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or rather the filtered, dull, and lifeless version of it. There were many hours of smoky daylight left and enough to guide them to the next village with an inn. This adventure, after all, was supposed to get them away from the bustle of a large city and into the wilds of the north.
    They made their way slowly through town. Each man slowly became frustrated and flustered as they were forced to make sudden stops: carts, children, and women darted across the wide street. Caravans would often brake all of a sudden, with no warning and no apparent reason. When at last the northern gate was in view, each breathed a sigh of relief, and the pace seemed to quicken until another caravan reared to a sudden stop. They had become so focused on leaving the city, that all thought to their needed supplies had vanished. After spending time in the wilderness, the crush of people had fouled the collective mood.
    “Ach!” grumbled Qainur as he reined in his horse to avoid another caravan.
    The companions grumbled their way through town and found their supplies waiting—thankfully. Zhy had expected the worst, but he was happy to leave; even happier when they passed through the northern gate and the pine forest stretched ahead of them.
    Only to Vronga? A voice wondered. No... he’d keep going. Though Qainur and Torplug were not the most congenial travelers, they were companions, real human beings. Not bottles or snifters. And he didn’t have to pay them.
     
    But as the day waned, and darkening skies began to cast long shadows over everything, and the scene quickly changed from brightness to gloom. Zhy looked out at the far-reaching forest and shivered from the cold. Squirrels could be seen darting from branch to branch. And as he looked out—farther afield and farther up the trees—the spindly tops of the great birches looked like just so many beckoning fingers. They swayed in a slight breeze, and a few more leaves fluttered to the ground. Zhy saw only the fingers. Beckoning him. Calling him along. Into the great north, and into the very last days of his life.
     
     
     

Part II
    Knots
     
    In which we meet another citizen of Belden and see the world through his simple eyes. There are also demons and tunnels and men of mystery.
     
     
     

Chapter 6 — Bimb’s Tale
     

     
    A simple man may have much to offer the world. His view is narrow and his experiences limited. But yet he may see the things we miss, he may hear voices we drown and may speak a simpler truth.
     
    Prophet Azherin
     
     
    M y name is Bimb. B-i-m-b. Bimb. Fa is smart and likes words. He likes letters you can’t hear, he says, so he named me Bimb. Nobody says the last b. I don’t like the name. I can’t spell it. I can’t spell anything. Fa told me the letters so I could tell people. I make music and I like numbers. I don’t like my name. Fa likes it. Ma does not like it. She’s quiet and likes to knit by the fire. Ma cries a lot. I don’t know why. But Fa smiles at me, pats me on the back, and calls me Bimb. I love my Fa.
    We live near the big town of Vronga, where all the people like to go. That’s what Fa says. “Anybody who is anybody goes through Vronga!” he will say. He gets mad that the city seems to get close to our farm. Says soon we will be in town. But we live in quiet now. We have a big field and Fa grows pumpkins and turnips there. I like turnips. And music.
    Fa says winter will be here soon. We have pumpkins and turnips in the field, but Fa has already brought many inside or to Vronga. People buy his food. They like it and give him coin. He can buy Ma’s medicine, but she still cries.
    I went to our turnip field. I counted the turnips left. Seven, eight ...there was a rotten one. Nine, ten . I pulled a green weed. There were not many weeds. Fa said the cold nights killed the weeds. It is hard work to take out all the weeds. We did that all summer, me and Fa.
    Suddenly a man was in front of me. I jumped backwards. Where had he come from? I