lost most of his supplies in the flash flood, including his jerky. As he chewed down some of the nasty-tasting stuff from the machine, he resolved to wait right there until someone did show up. There were usually several new people each month that somehow arrived at Sanctuary from wherever they came from. Remembering Rafe’s advice, he stripped completely, leaving his gear in a corner, and went through the medical exam again, getting a new set of robes, pack, and med-kit, and most importantly, fresh socks and a new pair of hiking boots.

Tobal thought about using the new robe as a raincoat or slicker and grabbed several blankets to take back to the lake as a covering for his teepee. He went through the contents of the new pack and med-kit, finding another knife, razor, and toothbrush to replace those he had lost in the flood. He looked at his old wet hiking boots, wondering whether he should keep them or not. Besides being soaked, they were almost worn out from the rugged lifestyle of the past two months. He decided to hang onto them anyway. Boots were hard to come by in the wilderness, and homemade ones just didn’t have the comfort of these heavy-duty hiking boots.

He was feeling satisfied with his pack and starting to feel better in general when he heard footsteps entering the building and a timid “Hello.”

He froze in the darkness, waiting. There was a short silence, and the footsteps continued until he heard the familiar mechanical voice saying, “Do you seek sanctuary in the city of the sun?”

A timid female voice answered weakly, “Yes, I do.”

Tobal moved silently to the edge of the dark archway and looked into the other room. He saw a slight figure with her back toward him. She was entering the sliding door into the exam area.

Yesterday, he had gone through the exam wearing his med-alert bracelet, and it had been nothing like the two-day processing he had gone through the first time. It had only taken about 3 hours before he emerged with his new clothing and gear. He knew it would be two days for this newbie to finish processing, so he settled down to wait.

The pouring rain continued, and he assumed Zee and Kevin had decided not to travel in the storm and would be coming later after the weather had cleared.

It was around noon on the second day that a sure-footed hulk came through the door dressed in the gray tunic of an Apprentice. It was a boy Tobal had seen at circle briefly but hadn’t talked to. He felt this hulking boy had been hostile toward both him and Rafe. Tobal remembered the boy’s name was Victor, but most people called him Ox, probably because he was so slow and big. Ox stopped and grinned when he saw Tobal.

“Anyone come in yet?” he asked.

“Yeah, someone’s processing right now,” Tobal replied.

Ox padded over to him, his bulk towering over Tobal in a menacing way. He could see the five chevrons on Ox’s sleeve and knew Ox intended to claim this newbie for himself.

“You’d better run along little boy,” Ox told him. “I’ll take care of this one.”

An icy feeling settled into Tobal’s gut. He felt sick and powerless to stop what was happening. Ox was too big for him to take in a fight. He sat back on one of the cots without saying anything. A small flicker of triumph gleamed in Ox’s eyes as he turned and went outside for his pack.

Moments later, Tobal heard a door slide open, and the girl, now dressed in a gray robe and carrying a bundle, stepped into the darker room where he sat waiting. As if on cue, Ox came stomping in and walked up to her. He roughly grabbed her arm.

“Come on, I’m your new teacher,” he growled. “Let’s get going.”

She shrank back, obviously terrified, and Tobal instinctively stood up without thinking.

“Wait a minute, Ox,” he said. “I’ve been waiting here three days, and I think you’re rushing things a little bit. She might prefer to go with me than with you.”

His challenge stopped Ox in his tracks.

“You still here, scarface?” he asked. “You’d better run back to Rafe before I mess you up.”

“Why don’t we just explain the situation to the newbie,” said Tobal reasonably. “We can both talk to her, and she can make her own decision about who she wants as a teacher.”

Ox didn’t even wait. He spun and lurched over to where Tobal was standing, grabbed him by the tunic, and threw him down on the floor. In disbelief, Tobal narrowly missed being kicked in the face by a huge boot. This guy was really trying to hurt him! He rolled hastily to his feet and watched Ox with fear in his eyes. There had been no real warning. Tobal was caught completely off guard by the viciousness of the attack and had no idea what to expect next. Ox was obviously used to getting his own way and was coming around the end of the cot to close with him and give him a real pounding that could involve serious injury.

Instinctively, Tobal’s hand went to his knife, and he held it in front of him protectively with the edge upward. Ox halted, shock registering on his face. He was obviously not used to being threatened with knives and didn’t know what to do about it.

Sensing an advantage, Tobal took a quick step toward Ox, waving the knife slightly.

“I said let’s talk to her. Let’s explain things to her, and then let her decide.”

Ox stood still, not moving, a nervous tick showed on his left cheek, and his eyes were bulging. Like most bullies, Ox was a coward at heart. He was clearly unprepared for any of this and didn’t know what to do. The silence built until his nerve broke, unwilling to challenge Tobal any further; he spun away with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“I’ll remember this,” he said and stalked heavily out of the room.

Tobal turned toward Fiona, who was shrinking from him in fear. Then it occurred to him that he was still brandishing the knife in a threatening way. He put the knife away, blushing.

“Sorry about that,” he said in an embarrassed way. He felt a red flush creeping up his face, making the muscles go tight and pulling the scar tissue, making it stand out in the dim light. He was uncomfortably aware of how he must appear to this frightened girl.

“Sorry,” he said again weakly and sat down on the edge of a cot.

As Fiona stepped into the room, Tobal’s eyes widened in recognition. “Fiona!” he exclaimed, a rush of relief and surprise breaking through his exhaustion. She froze, her dark brown eyes meeting his, then softened into a faint, tearful smile as her blonde hair caught the dim light. “Tobal, I found you!” she whispered, clutching her bundle. “They stole all my things!”

She burst into tears, unable to take more, and Tobal’s heart softened, a chuckle escaping at the irony. He lay back on the uncomfortable cot, looking her over with a mix of concern and nostalgia. She was taller than he’d first thought in Chapter 1, reaching his shoulder, her blonde hair now stringy from the journey, her thin, long face marked by a black eye and yellowing bruise. Her shoulders shook, an ordeal etched into her frame.

“Why did you come here?” he asked gently, leaning forward.

Gradually, her story spilled out. She had missed him back home, asking around until she heard about Sanctuary—the processing building for the Sanctuary Program, overseen by Heliopolis with an unknown connection to the local Federation outpost. Wild stories of time travel, witches’ circles, and magick had reached her, but she hadn’t really believed them. Determined to find him, she’d run from an abusive home, only to arrive scared and lost, the reality far from her expectations.

“It’s not at all like I thought it would be,” she confessed tearfully.

“You ran away from home?” Tobal asked, noting her blush and the bruises.

She nodded, her face reddening to her roots, and Tobal shuddered, imagining her with Ox. Her sanctuary was a refuge from violence, unlike his search for parental clues.

Not quite knowing how to begin, “This is kind of complicated,” he said at last. “Sanctuary isn’t that easy, and becoming a citizen takes a long time.” He began lamely. “You see, they don’t just let people into Heliopolis….”

She started to clench up and quiver, fighting back tears, and he motioned her to keep quiet and let him finish. He tried a kindly smile, seeing her flinch.

“Heliopolis only grants citizenship to those who’ve proven themselves worthy. Claiming sanctuary means you’re applying and willing to prove your worthiness.”

He stopped, realizing she didn’t understand, and tried again.

“You just had a medical exam, right?” She nodded. “You’ve also taken tests and been given a pack with clothing and a sleeping bag, right?” She nodded again.

“What you’re expected to do is prove you can live off the land alone for a month.”

She looked at him in shocked disbelief, her eyes widening in horror.

“You mean there’s no sanctuary here?” she asked.

His face relaxed into a grin as he sat up. “There is safety and sanctuary in a way. A group of us live outside the city in the wilderness. We’ve all claimed sanctuary, even Ox, whom you met. We’re proving ourselves worthy of Heliopolis citizenship. It requires three degrees of work and study. The Apprentice degree is learning to survive alone for a month, or 28 days—the moon cycle—without help. Once you solo, you train six others. Mastering that earns you the Journeyman degree, which we can discuss later.”

“Ox has trained five, but I haven’t yet. I just finished my solo three days ago and came hoping to find someone to teach.”

She grew curious, attentive.

“Ox came for the same, and we clashed, as you saw,” he grinned ruefully. “I’m alive, though! He’s too rough for me.” He looked at her solemnly. “I’d be glad to teach you survival skills for the Apprentice degree if you’d like.”

She smiled lightly, humor glinting. “I’d like that very much, Tobal.”

“Tobal,” he said.

“Tobal,” she said, “I like your style.”

They laughed, the sound carrying a weight of their shared history—Fiona, having tracked Tobal here, rekindled their bond with a knowing glance.

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