Papa Heric leads his group away from the ravine to a sheltered overhang with two sizable but shallow caves into which the Heightened funnel. They are as dejected as Heric. Their shoulders are bowed and their eyes rarely leave the floor unless it is to glance in fear at some noise or motion. They have precious few belongings, their clothes are ragged, and their weapons are paltry. They could have been me from a year ago.

  The child, Plim, stays at my side throughout. He looks up at me with eyes that are filled with questions and not quite as defeated as those of his companions. I struggle to meet his gaze. Being alone for such a time has caused my socialisation to wane and I do not understand what it is the child could want.

  “Where’s your tribe?” Plim asks as I place my pack near the entrance of the cave and sit back against it to clean my spear.

  “A long ways away.”

  “Which tribe was it? You look like someone from Juniper; they’re tall like you and the architects give them brown children.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the architects were discerning with whom they birthed.” I look about the group pointedly; there are people of all colours and sizes in this group, what binds them is their fear.

  Papa Heric drops into a deep squat with his forearms resting on his knees and his hands dangling at the wrists.

  “Go clean up, Plim. Take your sister with you down to the creek and wash your face and hands. Don’t wander, the monsters could come back at any time. I’m trusting you to keep alert, all right?”

  Plim groans. “Why? I washed yesterday.”

  “No excuses. We wash every day. Go.” Heric pushes him away with a kindly pat on his back and Plim grumbles his way over to a small girl that could have been his twin.

  “Sister?” I ask of Heric.

  “Shared a cocoon when the architects blessed us with them. Sad pair, their original carers in the tribe are gone so we’re doing what we can.” He smiles, his teeth blistering white. “I was a carer too. Back before. It’s why they all call me Papa; I love kids, always have.”

  “Not me. I did what I needed to; changed them, got them fed, but…” I shrug. “I don’t feel the warmth, you know.”

  “I get it. Not everyone does. There’s no shame in it. I wonder sometimes if this is how it alway was. The children given by the architects. It seems so arbitrary, the way they give us life like this and take it in with equal ease.”

  I’ve wiped most of the gore from my spear haft and lift the blade to inspect it. It is subtly patterned. Whorls and lines thinner than a hair lace through it in intricate patterns that I know in my gut mean something more than I’m able to discern. As small as they are, though, they capture the blood of monsters and must be cleaned before I’m satisfied.

  “I’ve been traveling between segments for a while, Heric, I might have gotten turned about. Who rules over this region?”

  “River.”

  “Blazing sun!” I suck the blood from my cut thumb. I thought a year of numbing travel would put some distance between me and that tribe physically and emotionally. I was wrong.

  “You’ve met River before then?”

  “A while ago. They seemed reasonable people; are they the ones that did this to you?”

  “Some. Leaf is at their borders. There’s a few rogue Marked that are imposing their powers on whomever they choose. I can’t say any tribe is safe now.”

  “I heard some rumours that Pine tribe is taking in Heightened for safety.”

  “Did you now?” He searches for something in my face. He’s looking for lies. He’s looking for the crinkle of an eye or a twitch as I look away to tell him that I’m leading him astray. Even through my discomfort I force myself to look back at him, steady and even.

  “I can’t be sure. I never made it to their segments.”

  “Well, it’s something. Sun only knows that these people need some hope. I can’t believe it, most days. How far we’ve fallen. It was never perfect before, but the architects removing the restrictions have made this…It’s tough. That’s all, I suppose.”

  “How long have you been leading these people?”

  “Months. It started out just a few of us and I’ve picked up these survivors as we’ve traveled. We’ve only made it two segments, we spend so much time just fending off monsters and trying to find somewhere safe for the night that we aren’t making progress. Not that we had anywhere to strive to be.”

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  I nod. My spear is clean now so I rest is across my knees and relax back. I’ve made a habit of sleeping whenever I can now; if Heric wasn’t pouring his worries into me I could fall into slumber now.

  “That’s why you wanted to try for a dungeon? You hope that you can get through, find some seeds, and advance. Then you can protect your little congregation?”

  “It sounds foolish if you say it like that.”

  “No, Papa Heric, I think it sounds brave. There aren’t many people who want to help any more. Perhaps the sector would be a better place if you did gain your mark.”

  “Well, it’s a dream anyway. I couldn’t take these people into a dungeon, they’d be slaughtered before we reached the boss and there’s no way I could fight one alone.” He eyes my spear and opens his mouth with hesitation.

  I interrupt his thought. “I’m not taking you into a dungeon, Heric. I’m sorry. I have never been in without a Marked and I don’t rate my chances.”

  “Blasted shade.” He mutters, his shoulders drooping another inch. “It was a vain hope and too much to ask. I’m sorry, Pik. Thank you for staying with us tonight. Come, join the circle. I’m sure we’ve all tales to share and memories of those who’ve fallen.”

  The circle is a a gathering of all the members of Heric’s disparate party. Even those who have chosen the other cave as their refuge for the null cycle come across and sit together; they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with their crosses knees touching and I think the closeness helps leech some of the despair from them.

  “Everyone.” Heric sits across the circle from me now, he’s deposited me where I can still back away to my pack if I need. He’s a thoughtful man. He has his knees up with ankles crossed and his arms loosely holding them together. He smiles at his ragtag tribe. “We are here another cycle.”

  “Not all of us.” A gravelly voice interjects. An older man, someone who has been a Heightened for twice the years since my birth at least. There are many like him; those who never make it to Marked, but most don’t last long enough to find themselves with wrinkles of weathering.

  “No. Caleb. You’re right. Today the wilds tried to overwhelm us; we triumphed, but there was a cost. We will remember them.” Heric reaches out to his sides and takes up the hands of his neighbours. It passes in a wave around the circle until we are all linked, even me. “Architects of our world. Prophets of the Sun and Guardians of Heaven. Please see our friends, our companions, and those we love safely into the warmth of your light. Test them no longer with trials nor tribulations. See the purity of their sacrifice and allow their spirits into the heaven that their bodies could not reach. This I pray.”

  A rumble of assent flows through the group. Some mutter their own small prayers, others scowl, more cry, and still fewer break their contact and huddle with their own thoughts.

  Heric stands for a moment and slaps the back wall of the cave. With a slight rumble, the stone parts and an obelisk appears bearing food and water. He takes his place back in the circle as people take turns to eat and drink.

  “Pik. You’ve traveled. Tell us of the sector. What troubles beyond these few segment can we expect?”

  I choke on nothing as I’m called upon. Heric is doing it all with the same smile; he’s trying to distract his people so they don’t dwell on their misery. My mind starts blank. I’ve become better being called upon to make rapid decisions, especially in combat and where it is a matter of life or death. Being surrounded by people after such a time is a wholly more terrifying experience than the monsters I’ve been slaying.

  I clear my throat and feel the heat in my cheeks. “It’s as you say, Papa Heric. The lands are split between those who are Marked and we’re stuck in the midst of it. I found the remnants of Wheat two months ago; their static had been raided and their dungeon gifts taken. They had two Marked left, good ones who cared for their people, but—“ I shrug. “They can only do so much.”

  “That sounds…dire.” Heric’s smile wavers.

  “There’s still some pockets of people that are willing to trade and care for other though.” I try to smile too as I see the faces of the tribe turning further down. “Plains tribe was welcoming. They’re set up maybe five segments away. There are two entrances to their segment and they’ve set guards at each so they can protect themselves from anyone getting inside. They’ve managed to keep the place peaceful. I spent a week with them and traded for some things I needed. They even have a dungeon entrance there that renews so they can find seeds.”

  “Would they take in more?” A woman asks me. Her hair is matted and dirty but would once have been the colour of honey. Her wide blue eyes beseech me and my heart hurts in a way that I’ve not felt for a long time.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry, these are strange times. They were wary of me, alone, I don’t know how they will treat so many Heightened coming at once.”

  “Maybe we will try anyway,” says Heric. “Is the way easy?”

  I chuckle, mirthlessly. “There are many paths through the segments, but no matter which you travel you will need to cross the burning spires or the miasmic swamp. The spires are over liquid rock that is so hot that it can cook your skin. The spires are spaced so that you can jump between them, but there is not a ledge in the segment. You must cross it in one or risk falling in your sleep.”

  “The architects do like to test us, don’t they?” Heric shares my dry humour. “What of the swamp. Is that the easier path?”

  “I chose the spires once I’d seen the swamp.”

  Heric whistles. “That bad?”

  “The air itself stinks; it sticks to your throat until every breath is choked. Your eyes itch, swell, and bleed. Through all of this you will be covered with small insects that bite and suck until your skin is red and raw. Then there are the creatures in the waters; slithering creatures ten times the length of a man, stubby legged things that are made of hardened hide as strong as stone and with teeth that can crack bones. No. I would choose the spires.”

  “I would choose another path, I think.”

  “That might be wise.”

  “Thank you, Pik. Come, eat, and let’s think less of the outside for a while. We have companions enough here and company fit for heaven itself.”

  I’ve ruined any possibility of a positive evening. The people are already afraid, they’ve lost people, and are on the last legs of their lives. I could have lied and told them how good it was out in the other segments. I’d chosen the softer lies. It is better to talk of the ravages of the architecture than it is to speak on the depravity of their denizens.

  The Marked have turned on us and I cannot see a way out.