Far above the city of Jahan, the air was clear. Sunlight streamed through the cloudless sky while white birds drifted in lazy circles. A seemingly infinite expanse of space stretched from the roofs of the buildings to eternity, heavy enough to crush the world and at the same time empty enough to hold all its problems: the magnitude was overwhelming. Inhabitants of Jahan told stories of a young romantic who spent his time on his back, on top of his house. He stared at the sky for days at a time. Then one day, so it went, he simply lost himself in the heavens and died of starvation.

Closer to the city, this vast sense of nothing was replaced by sand. Sand, above all else, ruled the lives of those unfortunate enough to spend most of their time outdoors. Jahan was surrounded by desert, as far as one could see. Roads stretched out, one from each side, only to disappear into the distance. In the streets, between tall buildings made chiefly of clay, the atmosphere was opposite that of the sky. Travelers new to the city were taken aback by the sense of claustrophobia. Wind lifted curtains of sand from the ground, swallowing tourists as if with a gaping jaw, hiding, enveloping. Any colors present soon joined their brethren and became the color of dirt.

Adil sometimes thought about where the roads out of Jahan led. He considered following them to their destination, but found it hard to imagine them having one. He'd spent his entire life in this one place.

He daydreamed often, out of a lack of anything else to do. He'd lived on the streets of Jahan ever since his parents died; there was absolutely nowhere else for him to go. This was made especially true by the peculiar circumstances surrounding his city. Years before, a curious disease had struck Jahan. It did not kill, or even hurt those who contracted it. It simply turned their skin a dark shade of red, almost black. The change was permanent, and happened three days after contact with the disease, which was itself transmitted by even the slightest contact. What resulted was that the city, which had previously been comprised of rich and poor classes, became completely divided. The disease was a mark of the poor, and anybody without it stayed away from them. This created two cities in one. The rich in Jahan lived indoors, or in gated estates. They built paths and bridges above the city to get around. Outdoors and ground level were the haunts of the poor.

As can be imagined, this did not work out well for those with the disease. They no longer had wealthy folks to come around and buy their wares. They were no longer given charity. An effort was made to remake the economy into what it had once been, but there was only partial success. The problem was that the rich of Jahan controlled food distribution at the highest levels, and needed the food for themselves. This split the lower class into two more classes: The poor, and the homeless. The poor had jobs, and food, and usually a place to sleep. They were uncomfortable, but in a good position compared to those like Adil.

 

Adil was unlike most other people who lived on the streets. He was an idealist, and quite intelligent. He prized his moral values above all else. His reasoning went that as long as he upheld the same ethical code as even the richest people in Jahan, he was just as important. This was why he was depressed most of the time, leaning against a dirty wall with his head bowed, imagining better times. He hated stealing for his food, though it wasn't hard for someone like him. Unfortunately, he never wanted to steal, though he only took what was strictly necessary. He would argue with himself over right and wrong, good and bad. Yes, stealing was wrong, but he had to. He doubted even the most brilliant rulers, living in their fancy mansions, could give that problem a satisfactory answer.

While the well-off have time on their hands, nothing compares to the immense boredom at the disposable of the misplaced. Adil would construct vast territories in his mind. Adding villages, geographical features, he would entertain himself for hours. When that got tired, he would write plays of great length. He would dwell on a line or sentence for long periods of time, thinking of the best combination of words or phrases. Understandably, his approach to creative writing was completely different, in fact diametrically opposed, to that of most writers. The object, when one is writing a creative work, is to finish it, to end with a product worth displaying. When all the writing is conducted instead by the swift process of thought, for the viewing pleasure of no one, the work takes a different focus. Adil would spend hours even after satisfying himself over a section. Anything that could be improved would be. He could spend a long time thinking about the perfect passage. This, while termed "writer's block" by some, was for what he strived.

An acquaintance would have seen him as a romantic. Impractical and dreamy, Adil actually saw himself as a cynic, and a realist. It was this juxtaposition of traits that made him such an imaginative boy.

 

 

One day, while Adil ate a crust of bread he'd pilfered, he came upon a large mansion near the side of the city. While he'd been there before, he'd never really looked closely at it. The mansion was surrounded on all sides by packed earth, with a few trees. There was a well in back, with a stone path leading to it and around the house. The choking dust seemed to stop at the metal wall enclosing the land. Inside, the air was clear. Unbelievably, a few trees grew. While there were trees in the city, they were shriveled, dried-up ghosts. The trees here were full, beautiful. A monkey climbed a high branch.

The house itself rose taller than the surrounding buildings. Not that it was any taller than were some of the other buildings in Jahan. Rather, it seemed that all the structures nearby bowed to their king, who lived in their midst. It was a noble king, at that, one fit to rule the area with an iron hand. It had stylish white clay, with large windows. A balcony jutted out of the second floor, large enough to fit a dining table (which it did). The curve of the red roof was regal, and suggested a time long past.

 

Consulting his memory, Adil remembered some small knowledge of the king’s inhabitants. They were wealthy beyond most. They included a mother and father, and a daughter near his age. How he sometimes wished to have a mother of his own. A father, to him, was a luxury, but everyone had a mother. As he sat against a wall, facing the back of the king of the neighborhood, a young girl came to the window of said mansion. He knew she was the rich daughter from her petulant and empty gaze. At first, she stood staring at nothing in particular. Soon though, she looked at him. He looked fearlessly back for a short while, before she walked away from the window. Adil was struck with inspiration. "What if I were her?" he thought to himself. "Or better still, what is she doing now?" a new story began to unfold, as he lay back and imagined.

 

---

 

Adil dreamed of the light, white and purer than anybody on the street deserved. It traveled through the curtained windows at its usual pace, but soon slowed down, succumbing to the sleepy atmosphere in the king of houses. A feeling of peace pervaded the senses. Nothing was dirty because dirt had no place there. Hired servants cleaned any area under suspicion. The whole house was reminiscent of a holiday morning, free of responsibilities and worries. The temperature was cool but not cold, with a warm breeze. Or was that warm but not hot, with a cool breeze? Anyone there felt as if they had escaped the limits of their body, that their souls were free to accomplish what they might without irrational physical constraints. What was her name...?

 

Ava was used to the atmosphere in her house. Her silky white clothes with golden edges flowed around her as she left the window. She was used to everything around her, and it bored her. She thought to herself, "At least I'm not out there." Walking back to the room in which her mother had been took her through most of the house. The walls were white, perfectly clean, and perfectly smooth. Every few feet there was a tapestry, painting, or rug hanging on these beautiful walls. Ava had once found them interesting, but had since scrutinized them all. The curving corridor took her past the back entrance, which opened into the walled-in meadow behind the house. She passed by without looking.

In the largest room in the house at last, Ava sat down on a cushion, and ate a strawberry from a bowl. A delicacy, to be sure. She had no real responsibilities here. There were people elsewhere in the house, but she couldn't see or hear them. A rug made from a lion's skin rested on the floor in front of her. It always reminded her of jungles, and places she could never be.

 

Ava was woken up by her mother entering the room. A mother: something she took for granted. Her mother was like her, simply but beautifully dressed. She sat down next to her daughter and said nothing for a while. After an awkward silence, she tried again: "I'd like to read you a story, dear, would you enjoy that?" Ava voiced her agreement, and her mother began to read.

 

---

 

Above the clouds, far beyond the dense forest below, a hawk circles. Suddenly it dives, gaining fantastic speed as it enters the foliage. It catches its prey and soars up again. A leaf it brushes falls off a tree, while the hawk, oblivious, continues. The glossy green leaf spirals towards the ground lazily, as its companions watch on. Animals again return to their business.

Enitan catches the leaf with his back foot as he swings from his tail to a nearby tree. A leaf disturbed by a hawk is a special thing, and one to be cherished. He carries it over the remaining distance to the largest tree in the forest, where he and his clan make their home. Enitan nimbly climbs to a high branch, where Temitope sits. Temitope is the clan's storyteller, serving as their spiritual guide, as well as their memory. He is known for telling long stories in answer to difficult questions. He is very old, and sleeps through most of every day. Temitope awakes when Enitan arrives, and knows the leaf without being told.

"This is a great thing, Enitan," he says. "It never even touched the ground." Enitan is surprised by the old monkey's knowledge, but not too surprised. He touches his forehead and swings away.

 

Airborne, he is tackled and pushed onto a bed of leaves. Laughing, he pins his brother Nakato onto the ground. Enitan is surprised to see him. His brother had left their home, and nobody had seen him for a long time. They playfully banter, and talk of things in the forest. There is enough food. Many children are being born. Enitan asks, "So all is good then?" His brother shakes his head in his familiar half-wild way and says, "It's good to see you, brother. I haven't seen you in many seasons, not since we left our home. Where is your clan's tree?" In response, Enitan points north, only realizing afterward that he is disoriented, and has pointed in the wrong direction. His brother looks relieved. “I'll see you soon,” says Nakato, and disappears.

Enitan starts along again in a good mood. His brother has resurfaced after a long time, and the spring feast will start in no time at all. Which reminds him, he needs to gather as many long sticks as he can for the games later on.

The job of gathering tree branches for the pole game is hard but engaging. All the young monkeys first go out to see who can gather the most. The poles are then used for the entertainment. Enitan climbs up a large tree and deftly breaks a branch off with his hands. He starts on another, when he hears a jeer from a branch above.

"Get out of here! These are our branches!"

"It must be someone from a distant clan," thinks Enitan. He shrugs and leaves. He is late for the game anyway, because of the time he spent with his brother.

 

The pole game is played as follows: two monkeys stand on a thin branch, facing each other. They each must knock the other off to win. The only catch is that the pole of one monkey can only hit the other monkey below the knees. The rules for a blow that is not below the knees are as follows: if someone is hit by a pole above the knees, no matter how hard or soft, and he does not fall off the branch, he is declared the victor. Of course, if he falls off, he is still the loser. In this way, a straightforward game is given some strategy.

Because Enitan is late, the first match is already underway. The matches increase in importance as the night goes on, so this match is between two newer fighters. Even still, it is obvious that the one is better than the other. The match is soon over. Next comes the traditional match between the two sisters, Ike and Eki.

No one ever knows who will win between them. Ike does not want to be struck anywhere, being lighter. She is sure that a blow to her body will send her off balance. She nimbly ducks and blocks, looking for an opening. Eki is the opposite. She is heavy and strong. She swings fully every time, with no particular aim. She wants to push her sister off with one blow to her back.

As the match continues, the crowd is eagerly awaiting a victor. This year both sisters seem completely matched. Ike appears to be taking her time, as she parries a blow to the feet. She swings back, catching Eki in the heel. However, Eki hardly moves. Her balance has increased from the last year to this one.

Eki draws back for a particularly heavy blow, and all in attendance take a breath collectively. As Ike moves to parry, a thrown stone hits her with force in the back of her head. Confused, she drops her pole. Meanwhile, seeing that her attack would hit her sister in the head, Eki aims her strike to the side, off the branch, in order to spare Ike. This unbalances her, and she falls the short distance to the ground.

The crowd looks for the thrower of the rock, who ruined such a fight. Suddenly, unbelievably, a shower of rocks descends onto the gathering of monkeys. Enitan is hit in the eye and momentarily blinded. He holds his faces in his hands, and does not see a large group of monkeys from a distant clan, the same that yelled at him. They descend on the fallen sister, Eki, and pick her up. In a moment, they are gone, but they have taken five from the clan.

 

Enitan is out gathering stones a week later when his brother comes again. They share greetings, and Enitan asks his brother if all is well.

"It is," says Nakato, "we prosper under these conditions."

"Which conditions?" asks Enitan. His brother looks at him with that wild, fierce look again. "War," he says. "We are raiding a nearby clan." He points to the south, in the opposite direction of where Enitan had pointed the day before. "I must get back," he says. "We raid again in the night."

Enitan sits in inner turmoil as he watches his brother leave. He is sure now that his brother is in the raiding party, and that he has mistakenly attacked the clan where his own brother lives. Enitan doesn't know what to do. He could leave the clan, and abandon his own people. If he does that, though, where would he live? He could tell his brother the truth. However, this scares him, because he is afraid of Nakato. What if his brother simply refuses to believe him, ignores him, or kills him? He could tell the clan. What if his brother is hurt, though?

"I will go to Temitope," thinks Enitan. "He will know what to do."

 

Temitope sits in on his branch, showing contentment with his lot. He is not surprised to see Enitan.

"What brings you here, my boy?" he asks.

"I have a problem, Temitope," says Enitan. "I need your advice."

Enitan then tells Temitope everything that has transpired, about his brother and his dilemma. "What should I do?" he asks.

Temitope clears his throat, and the birds around him, and even the leaves, seem to bend towards him, to hear his reply.

"I," he says, "will tell you a story."

 

---

 

There once was a tall mountain, in a dry forest. The mountain stretched up and over the clouds, but only barely. In fact, sometimes a cloud sat right on top of the mountain, and obviously sometimes it did not. Anyone on top would see the clouds coming toward them before being swallowed up. The top of the mountain was special because it stopped short of an actual peak, and became a flat plateau, looking out over the land for miles. The forest went right up to this plateau and left a little clearing in the middle.

In this clearing, an old man made his home. He was known to the people in the villages down below as a wise old hermit, who spent his time on top of the mountain and never came down. There were rumors that he was crazy, though some said only eccentric. Actually, his name was Ivan, and he just liked to be alone.

 

Ivan tended his vegetable garden carefully. It accounted for half of his diet, and he planted it every year. When he wasn't planting, he carved things out of the wood of the forest. The year before, he had carved himself a wooden flute-like instrument, which he called a kotta. He had worked on it for days, meticulously hollowing and shaping the wood. When one lives alone, one has time to do many things. Ivan was not lonely.

The animals all knew him. They would come if they were wounded. Ivan would heal them, play them a song, or feed them. He was at peace with the world. In the evenings, he would sit on the steep side of the mountain looking down, seemingly at the whole world. He loved to just sit down and play music with the kotta. He let it flow out from him. He carved chairs and other things, but instruments were his joy.

Occasionally, villagers would make the trek up the mountain to speak to him. They usually wanted his advice to a trivial question having to do with village life. Ivan liked his solitude, and was annoyed when people wasted his time. He usually told them what they wanted to hear, fed them, and sent them on their way. The month before, a man and woman had come all the way up to ask him the words to a song. It seems that it had been in their family for generations, but they had forgotten the words. They couldn't remember the tune, or even how it started. In fact, all they could remember was that it was a nice song. He gently told them to go home, and went back inside.

Above all else, ignorance and stupidity angered him. It was for this reason that he had left in the first place.

 

Ivan sat in his hut, tending to a wolf with a broken leg. It occasionally snapped at him in pain, but he knew it was grateful. When he finished his task, he sat back and ate a carrot. Soon, though, he heard steps on the walk up to his cabin. Finishing his carrot, he got up and looked out the door. A young woman was approaching. He almost put on his "hermit" personality, but thought better of it. This woman had intelligence in her eyes, something that seemed to Ivan so rare.

He stood in the doorway and let her approach. Watching her, he realized what set her apart: she was utterly defeated, in her walk and her posture. She had the look of someone who’d been subjected to an emotional barrage that no human should ever experience. When she got closer to him, they stood still, watching each other for a few seconds. Here was a woman in need. He turned around before she could speak and led her into the cabin.

As he set up a meal for her, they still hadn't exchanged any words. Only when she was finished eating did they meet eyes and speak.

"What do you want?" he asked, harsher than he meant. She burst into tears. That had not worked. He tried again, in a kinder voice.

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to company. What's your name?" She looked up, surprised. Drying her tears, she responded, "Ava."

"Ivan," he said. With that, he took his kotta down and played a quick, upbeat tune. It would soar up and up, only to stop, and fall down. Over and over, in slightly different phrasing, Ivan repeated this pattern. As he improvised, he envisioned a man climbing a ladder, only to fall down as he neared the top. Soon he was laughing too hard to play. Ava was smiling as well.

“What is that thing?" she asked. And just like that, he realized he had found someone who he wouldn't mind spending time with. Ivan was surprised to feel a burden lifting away, one that he hadn't known had been there. There was nothing sexual in his attraction to this girl, but at the same time, he found himself wondering how he could have spent years alone. He recognized that by living the life of a hermit, he hadn't realized at all how rewarding company could be.

When he looked back down at her, he realized that she wasn't as happy as he was. "What makes you so sad?" he asked. She only closed her eyes and shook her head. He decided to give her time. In the room next to his own, he laid down a pallet for her. It was getting dark, and she took his presumption that she wanted to spend the night as if she had asked for it in words. With another smile, she went to her room and lay down. Soon she was asleep.

As Ivan sat at the one table in the cabin, he thought about how strange it was for someone who he'd barely met to be spending the night with him. In an hour, his life had completely changed. As he reflected though, it hadn't changed all that much. About now, he would be getting into bed himself. He decided to do just that.

 

As the sun rose, Ivan got out of bed to tend his garden. When he came back inside he found her playing on his kotta, trying to make a tune. She guiltily put it down as he came in.

"It's alright," he said, "Go ahead." She picked it up again and played a short tune. He was impressed. He showed her how to make different notes, and where to put one's fingers. As he was instructing her, he realized that neither of them knew much at all about the other. Their friendship, as it were, was built on a strong foundation of ignorance. Ivan found this ironic. Ever since the night before, his view on life was starting to change

 

The next day, they went into the woods together. He helped her pick a large piece of excellent wood, and they went back to the cabin. Once there, he helped her carve out her own kotta. It took them the whole day, and he realized that it was the first day since he had built his cabin that he hadn't spent any time sitting still. He always spent some time looking over the side, down the mountain, or else just sitting in front of his cabin.

He felt as if he had, for the first time in ages, utilized all the time available to him. With this came sadness at the knowledge of his wasted days. With this also came the resolution to spend his time in a wiser fashion. Again, Ivan had to marvel at how much he'd changed.

As weeks went by, they exchanged more words, and had a few conversations. They never dwelt on either of their pasts for long, especially hers. They talked about animals, and gardens, and most of all, music. He taught her how to play the kotta she had made, and gave her lessons. He showed her the theory that encompassed the different tones. He'd largely discovered this musical theory on his own, after experimenting with his kotta. The instrument was large, about the size of a squirrel. It fit nicely in two hands. It had holes in two rows on the top, where fingers were placed. The different combinations of covered and open holes led to different notes when air was blown through. The instrument had a full twelve tones at its disposal. It had taken Ivan weeks of experimentation to discover exactly where the holes should be placed and how they should be covered. The kotta also had a range of two and a half octaves, which allowed it a high or a low sound. Ivan had derived its name from the few words he remembered of a language he'd learned as a child. Kotta, if his memory served him, meant "breath."

 

As Ava's playing improved, so did Ivan's comfort at living with someone, and as he felt more comfortable with her, she felt more comfortable with him. One night, when they were sitting next to a fire where dinner was cooking, he decided to ask her what her original reason was for climbing his mountain. He gently led the conversation towards her background.

“Are you from a village near here?" he asked. She shook her head. Ivan was confused. He'd thought that she had heard of him, and had come for advice from the “wise old hermit.”

"So what brought you here?"

"Something... happened. I was walking for hours. I saw this mountain, and climbed. When I saw your hut, I walked in. I felt...drawn here." Ivan was surprised at how much she had revealed. He decided to press further. Gently, he asked, "What did happen?"

There was silence for a long while, but then a change came over Ava. She shifted in her seat, cleared her voice, and started to tell him her story.

 

---

 

I lived with my husband and my daughter in a city east of here. Unlike your isolated towns, our city was large and busy, with roads leading out. There was a forest next to it, but we all stayed in the city. Our lives were peaceful and easy. There was never a shortage of money, and weather was pleasant. The only thing marring my utter contentment was my husband's fervent belief in God. His name was Dalik, and he loved God more than me. Unfortunately, his logic was sometimes a little skewed. His love of God somehow led him to a job in the army after his business failed. While most reasonable people would lose faith if a warehouse holding an entire business's future burned down, Dalik took it as a sign from God. He'd always believed that he shared some sort of individual line of communication with Him. Inevitably, a war started soon after he joined our city's militia.

 

A neighboring city-state had been itching for war for generations. They'd finally found the excuse they needed: a demented citizen of our city had snuck in and knifed an inhabitant in the middle of their market.

My city has always been a peaceful city, and we didn't have any real army of which to speak. Our police were simply united under a general, if the need arose. The enemy, on the other hand, was fierce and warlike. They had hundreds of men outfitted in bronze armor with pikes to each one. While their army may not seem enormous, it was enough to slaughter everyone I knew. My husband Dalik vowed to protect us, and volunteered for the job of sergeant. After the final counts, we had 88 men, with some 70 suits of armor, and enough makeshift weapons for all. We barricaded the entrance to our city and waited, though we didn't have to wait long. My husband was on the front lines.

 

He stood like a tiger ready to pounce. Men near him drew courage from his. They thought he was crazy, but they nevertheless stood by, ready to face the enemy. Soon, a pounding was heard outside, and the gate was smashed through. In rushed fully half the enemy force, some twenty men wide and ten deep. Dalik charged. He just leveled his pike in one hand, drew a knife in the other, and ran screaming forward. All other voices seemed to whisper compared to his horrible scream. Men around him couldn't keep up, and the enemy seemed to part as he ran through. Incredibly, he found himself on the other side of the attackers, between the hundreds already attacking his city and hundreds more waiting for the word. He dove back into the fray and rallied men around him. After fighting for a long time, before the enemy could kill them all, they broke from the battle and left the gates of the city. Dalik had a plan.

He wasn't worried about the women and children. We had set up barricades in the heart of the city, with traps: oil, flames, and arrows. We were ready to withstand a siege for weeks. Now, my husband and 30 or so men had gotten out of the battle and were left alone by the city walls. Under Dalik's orders, they snuck away in the approaching darkness. He had decided to engage the enemy in guerilla warfare. He knew that the only way he could beat them was to attack quickly and retreat, and make them lose their will to fight.

 

After this, there was a period of several weeks where we valiantly defended the heart of our land. We had only one town square left to us. We all understood that had it not been for Dalik's band of raiders, we would have been overrun a long time before. Even as it was, the enemy got closer and closer with every attack. We were running out of food and water. On the other hand, Dalik was taking his toll.

They attacked at night, in the day, whenever they could. Dalik and his warriors would ambush the enemy from behind a bush, or come out over the top of a hill. They caught commanders, and sent their heads back. They surrounded and killed groups of enemy soldiers. They were successful, though their number was down to nine.

 

Here is the crux of my story. Dalik had received word that our barricades were about to fall. The enemy only had about 50 troops left: Some had deserted; many had been ambushed, or killed by our traps. Still, 50 were enough to push through. They didn't know, but our situation was desperate. Most of us were injured, and we had no food. We could not have held out another day. Also, we knew that an attack was coming before dark. Dalik knew all this, and knew that his nine men had to take out as many of the enemy as they could. Maybe if they killed enough, the rest would leave us alone.

There was nothing for Dalik to do but commit to a final attack. He had no arrows, only stolen swords. The situation was bad. He understood that he was probably going to die.

That did not bother him. What bothered him was the good chance of his attack utterly failing. He couldn't stand the thought of having his loved ones killed, of failing the people who depended on him. As he crouched with his men near the enemy camp, he looked up at the sky, and made a pact with God. If it was actually with God and not another, I do not know. He swore that if he managed to kill enough men, and he was alive, he would sacrifice "to God" the first thing that he might lay eyes on. His men were surprised, and a little scared. Dalik turned and looked each one in the eye, slowly, deliberately. As he made eye contact with them, a change overtook each one in turn. They seemed to grow, though in what way is indescribable. They then rose, and as one, charged the enemy.

What happened next will forever be in the nightmares of those who survived to tell the tale. The few men were overtaken by an animal fury unheard of in humans. They ran like madmen towards the enemy troops, who were just turning to face them. Dalik himself was the loudest, fiercest. He swung left and right, stabbing and plunging his sword into the other army. Still, the enemy greatly outnumbered our protectors. We couldn't see after that; all the fighters were over a hill.

 

Dalik continued to fight, and scarcely noticed his men losing strength and dying around him. He was left with only one fighter on his side, surrounded by a ring of 15 or so of the enemy, hungry for revenge. Dalik didn't even realize when they killed his friend right behind him. He was unaided, but he was possessed. Anyone who looked in his eyes was struck with such fear that they lost the will to fight. By then, however, it was too late, for he killed them and moved on. He killed those 15 men. He slaughtered them all, to the last man, with no mercy. He didn't even realize he had done it.

 

When the last man had fallen, Dalik looked up. He was alone, crouched on the side of a hill. The grass was red and black, and fallen bodies were everywhere. Almost at once, his strength seemed to drain from him. The inhuman, unholy fervor that had attached itself to him was gone in that instant. He slowly walked up the hill, incredulous of his victory. As he neared the top, he remembered his promise, his pact. He walked with dread now, and looked left and right for any animal that would satisfy. Satisfy what? The answer to that should make it understood that Dalik would not have found a suitable animal, and as he neared the top of the hill, he heard laughter. Before he could close his eyes, turn around, or plunge his sword through his heart, our beautiful daughter, euphoric and giddy with her unexpected survival, jumped into his arms.

 

---

 

Ava opened her mouth to continue, and closed it again. What more could she say? She turned towards Ivan when she heard the music. It was coming from the kotta in his hands, but at the same time, the sound was new. It was at once strong and definitive, wavering and plaintive. It was the saddest thing she had ever heard. It wove in and out of the real, the existent. No words could describe it. The music went up, soaring to unbelievable heights, and started again at the bottom, all along sad beyond feeling. It was not gloomy or depressing, nor was it apologetic. It was cleansing, in a way. Ivan was taken over by the music, and responded to its sound as much as it responded to his fingers. She joined him them. Unsure whether she would destroy this beautiful thing, she started hesitantly, warily. Almost immediately, though, she felt drawn in, and lost her fear. Their two instruments joined together in a sound like no other: divine and lofty, and at the same time based upon raw humanity; at that moment they were more than the sum of their parts.

The animals from the nearby forest crept slowly to the clearing. In the night, next to the fire, the two humans sat, while in a ring around them ranged the animals, tails in the air, ears erect. Uncomprehending of what they were hearing, inside they somehow knew that they would not hear a song like this ever again. For the one night, rabbits sat between the legs of wolves. The beautiful and haunting melody rose into the air, and carried down the mountainside. Though villagers below didn't directly hear it, the music permeated into their minds and bodies, and they were forever changed. Ava and Ivan played through the sunrise. There was no crescendo, no epic finish. The music only trailed off in the same wavering sadness with which it had started. The two returned to their single bodies, and they felt as if they had just been born. Their troubles were lifted off their shoulders, and they realized that their lives had only just begun.

 

---

 

Enitan turns away, scarcely remembering what brought him to Temitope. Memories of his brother play before his eyes, and his head feels light. As he walks sadly away from Temitope, who has fallen asleep again, he makes up his mind. Filled with inner turmoil, but at the same time strangely at peace, Enitan goes to the clan elders. He announces to them all he knows about Nakato, and the raiding party: how they will be attacked again in the night. The clan decides to be ready, and ambush the attackers. They all promise Enitan that they will be careful not to harm his brother, but it seems unlikely. Enitan, sensing night approaching, retires high up in a tree. He thinks about the decision he has made, and remains sad. "Nothing can mollify the sadness that comes with a decision such as I have made," he thinks. "And there are no rules for moral decisions such as these. They are all different and unique, and are not bound by any overall guidelines. So," he thinks, "Is there ever a reliable way to answer such difficult questions?" Pondering this, he falls asleep.

 

As shadows lengthen, preparations are made. Spears are sharpened, rocks are collected, and traps are laid. When the sky is finally dark, all of Enitan's clan, barring himself, is in hiding, waiting for the attack. When it comes, they are ready.

They yell out a loud cry and burst out from behind trees, under piles of leaves, and overhead. Rocks fly in every direction. Enitan hears the noise from above and wakes up. He overturns his earlier decision to stay away from the battle, and swings down to a tree in view of the fight, just in time to catch a glimpse of what might be Nakato. He sees a rock fly with tremendous force, and though he has hope, he knows in his heart that his brother is dead.

The attack is soon over. Out of the entire raiding party, three are captured, and 18 are killed.

 

---

 

Ava looked at her mother.

"Oh." said her mother, "That wasn't the story I thought it was. It was rather silly though, wouldn't you agree?"

Though Ava didn't agree, she didn't say so. She smiled, and left the room, leaving her mother grasping for more conversation, failing. Ava thought about what she'd heard. She'd never had to make choices like that, and guessed that she never would. In fact, she couldn't imagine what she would do if she was faced with a tough decision. "That's what makes them tough," she compromised.

She thought of the red citizens of the city, if they could be called citizens. They probably had to do difficult things all day. She wondered what it would be like. Though the beautiful purity of the house still surrounded her, it had lost its charm. Everything seemed so pointless, so contrived.

Ava realized that her walking had led her to the same window as before. It seemed to her that a transformation had occurred, and she was no longer the same petulant girl she'd been. She walked away from the window and sat down on the floor. She felt empowered by this realization, but did not know what to do about it. Below, Adil woke up.

He opened his eyes and looked around. Had he been sleeping? The familiar rumble of his stomach must have awakened him. He brought his arm up to shade his eyes from the sun, and in the process was startled by his dark red skin. Everybody in his story, and then his dream, had been of white complexion. As his thoughts started to drift again, he looked up at the window. It was like an eye, peering at the world. He couldn't see it very well, looking through the holes in the small gate behind the mansion.

To his surprise, Ava came to the window again. He remembered seeing her there, and staring her down. Just like before, she disappeared.

Confined to his dirty and hungry fate, Adil sat back. He was comfortable in his own way, because he had long ago stopped caring about most of his physical surroundings. Suddenly, though, he sensed something different. He looked around, and caught sight of a beautiful figure in a white dress. The figure walked towards the gate, and he saw that it was Ava. She walked trembling, but steadily. She was beautiful, but he held her in contempt. However, there was something about the way she held her gaze on him; a certain look in her eyes. As she approached the gate, he stood and walked towards it as well.

Ava stood right in front of the permanently locked back gate. She pressed her face up to and between the bars, and waited for Adil. He stopped about five feet away, and looked at her in surprise. He took a step closer, and as he took another, she reached out to him. Ava cupped his chin in her hands; kissed him once, lightly, on the lips. Then she let go, turned away, and walked back towards the house. As she walked, Adil realized the enormity of what she had done. She strode away then. Her step was light and heavy, overjoyed and anxious, but, above all, determined.

 

Author's note: first person to read this whole story should email me for a prize. You deserve it.  -Eli