The Searcher and The Sentenel -14 by Joshua Wagner

A Serial story including chapters one through Twelve Updated on 19 March 2012

Latest Chapter Chapter 1

Chapter 13

Chapter 2

Chapter 14

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 1

The Searcher The city had been abandoned for years. Neither side sent men within the outer limits for fear of the horror that dwelt beneath the concrete and steel shells that once housed millions. I cannot say what drew me into the emptiness even now. I suppose reflection is jaded with emotion and therefore a fruitless effort. My body ached from the beating it took the day before. I can generally hold my own in a fight but this man was out of the ordinary. My only solace is that toward the end, I managed to cut him with my knife. It wasn't deep. A mere scrape across his ribs -but it bled like a sonofabitch. Just enough to distract him as I punted his crotch up into his stomach. You'd think a man would learn to protect his jacobs by now. Clearly his overconfidence saw to his undoing. He shouldn't have messed with me anyway. Who picks a fight with a woman on the edge of the outer limits? He was just asking for an ass kicking and I was happy to oblige. Did I kill him? Did I kill him as he lay there like a baby in the street cupping his manhood while tears and snot and blood ran together on the side of his face. I didn't. I couldn't.

I had more important business to attend to. Plus, he had earned my respect. If I hadn't pulled out my knife it would have ended differently. He was nothing to look at. Average height, average build -even a bit on the small side. My god was he fast though. He had my respect as I walked away. I walked on, beckoned by something more powerful than survival. One thing was for sure, I was headed where no man would follow. No woman either. Even now, as I said, I'm not sure why I listened to that voice that called to me but I did. I climbed over the concrete barriers stacked ten-high marking the beginning of the outer limits. I climbed over the fifteen foot fence topped with razor wire mounted at the peak of the barrier pyramid that encircled the city. The sun was setting to my right then left as I threw my legs over the razor-wire topping and began the climb down. Blazing orange light threw long shadows when interrupted by what remained of the buildings, long abandoned. No rubble from the destruction littered the streets making the scene even stranger. We all knew why that was -the thought of it sent a chill through my body. As my feet touched the pavement, the sounds from outside the wall immediately silenced. The hum of the generators, the buzz of the trucks patrolling the districts. Even the wind silenced when I dropped off the second tier of the old traffic barriers. The sound of my boots hitting the ground echoed

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between the buildings towering above me. I froze. Waited. Looking. Scanning the streets from left to right then the buildings now windowless and open for any sign of movement. Nothing. Every molecule in my body wanted to turn around and retreat over that wall yet something more powerful pulled me onward toward the center of the city. Toward the heart of the madness. I had never traveled inside the wall. I don't know anyone who has. Why then, was I being called? Why now? My body began to move. It was all I could do to slow my pace, quiet my footfalls and stay in the shadows as I continued on. It was my body...but I was not in control -and that frightened me even more than what lies ahead.

The Sentinel Why on my watch? I thought as I hurried along the passageways through the rubble, trails I had traversed since I could walk, trails and paths designed to look as if monsters travelled them nightly; this was how we kept both sides out: fear. Why me? No one was going to believe me, no outsider had ever scaled the barricades, no outsider would want to, we leaked too many stories of the horrors within the city, some real, many imagined, all designed with our safety in mind. I quickened my pace, any female with wits as this one, might see through the disguises we used. Then again, it was almost dark, and perhaps, wits or not, those horrors that were real, would take care of the problem for me. Maybe I didn’t have to report the breach. But I had to, it was law. All breaches of the perimeter must be reported at once; a breach was the only reason a sentinel could leave his post. These words had been repeated so many times during his life, from his fifth year when he was assigned third level sentinel duty, then again at 11 when he earned (two years early) second level sentinel duty, and again, every other morning, for the past 7 years, as he suited up and headed out to the real

perimeter, with the razor wire, the concrete, and the smell of death. Why me? Early now, I am going to be challenged by the second level, and if none of the cameras or sensors picked up the intruder, I was going to have to fight my way in. Sun at my back, sun at my back, sun at my back; let the other guy get blinded. “Hey, Grant, why so early,” came the call from somewhere to my right. “A breach,” I hastily called back, veering slightly left to try to skirt his position. “Nothing showed,” was the answer, closer now, and I wasn’t yet in position. “She came right over after kicking some big guy in the jewels,” I called, slowing, turning toward where I thought the other sentinel was lurking. There was a snicker to my left, and the same voice to my right, much closer than expected, possibly inside the burned out shell of one of the thousands of cars that still lined the streets of the city, repeated, “nothing showed.” I caught movement out of the corner of my left eye, turned my head in that direction, and understood an instant too late my mistake. The snicker was a recording, and the movement was only a shadow of the man who landed the debilitating blow to my head. Thankfully he didn’t kill me, a

breach of protocol to be sure, but one I will be repaying for years, if not decades (if we live that long). I came to in the office of the second sentinel commander, a seasoned soul of 32 years, not the oldest man inside, but one of the top ten we all guessed. 25 was considered a long life inside, we all knew that the outsiders lived much longer, but they didn’t come back when they died.

The Searcher My mind knows something happened between walking away from the outer limit barrier and squatting in the corner of a shadowed room taking a leak yet, regardless of how hard I try, the memories will not return. I finish, look around for something to wipe with, find nothing and decide it isn't worth worrying about at the moment -especially since I've no idea where I am. As I buckle my belt, I'm relieved to find my knife still hanging from its leather sheath. The sun is rising, I can tell by the blue light that filters through the paneless window. I cautiously approach the window and gaze down onto the street below. Judging from the size of the person walking along the sidewalk I must be near the top of one of the tallest downtown buildings. Person? Downtown? My body tenses as I press myself against the wall and out of view. When I slowly peek around the paintless wooden trim that shows no signs of ever holding glass between it and the fire-scorched exterior, She (no chance a man would wander downtown) hasn't changed her direction or pace. She didn't see me. I

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watch, curious as she continues along the sidewalk until reaching an intersection. She looks both ways then hurriedly crosses the street and hops back onto the sidewalk where she resumes her more casual pace. I'm tempted to shout down to her but her behavior causes me to remain silent. I've never seen anyone move in this fashion -worry free. I've only heard stories of a time when we didn't have to constantly be looking over our shoulders and gripping our knives. She continues another block then turns east. The clouds are thick this morning yet even at this height, I can tell she is wearing black leather. Whoever she is, she is well connected. Her jacket hovers just above the ground as she walks, blowing slightly in the breeze until she is obstructed by the single wall standing where once an entire building rose from the ground. I turn and cautiously make my way into the hall searching for a sign of a stairwell or ladder sticking up from the hole infested floor. While I don't remember how I came to be up here, there must be a way down. As I move closer toward the center of the building, the natural light from the perimeter dims and I almost step through a crack wide enough to send me down to the next floor if I'm lucky, to the bottom if I'm not.

I move slower as my anxiety increases. I can feel my heart beating against my chest. I can't remember the last time I was this worked up. I need to relax. I pause and take a few deep breaths. That's when I hear it -faint at first but growing louder with each second that passes. A ding. A bell. Ding, ding, ding. My knife is in my hand and I'm crouched on the floor as I slowly move toward the sound. Ding, ding. Forget my chest, I can hear my heart beating in my head. I can feel the sweat rolling down my neck and drenching my shirt between my breasts. I continue toward the sound, crouched, knife ready, taking long, low steps as I hug the wall. I see something along the wall. At least, I think I do. In the darkness it's hard to distinguish shapes. I take another long, low step forward. I see something for sure. There is a light source ahead. Ding, ding, ding. I run my free hand over my head pushing the sweat away from my eyes -grateful I had my head shaved just before I left. I notice my hand shaking as I draw nearer to the shape -to the light source. My hand never shakes. I can see there is a hole in the wall ahead. The shape appears to be a part of

the wall that has fallen into the hallway. I relax a little. Still, something doesn't feel right. Ding, ding, ding. A few more steps and the yellow light is bright enough to make out the ragged outline of the hole in the wall. Two more steps and I'm there. I step up on to the fallen chunk of wall to look into the hole, which is slightly higher than my eye level. The wall chunk gives beneath my weight. Not in the way a brittle wall would give -it was soft, mushy, gross. Something crunches then I feel moisture in my boots. The light from the hole casts just enough to see what it is that I'm standing on -in. If I hadn't been so transfixed on the damn hole, I would have seen it sooner and not stepped onto it. A body. Rotting, stinking -but everything stinks these days. I'm sure I don't smell much better than the corpse on the floor beneath my boots. Ding, ding, ding. My heart is racing now, my breathing more rapid than if I were running full tilt. I try to step back but find my boot is lodged in the...the body somehow. Grasping the lower edge of the hole, I lift myself slightly and manage to pull my boots free. As I lower myself to the ground something happens -I slip in the wetness. I slip and fall onto this person I've just trodden on. Splat. We are face to face. My face is actually touching

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hers. It is clearly a woman -that much I can tell as I lift my head away in horror. A girl actually. I shriek and roll off her simultaneously releasing what was left in my bladder (good thing I didn't bother taking the time to wipe) expecting to hit the hard floor of the hall. Instead, I feel the air whooshing past my body as I fall into darkness. Ding, ding, ding grows faint as does the yellow light above. I scream for the first time in my adult life as I anticipate the impact.

4 The Sentinel I awoke from the blow to my head rather quickly, but opened my eyes very slowly as soon as I realized where I was. I wanted to listen in on any conversations, knowledge is power they say, and considering I found my hands and legs bound, I could use a little power, if it was to be had. “Keep an eye on ‘im,” I heard Davis say. She was the boss of all interior teams, the leader of the rovers; black leather clad killers. “He’s out,” Manny replied, “and besides, I tied him when that durn fool of yours dropped him here.” Manny was the second level Commander, older than Davis, but lower in rank, and lower in power. Inside the women ruled, we men followed orders, and if we didn’t, well, there were the rovers to think about, weren’t there? “Liza is not a fool,” Davis snapped, “she was following orders not to kill him. He’s the one, the Sentinel, with a capital ‘S’.” I almost mimicked exactly what Manny did, which was inhale so quickly that it made a whistling sound as the air passed through his mostly toothless mouth, but I didn’t, I managed to stay still, calm, unconscious looking. “Bullcrap,” Manny said, pushing his chair back, the wooden feet sliding easily along the relatively new vinyl floor. This fact stuck with me, I must ask Manny where he found the materials, my room needed a new floor and all the good stuff had been destroyed so long ago.

“All signs point to it,” Davis explained, pacing now, her perfectly shined black leather high heeled boots passing in front of my slitted eyes with each lap. They had trussed me in one of the corners of Manny’s office, so I was lucky in a way, I was able to see Davis spin around, the movement fanning her long coat, exposing just a hint of red leggings above the boot tops, just below her left knee. Another fact that would stick with me…for a long time. “Records show this is his fourth return, he excels in all his duties, he has the mark…” Manny interrupted her, “many men have the mark, it doesn’t prove a thing.” “And none of them live past their 15th year,” Davis replied, “also part of the prophecy.” “Some do,” Manny said, hesitantly, almost whispering the words. “Yes, Manny, we know,” “You know?” “We’ve watched you too,” she told him, “even if your carefor tried to hide the mark.” Manny’s hand slipped unconsciously to the spot on his neck where his care-for (he preferred mother but the word really had no meaning anymore) had cut out the mark of the Sentinel, a reddish brown figure that resembled crossed swords, if you squinted and really wanted it to look that way.

“You, too, are part of the prophecy,” Davis continued, “you will now begin to train the Sentinel in the ways of magic, as your care-for did for you.” Again Manny was shocked at her knowledge, he thought no one knew the things his mother had taught him. “And you, Grant, you would do well to learn quickly,” Davis had stopped directly in front of me, “because this one, the one who breached; she’s also spoken of in the prophecy, and while she may be scared now, she will gain confidence with each kill, with each rover she takes down. You must lean the magic, it is the only way to stop her, to keep her from learning our secrets.” I closed my eyes tight, knowing my ruse had failed somehow, and listened as Davis left the office. Manny shuffled over to where I lay and began to untie the cords that bound my hands and feet.

The Searcher I'm dead. No other possible explanation exists to explain what I'm seeing. In fact, I'm not sure I can explain what I'm seeing. I'm in a room. It's large as we consider rooms but inside the dwellings of old it would be considered mediumsized. I'm seated. In what I'm not sure because at the moment, I cannot move my body -otherwise my senses seem to be working rather well. The temperature is comfortable. I can't remember being comfortable in years. I smell something -whatever it is, smells intoxicating. My body feels clean despite not being able to feel it. The perpetual layer of grime that exists on all dwellers of Earth seems to have been washed away. In front of me is the largest pane of glass I've ever seen. Two women standing side-by-side with their arms outstretched couldn't reach both left frame and right. Large wooden planks (Wood! can you imagine?) covered the floor from my position to the window. Only one other thing stood between where I was sitting and the large window. A small table (also wood) and two chairs. The tabletop was empty. Through the window (this is the best part) is an expanse of

green rolling fields that tapered down to a rocky shore. Beyond, blue water. Blue! I'd never seen such a brilliant shade of blue. Looking out into the green and blue expanse must have touched something in the recesses of my memories because I find my eyes filling with tears. I can't explain it. I haven't cried since I was a little girl. They roll down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away only to remember I am unable to move at all. Shore birds rise and fall on the air currents above the water. Some type of grazing animals munch on the green in a large bunch. They're all a dirty white color. Rather than coarse hair matted tight to their bodies, they seem to defy gravity with what could only be the softest of coats. A loud creaking noise followed quickly by a sound I cannot identify takes my attention from the distance. I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I want to wipe away my tears -embarrassed that another person will see them. Then again, I'm dead so what's it really matter? "Beautiful, isn't it?" a woman's voice says. "Yes," I reply, letting go of my desire to begin interrogating and allowing myself to relax just this once. "Are you able to move yet?" she asks, walking into my field of vision.

She is old -much older than anyone I've ever seen. Guessing from the wrinkles around her eyes I'd say she's probably twice my age. She has long, dark hair -almost as dark as her skin, and soft features. She doesn't live like the rest of us. She smiles, looking deep into my eyes. I feel her right then, in my head. She's trying to calm me down but the sensation of someone inside my mind is unnerving. She must have sensed this because she immediately backs out. When you're dead, I guess anything is possible. "You need not fear," she said. I detect an accent -nothing I've ever heard before. "Where am I?" I ask. The sound of my own voice is startling. The gruff, grainy, bark-like timbre is gone, replaced by a smooth, almost musical quality. She smiles but says nothing. I see her reach for something just out range of my peripheral vision. The world goes black.

6 The Sentinel I was massaging my wrists where the ropes had been, waiting on the offered measure of Dragon Nectar, when the dog trotted through the door. Manny and I greeted the dog by name and I reached down to scratch him between his ears when he sauntered over to sniff my pant leg, almost losing my hand in the process. Wow, for a mild mannered looking Springer Spaniel, Buddy sure was testy. “Watch it, Grant,” the dog snapped, “you’d do well to remember your place around here.” “Umm, Buddy…” Manny started. “Save it, Manny,” the dog said as he turned three times on the carpet in front of Manny’s desk, “I’ve heard all about the prophecy, and I aint buying it.” “But,” was all many was able to get out before Buddy snarled at him. “Fine, Buddy,”, Manny said, “but Davis is gonna be pissed if you don’t at least act like you believe in this stuff.” “After the couple of days I just had, I don’t really care,” The dog said, resting his snout on his paws, then lifting his head to say, “Some races out there you just can’t reach.” The dog returned his head to his paws and shut his eyes, signaling the conversation was over, at least his part of it. I knew, though, he would be listening to everything Manny

and I said, ready to correct us at any moment. I have always wondered why that scientist gave dogs the ability to speak to humans. Sure, it was only through their minds, but during the conversation it sure seemed like the dog was speaking out loud, heck, different dogs had different voices, or was that in my head too? “My head hurts Manny, pour another measure of that Nectar, will ya?” “Awww, Grant,” Manny whined, “I don’t have much left.” “Hey, I’m the Sentinel and you are my Mage, we should be able to get all the Nectar we want, back in circle one.” “Like she’s gonna let us go clear back to Circle one,” Manny said. “If you told her you needed supplies or something, yanno, like eye of newt or toe of dog…” The dog chuffed. “Sorry Buddy, I meant toe of frog,” I continued to browbeat Manny until he agreed to at least ask Davis if we could start my training in Circle one, back with the young ones, as far away from the one who breached as possible, and as close to the Nectar as possible. “How do you think she got over the wall?” Manny asked, as he was collecting the stuff he was going to need for a trip to circle one. “I don’t know,” I admitted, one minute she was kicking ass on her side, the next she was climbing, I didn’t wait around once it was obvious she was gonna make it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Manny said, while trying to choose between his dirty grey shirt and his dirty brown shirt, opting to take them both in the hopes he could find time to wash them. “She’s the Searcher,” Buddy said from his place on the floor, “If you want to buy into that prophecy crap.”

7 The Searcher I opened my eyes fully expecting to wake in my bunk having never left for downtown. Having never fallen through that hole. Having never stepped on the body of that dead girl -the trauma of that experience would be too much to cope with. A green blur -bright green, green that doesn't exist in the districts or downtown or anywhere that I've ever heard, filled my field of vision. I blinked and the green came into the focus. Green fields. Expansive, rolling, a rock jutting out here and there until the green met with the blue waters beyond. Not a dream. Any of it. The girl. My God, the girl. I stepped on her. I stepped in her. She was so young. I've seen my fair share of death in my time. I've never dealt any, contrary to what others believe. I've always been one step removed from the death -a spectator. Never intimate with it. I have an aversion to it. Most people will say that but when someone close to them is dying, they don't walk away. They don't hide. I do. In this world my fear is irrational at best and inexcusable at worst. Death is everywhere. Somehow, I manage to avoid it. She, whoever she is, will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I was in a comfortable wooden chair with a cushioned seat. I turned my head. I could move. I was close to the large viewing window -right up against it almost. I looked down at my legs, which were bare. Also, surprisingly, they were clean and free of the fine blonde hair that typically covered them. I wiggled my toes. They were neatly trimmed and...pink. Bright pink, of all colors. I'd never seen painted toes before and found myself chuckling at the sight of them. "Something funny, dear?" a woman's voice said. I turned, it was the same woman from before. Beautiful dark hair -almost down to her hips. Dark skin -not the darkest I've seen still much darker than mine -much more beautiful. Dark skin is a desirable feature in the districts. This woman, despite her impossibly old age, would be very desirable. She was holding something -a cup of steaming liquid. She sipped on it gingerly as she moved closer. Her movement was so smooth, so effortless, I wondered if she had feet beneath her floor-length dress. "My toes," I replied.

"They're painted. I've never seen

painted toes before." "I suppose then you haven't noticed your fingers," she replied in her unique yet whimsical accent.

I lifted my hand in front of my face. Sure enough, the nails were neatly trimmed and painted a matching shade of pink. I laughed again. The woman smiled and closed her eyes as if the sound of my laughter was a most magical song. I finally noticed my clothes. I was wearing shorts and a matching top made from the softest fabric I'd ever felt. Both were white with thin stripes of pink that exactly matched my nail color. My arms were bruiseless, hairless and dirtless just like my legs. "You were quite a mess when they brought you in here, Searcher, but I had plenty of time to get you fixed up," the woman said. "How much time?" I asked. "How long have I been here?" A concerned expression crossed the woman's face. It left as quickly as it came. She set her steaming drink on the wooden table and extended both hands toward me. I looked at them, then looked at her. She smiled. "Take my hands, child and I will help you up and show you what you want to know." I haven't excepted help from another person -not even a woman, in longer than I can remember. I wasn't about to let things change simply because I was dead. As I reached

down for the armrests on my chair, I could feel her inside my head again. It wasn't painful or invasive but it was clear she was trying to change my mind. I suddenly knew this would be the first time I'd stood since I'd gotten here. I would most likely be unstable and there was a good chance, I would fall head-first through the glass viewing window, which, despite being dead, didn't sound like a good idea. Reluctantly, I took her hands. They were warm and smooth -so smooth. The wooden floor was warm as well. As I shifted my weight over my feet, my knees began to object and sway in strange directions. I'd never had trouble holding up my own body weight. This was crazy. The woman slid her arm beneath mine and wrapped it around my back. I could sense her strength even with the gentleness of her touch. Her touch felt...well good. Amazing, actually. It's been so long since I'd been in the embrace of another woman. My apprehension drained from my body. I took a few steps (it was obvious she was supporting a considerable amount of my weight as I did so) then she turned me toward the back wall of the room. Standing in front of us was a woman who must have been the twin of the woman helping me stand. She was helping a girl stand as well. The girl was strange looking. We both wore the same outfit; both had painted toes and fingers and even

had the same skin tone yet there was something different about this girl. Her face. She was very unlike the girls of the district. Her hair was longer than any district girl -it came down to just above her shoulders. It was not quite blonde and not quite brown -like the color of the leather we dried out in the summer sun during the hot months. Her eyes were big and bright. Her lips were full-too full and her teeth were white -too white. As I studied this girl, she studied me -almost mimicking my behavior. At first I didn't mind her looking at me but eventually, I could tell she was mocking me -trying to do exactly as I did. I leaned in, she leaned in. I put my free hand on my hip, she put her free hand on her hip. I put my hand on my head, she... Then it struck me. I could feel the hair on my head. It was long. Longer than its ever been. It felt so smooth and soft. I ran my fingers through it, she ran her fingers through it. That girl was me.

8 The Sentinel As we wound our way through the maze that was the second circle I marveled at the changes only a few years had wrought. The burned out husks of automobiles, so prevalent in the third circle, my circle, had been carefully placed to provide many defensive positions. Though the autos looked much like those in the third circle, and much like the ones that were said to have carried people along these streets, these were heavily reinforced. It would take many direct hits from the weapons found in the Districts to either punch through or move one of them. Manny was leading the way, this was his circle, he knew the best routes and all of the passwords; and I would have been killed on sight had I not been with Manny, just like both Manny and I would be killed in the first circle had we not cajoled Davis into providing us with a legitimate pass. Third levels, like me, never go back, and second levels, well, normal second levels, only were allowed one trip back every year, if they lived that long and if they didn’t move out to the third level. Manny was an exception. He was the only person to have ever completed his time at third level, an accomplishment that was rewarded with a choice of stations and the ability to request permission to travel between levels. This, of course, did not mean that

permission would be granted, but Manny so rarely asked, he was usually given the pass. Adding me to the request made it more difficult for Davis to sell to her superiors, but when she explained that the tools needed to teach the Searcher were in the first circle, and the only one who could retrieve them was Manny, and that Manny wasn’t going without his new bestest friend Grant (being the Searcher and all), her superiors relented. “Hold up, Manny,” I called, he had increased his pace down the middle of a wide avenue flanked by beautifully crafted homes; I had been admiring the marble and stone facades and had slowed. Manny stopped in the middle of the street, clearly exasperated with my pace and shouted for me to hurry up. “But these places are incredible,” I called back, “Can’t we do a little exploring? I never saw this street when I worked the second circle.” “There’s a reason for that, Grant,” Manny called, now beginning to look around warily, “See and autos here? And sentinels?” It only took a second for me to catch on to what he was saying. This was a bewitched street, a fake, a creation of the hags and warlocks. There were probably rooms in those buildings with great big picture windows that showed lush green pastures, bright yellow sunlight, or the sparkling blue of an ocean. More illusions, none of it real. I quickened my pace.

Catching up to Manny I asked if many had been lost. “Only six or seven,” he said as he turned and began to walk again, “and those are the ones who we know about, because they came back.” We walked in silence for a while, each of us pondering the meaning of that statement. Coming back from captivity with the witches, with the warlocks, was not desired, not at all. It was better if they never came back, their disappearances blamed on one of the many other horrors that roamed the streets at night, horrors from below and above, that we could never really exterminate, nor did we want to, they kept both sides from the Districts at bay; it was worth the cost of a few lives per week. “Are they still…” I started to ask. “Only one left now,” Manny said, “he lives alone down where the river splits the second and third circle, no one goes near, but they say he sings at night.” “Sings?” I asked. “Yes,” Manny replied, “And they say he’s pretty good.” “You’ve never gone to listen?” I asked. Manny was quiet for a long time, long enough to walk the last block before the 30 foot high concrete wall blocked further movement in an easterly direction. We turned left and headed north. “He was my bunk-mate,” Manny said at last. I rued asking the question, but didn’t have time to apologize for dredging up old memories, we had arrived at

the steel door that marked one of only three ground level access points to the first circle.

9 The Searcher “That’s me,” I whispered. “Well of course it is, darling who were you expecting?” the woman asked with an expression that told me she was legitimately concerned with my response. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the rectangular doorway reflecting our images. “Is that magic?” “No, dear. It’s called a mirror. It is glass brought to such a shine that we can see whatever it reflects as if it is a whole new world identical to our own.” “Can I touch it?” I asked, apprehensively. “Of course you can, dear, “ she said with the kindest smile I’d ever seen. She helped me forward, her arm around my waist, mine around hers. My other was extended and shaking slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was from excitement, nervousness or simply fatigue from being immobile for so long –long enough to grow more hair than I’ve had since I was a child. We stopped when we were within reaching distance. I hesitated. I could see the wooden frame in which the shined glass sat –that gave me slight comfort, which was

something I needed because I truly believed I would reach out my hand and my twin on the other side would grasp my wrist and pull me into her world. I realized it was a silly thought but there was something different about the reflection. Something darker. I couldn’t quite place it but I knew it was there. I looked up at the kind woman who was holding me upright. She showed no signs of strain or fatigue as she supported most of my weight. That smile –that comforting smile was there as she looked into my eyes. Somehow, I could feel her pushing comfort into my mind. It was a strange feeling. It felt invasive despite the comfort she was trying to pass along. I broke eye contact and looked at her reflection in the mirror. For an instant, her eyes looked different in her reflection. They were bright –too bright. It was as if they provided their own light. She blinked and it was gone. “Go ahead dear, it’s okay” I extended my hand once again and slowly reached for the fingertips of my reflection. I could see the concern on her face as she did the same but we both tried to ignore it as they inched closer. Then, I felt the cool surface of the glass. Immediately, I relaxed. I let my hand lay completely on the mirror. My reflection did the same. Her face smiled at the silliness of our concern from earlier. I glanced at the woman by my side –by her side. She was looking on with

intense interest. It was strange, yet I quickly disregarded it as I studied the girl –my reflection close up. I was beautiful. My skin was flawless. The scars on my cheeks I’d had since I was five were gone. My amber eyes sparkled as if flecks of gold mixed with the brown highlights. My hair was similarly perfect. Not a piece out of place. I smiled. My teeth –her teeth, our teeth were white and straight. I’d never seen teeth so white and nobody in the district had straight teeth (most of them were lucky if they had half their teeth left by the time they turned twelve). I was one of the few who could boast having a full set of teeth at my age although they were stained yellow and brown from years of eating district slop. “How long has it been?” I asked. “Weeks?” “Months, my dear. Nearly six.” “How is that possible?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Things are different here,” she said, “it would be best if we sit and I start from the beginning.” I nodded and we started to turn away from the mirror when I realized my hand was stuck to the glass. “Something wrong?” she asked, looking back at my hand. I pulled again but my hand would not move. This is when

things got really strange. The smooth glass around my hand began to ripple like a still pond that’s been disturbed by the toss of a stone. I pulled harder but my hand would not move. I began to panic. To my horror, I realized my hand was actually sinking into the mirror. For an instant, I thought I saw my reflection wink at me and chills went down my spine. The harder I pulled, the further my hand sunk into the mirror. I could feel the warm skin of the girl on the other side as she gripped my hand. “Help me,” I said, looking at the woman who was staring with a transfixed expression. She snapped out of her ponderous paralysis and stepped forward putting her body between my own and the glass –blocking my reflection. “Look at me,” she said. I couldn’t take my eyes away from my arm, which was now wrist-deep in the mirror. I could feel the girl on the other side gripping my hand even tighter. “Look at me,” she repeated slowly. I looked up at her beautiful face. Our eyes connected and I could feel her invasive calm surging into my mind. “You must remain calm. The more you panic, the further

into the mirror you will fall.” “I can feel her,” I said, tears beginning to roll down my cheeks. She is pulling me.” “I know, dear. You must ignore her, ignore your arm, ignore everything and focus on me. You must or you will fall through and you will be lost.” I opened my mind (don’t ask me how) and allowed her calm to flood in. My breathing slowed and the tears stopped. “Very good,” she said. “Now, I’m going to get you out. What you’re about to see may disturb you but it’s the only way. You just need to remain calm.” I nodded, overwhelmed by a fatigue that seemed to come along with indifference. The woman stepped aside revealing my reflection. Her expression wrought with concentration as she tried to pull me further into the mirror. The woman beside her –the woman beside me, moved out of sync with her reflection. The moment she did this, the background inside the mirror darkened so only the girl desperately pulling my hand and the woman could be seen. The girl looked over at the woman –enraged. “No,” she said. “We need her. You cannot do this,” she

shouted. The woman took no notice at the shouts as she moved toward the girl. Toward my reflection. What happened next, happened so fast. The woman removed something from beneath her robes. I never got a good look at it but can only assume it was a dirk of some sort. She moved with such speed I only saw the result of her action. My reflection immediately dropped my hand and I was able to pull my arm free from the mirror. I looked at her. Her neck was bright red. She’d been cut across the throat. The blood seeped down over her chest and onto the floor. Somehow, she remained standing as it drained from her body. She stood there and looked right at me. Right into my eyes. I heard her speak, not out loud but in my head. “You must save us,” she said. She then fell to the ground. Her body convulsed once and was then motionless. “No,” I shouted, running to the mirror and stooping so I was even with her on the ground. I put my hand on the floor for fear of falling and realized a pool of warm blood had formed on this side of the mirror.

10 The Sentinel As we stood at the door I remembered one of my history lessons; only those who are slotted to be sentinels are taught anything by the Elder Rovers, those who come back into the first circle, those who live long enough. Reading, writing, figures, and the history of the city; some history of the districts too, what is known. The first circle had become a walled city within the city long before the end, to protect the rulers and the money men. Life outside the wall was difficult but not as difficult as life in the districts, but life inside the wall was described as nothing short of amazing. My teacher told stories of enough fresh fruit to be not only eaten but baked into pies, or cooked down for spreads. Spreads that were applied liberally to fresh bread, every day, maybe even mixed with butter. real butter, from an animal called a cow. We learned that cows were bigger than the goats we used for milk and butter and cheese, and that the meat of some cows was heavenly when cooked over an open fire. My care-for had added to the lessons with stories of her own, stories of how those in her family had lived outside the wall and had eaten the scraps dumped every day down where the river ran out

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of the first circle, on the far south side of the city. She told of venturing out into the districts looking for stray animals of any kind, even dogs, to supplement the slop provided in the city. Everyone was entitled to one meal per day, any more had to be scrounged, stolen, or bartered for; money was outlawed, outside of the first circle. The other two doors were used for trade, this one, the one we were about to enter, was where those who performed the menial tasks inside the first circle were checked in and out every day. There had grown up a tent city around this door, my care-for explained, where people vying for jobs inside the wall would stay, lining up every morning in the hopes that one of the regular workers wouldn't show up. It didn't happen often, my rover/teacher explained, but when it did, the replacement worker was always the fist in line, it was a very orderly situation she shad said, because if it wasn't, the next ten people in line were killed, on the spot. Then the end came, the bombs, the death, the destruction. Some of the horrors stayed, many left, and we in the city stayed in the city and those in the districts stayed in the districts. The first circle was for the very young and the very old, the second circle was for the breeding pairs, and the third circle was for the adventurous, although, based

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on what Manny had told me about the enchanted street, the second circle was becoming dangerous as well.

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Chapter 11 The Searcher The woman quickly drew a curtain over the mirror as I stood. My hand was still warm from the blood that had somehow trickled through the mirror. I looked at my hand in horror. She was dead –I was dead. The woman had a nervous expression on her face as she watched me –waiting for my reaction. My legs were shaky, but somehow I’d managed to stand on my own.

I was getting stronger. I

looked up at the woman. “What just happened?” I asked. “You met your chirality,” she replied as if I should know what she was talking about. “My what?” “Your chirality. All Searchers have a chirality,” she said. I was becoming more confused by the second. I recalled her mentioning the word ‘searcher’ before but brushed it off as irrelevant. The blood on my hand was thickening –like sap. The color was also darkening as I watched. “Lets get you cleaned up,” she said, reaching for my arm. I pulled away. I was becoming more unsettled in this place and after what I just witnessed, my trust of this woman was waning. The blood was darker still. I flexed my hand and it pulled away at the lines on my palm. I looked

up at the woman. She had a startled expression on her face. “What is a searcher?” “You are, dear,” she replied. My impatience was growing. “What does a Searcher do? How do you know I am a Searcher? “Please, dear, let me get you cleaned up and I will explain everything,” she said, again reaching for my arm. This time I did not flinch. She held me under the elbow and guided me to the far end of the room to the other side of a large cabinet where a sink was tucked into the wall. As I rubbed my fingers together, pieces of dry blood were balling up and falling to the wooden floor. This was my blood and this woman had spilt it. She turned on the water and opened a cabinet above the sink. After removing something from the cabinet, she put her own hand into the water, nodded to herself, then placed her hand on my back and coaxed me forward until I was directly in font of the sink. The water was steaming –imagine, warm water right from the tap. I’d never heard of such a thing. She handed me something –a white oval. I looked at her curiously. “It’s soap, dear. It will take the stain away.” Soap. Never heard of it. I could smell it without even lifting it to my nose. It had a floral scent to it. I put it on my bloody hand and waited to see what happened. I heard

the woman chuckle as she watched me. “No, dear. You need to get it wet and rub it in,” She reached for my hands and pulled them into the stream of warm water. I flinched –the water was hot. She kept my hands under the stream and, after a moment, I was used to the heat. She then began rubbing the oval of soap on my palms until it left a slimy layer of white residue. After setting the soap on the edge of the sink, she began rubbing my hands gently, slowly removing the residue and with it, the dried blood. The feel of the warm water along with the gentle massaging of my hands was incredible. I’d never felt such pleasure. My knees started to weaken as I let the feeling take hold. I couldn’t help but smiling and the woman smiled back as she removed the last evidence of her terrible deed. She then turned off the water and dried my hands with a perfectly white towel. I had never seen such a thing. The woman led me through the door out onto the porch. The same blue sky, green rolling hills and turquoise sea stretched out in front of us as she invited me to sit in one of the wooden chairs. I sat. She sat beside me. For a moment, we both looked at the landscape in silence. When my patience neared its end, she began to speak as if she could feel my frustration. “I suppose I should start at the beginning, I’ve never had a candidate quite so ignorant as you.”

That sure sounded like an insult but I let it slide in order to move the conversation along. “Do you know why you were brought here?” she asked. “I fell through a hole in the floor and woke up here – wherever here is.” “This is the place all candidates come. They come here to be either confirmed or denied. If they are confirmed, they go on.” “What is a candidate?” “A candidate is someone who has the attributes necessary to become a Searcher.” “What is a Searcher?” “The Searchers are the ones who search.” “For what?” I asked, annoying feeling returning quickly. “For two hundred years, the Searchers have looked for the key.” “Key to what?” “To the door of the sanctuary –where we all must go if we are to survive the next event.” I took a deep breath. I felt like I was asking a fouryear-old about his family history. Every answer prompting more questions. At this rate, I’d be dead before I knew what the hell she was talking about. “Where is the sanctuary door?” I asked, making it obvious I was growing impatient. “In the city –below the city, actually.” “And there is only one key?”

“Before the first event there were three keys held by the three Vizors of the city. Two of the three Vizors prematurely evacuated the city for fear of their own lives and in the process were taken. They’ve never been seen again.” I decided not to take the bait about what ‘taken’ means and push for more answers to my original questioning. “Where is the third Vizor?” I asked. “She is still in the city. She is very weak. Without the other two Vizors, she is virtually powerless.” “And she obviously doesn’t have her key, correct?” “In her weakened state, a Sentinel –the Sentinel overpowered her and took the key.” “A Sentinel?” “You are familiar with the term?” “Sentinels guard the outer walls. My father was a Sentinel. My sister is a Sentinel. I don’t understand, if a Sentinel had the key to this sanctuary, why wouldn’t they use it to escape?” “It was stolen in haste and ignorance. Only the Vizor can use the key. As her health wanes our chances of getting into the sanctuary decrease. Soon, they will expire and when the next event comes, all of us will perish.” “Do you know the Sentinel’s name who stole the key? Two hundred years –that’s nearly ten generations. Where would you even begin…” It dawned on me at that moment that if the key was

Stolen over 200 years ago from this Vizor, then she would be older than anyone I’ve ever met by nearly ten times. Impossible. “I don’t understand how anyone could live that long,” I said. “things were different before the first event. People had managed to extend their lives well past the century mark. When the event came, most of the technology and nearly all of the people familiar with its application were destroyed. There are, however, those who remain. As you have no doubt noticed, I am further along in years than you by almost triple.” “Even so, to live past 200 is something different entirely.” “ It is because she has no chirality that she endures. Every person has a chirality. You saw your own for the first time today.” “Yeah, and you killed her,” I said angrily. “Kill?” No. “One cannot kill another’s chirality. Only you can kill your own chirality.” “So…she’s not dead?” “No. Barley wounded. Things are different on the other side. They may look the same to us, but they are different. More powerful, more violent as well.” “Why was she trying to pull me through?” I asked. “A chirality always seeks its own chirality –you. If she managed to pull you in, her power would increase exponentially and you would never be able to return

To this side. Now that you know, you must always beware of your chirality. Never get too close.” “I don’t understand, your chirality attacked mine to set me free. Why would it do that?” “Your chirality can be trained.” Now my head was really spinning. I was thankful to be sitting at the moment. All this information was enough to make me want to barf all over my neatly painted toes. I took a moment to review what I’d been told before speaking. “So this Vizor killed her chirality?” “Yes.” “How?” I asked. “That, I don’t know.” “Where are the Searchers looking? “Some scour the city, some the wastelands beyond the districts. Most have infiltrated the Sentinel strongholds and search for clues among those linked to the theft.” “Where do you believe I must search?” “You must decide that for yourself. You will be taken to the tracking ward and there you will decide where you must begin.” “Why haven’t I heard about all this before? It seems like a big deal not to be common knowledge.” “The Sentinels have kept it quiet in hopes of gaining access themselves –they don’t want our kind traveling through into the sanctuary with them.” “What is your kind?”

“We are city dwellers.”

12 The Sentinel Hundreds…no, I corrected myself, thousands of people were gathered before us, bodies as far as I could see. I had immediately turned so that Manny and I were back to back, relieved to feel his shoulder blades touch mine as we turned slow circles; he hadn’t forgotten his training after spending all that time in an office. “Sentinel,” said one of the old women who had pushed the door closed as Manny passed in front of her. “Not me,” he choked out, raising his right arm and using his thumb to finger me for the job, “that would be him.” Manny and I continued our slow turn, I had decided I could kill at least 20 of them before they took me down, if I was able to stomach taking out the little ones. Telling myself it was me or them, I waited for the attack. Our turn took us to where the old woman stood and when our eyes met, she dropped to one knee. The rest of the crowd

followed. “What’s up,” Manny asked, having heard the rustle and clanking of thousands of people kneeling, but the turn had taken him to a very nice view of a big steel door. “Either it’s prayer time in Mecca, and we’re east of them or these people have heard the rumors and are taking them seriously.” “Mecca?” asked Manny, tensing as I had stopped moving, “you read way too much, Grant, what the heck is Mecca?” “Not important right now, ask me some other time; for now, I think we’re safe. No one is back there anyway, right? “Right, just a door and a wall.” “Then join me Kimosabe, you can be my Robin, my Little John; we’ll stand shoulder to shoulder and bask in the glow of adoration.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Manny asked as he spun on his left foot, placing his left shoulder at my right in an instant. “Exactly what you just did,” I told him. “I know,” Manny said, “ask you later.”

The old woman had stood, followed by the rest of the crowd; a disturbingly silent crowd. I understood; I would have been stunned to silence had I been still a first circle and someone had told me the Sentinel was coming through the east door. “Sentinel,” she repeated, reverently, almost whispering the word, but with force so that many in the crowd heard her and to my dismay, repeated it. Soon a chant of “Sentinel” filled the air, the volume growing, and with it a surge forward as if the crowd wanted to swallow us, swallow me, incorporate what I was supposed to be within them all. I slipped my right hand inside my long coat, resting it on the butt of the ancient pistol I carried. Most of the time it was only good for bludgeoning an attacker, but occasionally I was happily supplied with a few shells someone had found. This was one of those times, and a surging crowd of worshipers was not going to respond to the short dagger I had already palmed in my left hand or the short sword that Manny carried, mostly for show. I quickly glanced in his direction when I felt him move; he had pulled out the much

newer automatic shotgun that all Commanders were issued. He raised it, slowing those in the front two or three rows but that was no help, behind them, the crowd still pushed forward. “I don’t want to shoot any of them,” Manny said through clenched teeth, showing just a hint of fear. “Then don’t,” I answered, “shoot it up and back, over the wall, I think that will stop them.” “I don’t have many shells,” Manny pointed out, “wasting one on a hunch might not be such a good idea. You got any shells in that pea-shooter of yours?” “What?” I asked, having never heard that term. “I’ll tell you later,” Manny said as he raised the weapon up and pointed it just past vertical. Pulling the trigger must have been hard, shells for even the shotguns were dear, and it took him a few seconds. I was just about to tell him to hurry when the gun went off, stopping the chant immediately and the surge within a second or two. From within the crowd came a shrill voice, pleading to be let through. Manny lowered the gun and began to scan the

crowd. “That’s my mother,” he whispered to me. “Time to try out this new power,” I whispered back, then turning to the crowd, slipping the dagger back into the folds of my coat, releasing my grip on the (pea-shooter flashed through my mind) pistol I raised both my arms high. “Let her pass,” I commanded. Manny chuckled beside me, “You’re going to have to learn to project your voice,” he said, or I thought he said, I had turned to admonish him for chuckling at me and when I ‘heard’ him his lips weren’t moving, “say it again.” “LET HER PASS,” I really commanded this time, only it wasn’t me, it was Manny, through me, heard all the way to the back of the crowd; a crowd that parted while taking a step or two back from us, allowing a very old crone to hobble up the center of the street, leaning on a bent-wood cane with an ornate carved black stone top as she slowly approached us. Behind us, in that part of the city that wasn’t real,

a flicker of fear (or was it hope?) flashed through the eyes of another old woman when she caught the dying sound of the command.

Chapter 13 The Searcher After our conversation, the woman led me around the porch to what should have been the front of the house. Our bare feet padded across the wooden planks as we made our way around the corner. Somehow, in that short amount of time, I managed to regain even more strength and found walking was no longer a difficult task. When we rounded the corner to what should have revealed the main entrance, I immediately stopped and my heart rate immediately increased. “What is that? I asked. “That, my dear is the passage to the world which you are familiar.” The porch ended abruptly, not turning with the square of the building and for good reason. The ground fell away. It was a mild gradient at first but eventually it became sheer and I struggled to see the bottom. A loud mechanical noise reverberated from the hole. “That’s how I got here?” “Remember, dear, things are never always as they seem.” “Must I go in there now?” “goodness no. Look at you. You’re still dressed in your

pajamas. I will get you clothes, shoes and supplies and then you will travel through to the tracking ward with your guide.” “My guide?” “Yes, dear. You didn’t think I’d let you go in there alone, did you? We are awaiting the arrival of your guide.” I heard a noise. Something organic mixed with the mechanical sound spewing from the pit. Would my guide be

a man? I wondered. I sure hoped not. First because no man should ever see me dressed like this and second because they’re slow and weak. A mist formed over the top of the pit –like the fog that permanently enshrouded the wastelands beyond the districts. The organic sound grew louder and it had a sense of familiarity I couldn’t quite place. I looked over at the woman. She had a slight smile on her face. “He is almost here,” she said. He. Great. Then it broke through the fog. It literally leapt up out of the mist and onto the porch beside me. Ignoring us both, the dog trotted around the side of the house as if it owned the place. The woman smiled, clearly satisfied then turned

to follow. A dog. A dog, I could deal with. We had plenty of dogs in the districts. Most of them served as wall guards along with the sentinels but a few had become pets to the more affluent families. Back inside the cabin, the dog was drinking greedily from a bowl of water that I was certain wasn’t there when we left several moments ago. He was a big dog –bigger than any I’d ever seen. He wore some type of pack strapped to his torso. We both stood there like idiots watching this dog drink until finally it lifted its head. I felt a pressure in my forehead as it made eye contact with me. It was similar to the pressure I felt when the woman was trying to relax me with her mind. Could it be coming from the dog? The pressure immediately ceased when the dog turned its attention to the woman. She nodded, moved to its side and unzipped the pack. She removed three things. The first, was a map folded in on itself so many times I could only make out a small section. The second was a green circular object with which I was unfamiliar. The third was a set of knives. Three in total, each sheathed one behind the other. Their blades were strangely shaped and the handles much

narrower than a typical knife. She walked the three objects to the table. I followed. The dog circled a spot just in front of the door a few times before laying down. The woman spread out the map. I was familiar with looking at maps –we had many back in the districts, all crude, hand-drawn things that the sentinels used when they moved from the districts to the wastelands. This map was quite different than what I’d seen before. There were no smudges, erase marks or notes scribbled all over the paper. It didn’t even look handdrawn, although I’m not sure how else it could have been created. The woman took the green circular object, pulled a latch I hadn’t noticed earlier and opened it revealing a needle floating inside. “Do you know what this is?” she asked. “No,” I replied. “We call it a compass. It tells you the direction in which you are traveling. It, along with the map will be your lifeline as you travel between here and the tracking ward.” “What about my guide?” I said, nodding at the dog, who lifted an eyebrow as if he knew I was talking about him. “Your guide will get you through the reentrant without falling to your death. Once you reach the bottom, it is up

to you to make it to the tracking ward,” she said, pointing to a small rectangle drawn on the map. “You will come out here and must travel this distance to get to the ward,” the woman said moving her finger from top to bottom of the entire page while tracing a red line. “The topographical indicators along with the compass will provide you with all you need to keep your bearing. If your health continues to improve at its current rate, the journey shouldn’t be overly arduous for you. I’d hazard a guess that you’ll make it in under a week.” “A week?” I said, incredulous. “Of course, dear. What were you expecting?” I really didn’t know what I was expecting. I was hoping the tracking ward was a building around the back side of the house but I knew that wasn’t the case when we went looking for Mr. fuzzy butt. The dog again lifted his eyebrows and let out a low growl. I knew I wasn’t expecting to travel alone in what looked like a system of tunnels for a week. I wasn’t a fan of enclosed spaces or complete darkness and I was about to be thrown into both of them. “You must eat, pick out your clothes and rest. At sundown, Kingslayer will take you through the passage.”

“Kingslayer?” You’ve got to be kidding. Again, fido growled while giving me the evil eye and I knew the damn dog could read my mind. Wonderful.

Chapter 14 The Sentinel Manny stepped forward to meet the old woman as she approached, I stood my ground. My care-for was not my ‘mother’ as Manny called this woman, she was simply a care-for, it was her place, like thousands before her. I could tell that this woman coming toward us was different, she had a presence. I wasn’t the only one to notice, either, I could see it in the eyes of the people she passed. “Manny,” she said when she was still about ten feet away, “What are you doing? Who is this?” I realized that her lips hadn’t moved, like when Manny talked to me earlier, in my head. So I tried an experiment. “I’m Grant,” I thought, picturing Manny and the old woman in my mind, “Davis said I was the Searcher.” Manny turned to look at me, the old woman stopped, the first three rows of people all gasped and three old ladies fainted dead away. “DO NOT DO THAT,” entered my head, in a mix of Manny and old woman voices. “Let me rephrase my question,” the old woman said, closing the distance, “what are you doing and who is this idiot with you?” This time she used her vocal chords to ask the question. I examined the stains on my boots as the two of them discussed the situation. I was able to remember where each of them came from, except one large brown spot on my left boot. I assumed it must be dried blood from my own head, from the blow that sent me to Manny’s office. I was about to start cataloging the stains on my trousers when the old lady addressed me.

“Welcome, Grant,” she said, loud enough for most of those in the front three rows to hear, “the rovers told of your coming.” I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything, I wasn’t used to being the center of so much attention, so I just stood there, wondering about the three little red spots on my left knee. “Lift your head and look at them,” I heard in my head, “they need to know you see them, that you will protect them.” I did as I was told, even straightening my shoulders a little. “Don’t overdo it,” the old woman thought, “they know you are scared, that you have a lot to learn.” I let my shoulders droop again, not all the way down like a defeated dog, but half way, like a man with miles to go. As I scanned the crowd I saw a number of care-for’s I remembered from my time in the first level. When I came to a face I recognized I would smile and nod, I learned that in the second level, smiling at someone, even someone who is out to kill you, just helps make the day brighter. While I was disarming the crowd with my incredible powers of non-verbal persuasion Manny and his care-for, whom I had been told was named Glenda, had decided that the best thing to do was get me off the street. It seems that my smiling and nodding was making me look like an idiot, I guess that type of thing only works the first time you see someone, not over and over as you swivel your head, waiting for a conversation to end. ‘C’mon,” Manny said to me as Glenda turned to the crowd, “we’re gonna’ head home…to Mom’s…to Glenda’s house.” I holstered the gun I had forgotten I was holding and followed Glenda and Manny through the crowd, trying hard to ignore the whispers of “Sentinel”, failing every time I realized they had

come from a young woman’s mouth. In my mind, the worst part of living out on the third level is that almost all of the woman were rovers, just as soon kill you as kiss you, even though they did both with incredible passion and skill. Most of the female sentinels were all too busy worrying about doing the job to think of dalliances, and the ones who did seek companionship ended up back here in the first level to add to the population as a result.

I really need to stop thinking of these things, I told myself. “Yes you do,” came into my head in the duel voices of Manny and Glenda. “Can you two not do that?” I asked, out loud. “You will learn to hide your thoughts,” Glenda said as we reached the edge of the assembled crowd, joining flow of those who had decided to depart. “And I can’t wait for that,” Manny said, “the things you think about…” “I didn’t know that anyone was listening,” I replied, “heck, even I don’t listen to my thoughts.” “That’s obvious,” Glenda said, in a tone that wasn’t quite biting, but wasn’t gentle either, “but there is hope for you.” We slipped out of the moving throng, taking an alleyway that headed to the right, south I think. “Yes, south,” Manny told me, “but only for a few blocks.” “When can I start to learn how to keep you out of my head?” I asked as we walked down the middle of the alley. There were no sidewalks along the alley, and no windows in the buildings that flanked each side, creating that urban canyon I was so happy to be rid of once I left the first circle.

“You need to create a running thought, something that will always be at the top of your mind,” Manny said. “Like what?” “Like what you think of immediately when you first look at me. Think, what do you really think of me?” I pondered that for a moment and realized that every time I came upon Manny he was with someone he was older than. “Exactly,” Manny replied, “and now that you know it, I have to change it.” “Not yet,” Glenda said, “it’ll do him good to be able to read your thoughts for the first lessons. So much of it is going to be so different that what he thinks he knows, it will help him if he can truly see your mind, that the things we are going to be teaching him are in fact the truth.”