Anton's and Moira's Ancient Travels

“The ancient Malorians had systems in place to transport water through these stone-carved chutes,” Moira said. She stood next to a giant stone, broken off from others nearby. “Back when water was plentiful.”

“Why did the water disappear?” Anton asked, walking away from her into the open wasteland. The sun was coming up over the horizon, soon to blaze hot in the sky. “We should get going.” Moira looked over to find the sun rising, then jumped into his eyeline.

“Remember what I told you,” she said. “Don’t look directly at the sun. You can hurt your eyes. People used to have ways of preventing damage once, even fixing people’s eyes to see again. It was a prosperous time.”

“Posper-nouse?”

“Prosperous,” Moira corrected. “It means a time with a lot of good things happening, when people could enjoy themselves.” Anton kicked a rock on the ground, hitting the remains of the carved stone chute. The only thing that remained now were these old things, as they crumbled to sand.

“Are there any magical things from long ago?” Anton asked.

“Perhaps,” She said. “We should get going before it gets too hot.”

“Are we still heading south?”

“There is a chance the reservoirs of underground water built by Kemaros are still intact,” Moira said. “People have used them for centuries now, since it was that good of a system.”

“Then why did they die out?”

“Greed, most likely,” Moira said. “When someone smart wants more, they stop being smart. Are you ready?”

“I’m thirsty,” Anton said. Moira stepped over to look at his face.

“Let’s get going,” she said. “We will take a rest and drink some cactus on the way.”

“Ok.”

They set out into the wastelands, guided by the sun at first. When that ascended too far into the sky to tell which way was which, Moira studied a wooden compass for guidance. When the heat started to be unbearable, Moira motioned to Anton to stop over by the nearby boulder to rest in a bit of shade. He nodded back weakly, too dehydrated to speak.

“Here, but go slow,” Moira said, handing over a small satchel of water boiled off from the rare cactus plants. “It’s the only water we have left.” Anton took the pouch and gulped one hungry mouthful of water down. After that, he let the water flow gently for a few seconds, but stopped before he lost control. He sighed in relief, handing the satchel back to Moira, but she only closed it back up.

They sat in the last remaining shade of the rock as the sun threatened to eliminate it. Anton shifted around a bit in the shadow, almost as if he was digging. Just as Moira was about to tell him to rest, he pulled something metal from the ground.

“Look, Moira!” He exclaimed, lifting the dagger into the sun where it reflected light right into Moira’s eyes. She reached out her right hand until Anton handed it over. The hot metal scorched into Moira’s skin at contact, leaving behind a cross-hatched pattern of red.

“Ouch!” She yelped. “How were you holding that? It’s scorching!” Anton looked over to the dagger now in the sun, and reached for it again. Moira launched her other hand to stop him, but he touched it before she got there.

“It’s not hot,” he said. “It’s actually really cool, like water.”

“Bring it here,” she said, this time studying it in his hand. When she reached out a finger, it gave off a cool aura, but as soon as she touched the handle again, the heat appeared at the spot she was making contact. It was so hot it was visible. When Moira withdrew the finger, the hot spot vanished.

“I may know what this is,” she said. “There was once a civilization of people living in this wasteland, before the Malorians’ age of water transportation. The Quelloar Empire was one of constant war, even outfitting children to do battle. I think this is one such weapon. It can only be wielded by a youth. If grabbed by someone advanced in age, some sort of mechanism inside heats it up.”

“Or it’s magic,” Anton said, inspecting the piece of metal. He put the blade to his cheek and signed. “It feels so cool, and it’s all mine.” Moira wanted to argue, but she had to treat her burn. Now her hand would have a cross-stitched pattern for a bit, if not forever. She let a trickle of cactus water run over the burn, but it was warm.

“Magic is rarer than you might believe,” Moira said, inspecting her hand. “But maybe there is something special about the dagger. Be careful with it. It’s still a weapon, so put it away.” Anton held the dagger up in the sun and spun it around a few times. The sun was almost directly above them now. The shadow they took a rest within was all but erased.

“Did you hear what I said?” She asked.

“Ok,” he said, and withdrew the piece of metal. They set out again into the heat of the desert, happening upon a lone cactus. Moira drew out her own dagger, and hesitated to approach the needle plant. The cactus would not go down that easy. They were, after all, mobile. When she brandished her dagger, the plant twitched, each needle acting like an antenna of perception.

The trick was sneaking up on the cactus, and cutting it from the roots. From then, carving the needles away left them with the water-rich pulp inside. It was slightly poisonous, but created drinking water when boiled off. Moira held up a hand for Anton to stay still as she brandished her dagger.

She approached, step by step, pausing when the cactus twitched. When she was close enough, Moira lunged with her dagger, slicing at the base with a clean cut. The body fell to the ground, impaling the needles in the ground. The cactus wriggled around, dripping out some liquid from the bottom.

With another strike to the top of the plant where a flower bud rested, the cactus remained still. Rather than prune it right away, Moira took the flower top she cut off and placed it atop the base which remained in the ground. The flower wriggled and blossomed on the spot. The cactus would be alright. The body would grow again from the base, and bigger than before.

“Come on,” Moira shouted over to Anton. “Help me cut him up. We can brew off some water before it gets dark.” Anton stepped up to the cactus body, and drew his brand new dagger. Together they pruned the needles away until the only thing left was the green flesh with white cactus meat within.

Moira set up her boiling kit with the sun’s position. It concentrated the light from the sun into a beam that heated a pot where the cactus boiled away. A pan that covered the pot had a special spout that deposited any steam in a connected container. The water would be hot for a while, but with the coming night, it would cool off and make a nice warm pillow.

“Good job, Anton,” Moira said, inspecting pieces of the cactus he carved with his dagger. “But remember. A knife is a duality of weapon and tool. You have to be careful with it.” Anton nodded, happy she gave him a compliment. Once all the cactus had been boiled off, Moira scraped the leftover sludge out of her pot and wiped it off on a scrap of cloth.

The sludge had concentrated hallucinogenic properties. If properly dried out into a powder, it could also be used as a weapon. Moira did not have the tools to make this here, but remembered a bit of her past when she helped the love of her life make weapons, the very woman who was mother to Anton. He looked like her, even if just a bit.

When Moira slept, she dreamed of Gabrielle in the green plains. The unrealistic proportions of the world made certain it was a dream, but Moira did not mind it. Remembering Gabby was enough for her.

“Moira!” Anton shouted from the distance. “MOIRA!” Moira woke up with a start, still in the night, just in time to see Anton disappear into the dark. She ran forward, but the darkness remained. She was uncertain where he was, as the sound was now muffled. When a burst of orange appeared in the darkness, she knew exactly which way to go.

Her body dashed mad toward someone in the dark, drawing her dagger. The glowing orange was from the other dagger, lighting up on contact with a scavenger of older years. Anton dropped to his feet and ran back over. Moira passed by him with a quick look, before jumping forward to slash the darkness. She felt no contact, and followed up with a knee strike that found it’s mark to the man’s chest.

Moira was again lost in the dark, on guard for more attacks. When a small hand reached out to her, she almost lunged at it, but paused to find Anton. She held him tight. He cried, as Moira soothed him in an embrace. It was a good thing he had that dagger, although Moira was certain that was also how a scavenger noticed them in the wastes. A glinting piece of metal was sure to entice anyone from a long distance away.

When the sun crawled back out, Moira found the scavenger still unconscious. Rather than leave him to the heat and birds of prey, she tied him up and poured a bit of sludge saved from the cactus on his face to wake him.

“AHHH!!” He exclaimed as the gelatin encased his eyes. “What is this? What’s going on?” Moira brandished a dagger up to his neck.

“Feel this?” She asked, gliding the sharp edge against his skin.

“Ok, ok, easy now,” he said. “I can’t see you, but you’re that woman with the kid right? It’s nothing personal. I just wanted to steal your supplies, and sell the kid on the market.” Moira took the dagger away and delivered a solid punch to his jaw.

“Nothing personal,” she said, in a mocking tone.

“Don’t kill him,” Anton said. Moira looked over to Anton with a grimace.

“We have barely any water left, and a long journey ahead of us,” she said. “He would have killed and looted us the first chance he got.” Moira was almost disappointed at his pleading to keep the man alive. His mother would be proud of him, but she was no longer in their world.

“Please don’t kill him,” Anton said again. Moira sighed. His face was too much like Gabby’s. She sheathed her dagger and sighed. He came up to the vagrant carefully. He was tied, but still remained a danger. “What’s your name?”

“You should listen to your mommy, kid,” the man said. “I’m a dangerous man. I was going to sell you on the market to a child labor camp.”

“My mom’s dead,” he replied. “Moira’s a friend of my mom.” The man’s face softened. Maybe he had a memory of a similar experience. Just after, his expression tightened back to anger.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said. “Any chance I get, I’ll kill you both!” Moira stepped up, dagger unsheathed in caution. She wondered whether she tied him tight enough. Anton did not look scared.

“I’m Anton,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s your name?”

The man looked to Moira as if for help. She brandished the dagger in case he tried to attack again.

“Homer,” he said.

“We’re heading to find Kemaros wells in the south,” Anton said. “Want to join us?”

“There ain’t wells left,” he barked back. “They all dried up decades ago. The only place where water is plentiful is in the north, kid.”

“Well, we’re going south,” Moira interjected. “Feel free to head north if you want, but trust me when I say, that is where we came from. Nothing left of the icebergs, Homer.” He looked between her and Anton.

“As if I’d trust someone I just met in the wastes,” he said.

“Ok,” Moira said, and started walking away. “Come on, Anton. Leave the man to his dreams.” Anton stepped closer to the man.

“There is a greater chance of Kemaros wells then of the ice in the north,” he said, inching closer. “Now hold still for a moment, and don’t attack me again, ok?” He undid the man’s binds before following Moira. He sat on the ground for a moment longer, looking at the sun rising over the horizon.

When they were a distance away from their old campsite, Moira stopped walking to sheathe her dagger. It was a bigger blade than the one Anton found. The silvered surface of metal disappeared into a black leather handle, and appeared again for a loop at the base. Anton thought back to when he put his dagger up to the sun. It must have bounced the light all around the wastes, leading to Homer finding them.

“It’s a shame he didn’t want to come with us,” Anton said.

“It’s not like we have a lot of water to spare, Anton,” Moira replied. “It’s best we don’t bring anyone else along. We don’t know if there is anything to find yet. Though I hope we didn’t make a mistake leaving home.” Anton thought back to the metal huts built along a polluted river. The water was drinkable way up at the source, but that was controlled by richer people. Those down the river got the run-off from the top. By the time the water got to the metal huts at the base of the mountain, it was sludge. Any place was better than that town.

Around the middle of the day, Moira and Anton repeated the same break and drank what little water remained from the hunted cactus. The sun was bright as ever, but the dagger felt as cool as the most pleasant water against Anton’s hand. Moira braided a lanyard for him from the plants still struggling by in the wasteland. The lanyard tied around the base of the dagger, and was large enough to suspend the small dagger like a necklace.

“So it is magic, right?” Anton asked, holding the small dagger by the blade.

“It’s ancient technology,” Moira replied. “It’s something really old that we can’t understand anymore because the age of understanding is over. The smart folks ended up taking over all the remaining water sources, and the rest of us were left to live at their feet, or take our chances in the wastes. Your mom was quite another sort of person.” She sat in the shadow of the remnants after a metal building. This had to be a city a few centuries ago.

“She fought for our future,” Anton said, and lowered his head.

“And paid the price in our stead,” Moira added. “It’s something to be proud of, even if it didn’t fix much.”

“I miss her,” Anton said, drawing in the dust with his finger. Moira’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Me, too.”

The sun shrank the shadow on the ground toward them until there was almost nothing left. Moira stood back up to look around the ruined building for anything they could use. Most of the metal was already too far gone, rusted up. Looking through the mess of it all was a danger in itself, seeing as most medicine was gone. If it bled, it got bandaged, but beyond that there was nothing to administer for infections. Moira knew a few plants that could help, but the wastes had none to offer.

“Careful,” Anton said, also standing now to preserve the remainder of the shadow before the sun eliminated it. Moira stepped over what looked like a solid block, only to have it buckle under her. She bounced off the surface before going too far, and stepped away. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s necessary,” she said. “This building once had stores filled with food. If we go inside, we could scrounge up something to eat.”

“Let’s not,” Anton said. The metal structure was under a lot of ground, possibly because of a sinkhole that opened underneath.

“Let me see if we can find a way inside first,” Moira said. “Don’t worry.”

Anton worried as she circled the metal monument tapping on different surfaces until she punched one. The shattering of glass made Anton run over to check on her, but she was already inside the darkness. He approached slowly, thumbing the cool dagger at his chest for comfort.

“Come on,” a voice said from inside. He hesitated. It didn’t sound like Moira’s voice. She appeared out of the darkness. “Come on, Anton, it’s cooler in here.” Her hand reached out from the dark. Anton let go of the cool metal and grabbed hold to be pulled into the dark. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the difference, but the inside was definitely cooler.

“This used to be a popular place for kids your age to go and buy things,” Moira said, walking down a sloped floor. “People would set up shop in these pods and sell their wares, like a market, but fancy. Come on, maybe we can find you something new to wear.” Anton looked over his baggy brown shirt and beige pants. He wondered if there was something wrong with what he was wearing.

Moira led the way into the open space. After the light from the entrance faded, she brought out the jelly from the cactus boiled off for water, and coated a piece of cloth in it. With a strike of two rocks they used to light fires, the torch blazed wildly red before settling into an orange hue. Anton followed her deeper into the dark, looking back just once at the bright shape of the entrance in the distance. It looked almost like a portal to another world.

The remaining clothing was already devoured by bugs. That was one thing Anton did not miss in the wastelands. When they lived near the river, insects gathered to prey upon the water that humans also needed. By the time they got back to the entrance, the sun was setting.

“Even if we didn’t find anything, it was better than sitting in the hottest sun,” Moira said. Anton smiled. They set out south again, guided by the setting sun’s location for a few hours before taking a break to await the visibility of stars instead of relying on the old wooden compass. Most of the travel was spent in silence, preserving the energy they had seeing as their food was limited, but Anton was sometimes curious.

“Have there ever been any ancient civilizations that worshiped the stars?” Anton asked when they stopped their venture in the middle of the night to get some sleep.

“Countless,” Moira said. She spent her whole life learning about what once was, even before meeting Gabrielle. She joined her for some ventures, sourced from books for hidden secrets that could help them. In the end, ruins were just that, the remains of what was once great. “The greatest example were the Zaxient. They believed each and every star in the sky was not only creating life, but also a life themselves. They believed the stars were just a network of people, like a town or city.”

“Where did they live?”

“Close to where Kemaros were, actually,” Moira replied.

“Can we stop by and see?”

“Maybe,” she responded. “We actually might have to pass through their lands before getting to Kemaros. Sleep for now, I’ll take watch.”

“Thank you, Moira,” he said. When she looked over at him, she saw her best friend in those eyes. The pang of regret ate away at Moira at all times. She was not there when Gabrielle disappeared, instead traveling in search of a way to fix the world. Moira was determined to spend the rest of her life to make sure Anton was safe. She nodded slowly in gratitude.

Once both of them rested, they set off again to the north, guided by the stars above them. Anton asked some more information about the Zaxient civilization, and Moira told him what she knew. The lands they once occupied were once covered in green. They would climb to the highest canopies and build structures in the trees that allowed them to observe the sky.

“They were in love with the stars,” Anton said.

“Love is an emotion shared between two humans,” Moira said, thinking back to the times she traveled alongside Gabby. “But yes, to a certain extent, they were in love with the stars they could not reach. I think of them as hopeful worshipers, looking to befriend the stars as they befriended each other.”

“So how come they’re not around anymore?”

“There are bad people in the world,” Moira said. “Like the man who tried to steal you away. Befriending everyone has a downside, and they were betrayed. Their culture was peace-loving, never intending to harm anyone.”

“I don’t think Homer was a bad person,” he said. Moira remembered the panic that the scavenger put her in, and grimaced at the notion. “He was just trying to survive in the wastes like us.”

“Survival at the cost of someone else’s life is unacceptable,” she said.

“I wanted to know his story though,” Anton argued. “I bet he came from a similar situation of living down a river.”

“Curiosity is ok,” Moira said. “But stupidity is not. You have to be careful with people in the wastes. Most of them don’t want to sit around a fire telling stories. If that guy took you away, he would have sold you in some town for water or food. You’d be forced into labor, and treated less than human.” Anton grimaced, and walked ahead of her in a huff. He was still young, but that curiosity of his would get him in a lot of trouble without her around.

Time would help toughen him up. Moira just hoped she could protect him until then. That challenge was on her. If the Kemaros wells were still intact, they could survive for a while. Based on the old books Moira memorized, most of the Kemaros lived in a congregation in the south, but a little patch of them split off due west from there. The path to the forgotten clan would take them across the Zaxient ruins, which were just dried up trees, still woven at the canopies to watch the stars.

They walked in silence until Moira caught up to Anton, and put a hand on his shoulder to stop his increased pace. He met her eyes, but said nothing. They rested just past sunset, awaiting the stars for guidance. After hours of silence from Anton, Moira sighed and stood up.

“Anton, come with me,” she said, holding out a hand. He took one look at her, and turned away. Moira grimaced, and stepped over to yank him by the arm away from their packs. He struggled a bit, but accepted that he could not act that way. “I’m trying my best. Meet me in the middle, ok?”

“I don’t think everyone is generally a bad person,” Anton said. “I believe there is good in people. In everyone. It’s just like a fire inside them that never goes out.” Moira thought for a moment. It was best to use the metaphor to reach him.

“A fire needs to breathe,” Moira said. “But not too much, or it goes out of control. A fire also needs to eat, and it only leaves destruction in its wake.” Anton tilted his head in thought.

“If you give a fire just enough room to breathe, and just enough food, it will not go out of control,” he said. “It’s about seeing the best in people that keeps them from going out of control, giving them what they need, but just enough. Your fire always blazes bright, but that’s because you’re always near me. The others could blaze just as bright with a reason to, but it’s better to keep them sputtering on, rather than snuff them out.”

Moira considered what he was saying. She was strong because she had him beside her, to protect him. The other people of the wastes were good people, just desperate to survive to the point of doing bad things. It was better to help them survive than to let them die out, or snuff them out. With a good goal in mind, they could even be of help. The flame metaphor was good.

“I understand,” she said. “I just worry that you will see a person as good one day, while they will see you as a meal ticket they can sell off. Most flames are still flames, dangerous.”

“Everything is dangerous at first,” Anton said. “But we can’t just distance ourselves from everything. That’s a very lonely way to live. Even at the river, there was a community. People worked hard every day to purify water for others to drink. Whole groups of people, working together, a united flame under the pot of garbage to steam off drinkable water. Nothing is accomplished alone.” Moira grimaced.

Her mind went back to before she met Gabby. She was always by herself, studying, always on the verge of being out of money and starving. She survived on sheer will, by herself, and fueled her travels in a field of study already dead. What good was learning how the ancient civilizations existed when the current one needed the most help? It was Moira’s dream, and she could not abandon it even after meeting Gabrielle. For a time, they were together, but then James joined the picture.

All of a sudden, Gabby could no longer travel with her. Moira could see it in her eyes, the feelings for that man. She left to travel around and experience things she had only seen in books. All the while, Gabrielle was busily in love, creating a life for herself in that horrid little shanty town at the very base of the river close to the poisoned sea. Moira shook the memory away.

“Next time, I’ll give them a shot,” Moira lied to put the matter out like a budding flame of conversation. Anton’s eyes lit up with the fire instead. Moira almost cursed. There was no stifling a flame of inspiration. She just hoped the next time they met someone the boy trusted, she could do the same.

“Thanks, Mom,” Anton said, and threw hands over his mouth in shock. Moira opened her mouth in surprise and wanted to say something, but did not. She looked similar to Gabby in a certain light.

“It’s dark enough,” Moira said. “Let’s head out.” She started gathering their things from the rest and touched the necklace dagger entirely forgetting that it would burn her. She recoiled from a cool surface, thinking it was a severe burn, but touched it again to test. The metal now felt cool to her touch, as if there was something alive in the small dagger that decided who to burn and who to embrace cool.

They set off again, toward the remaining Kemaros wells that many had no idea existed, through the Zaxient lands of dried-up trees woven to face the stars. Moira was looking forward to seeing those up close.

Depictions of the woven tree canopies did not do the sight justice. Much like the root network underground, the canopies weaved together into nets. Now partially broken, the structures still looked majestic. The trees were dried up now, but held together. It was nothing climbable, and Moira would not trust the canopies to hold anyone up, but the appeal was clear. Given that the nets would have leaves growing all over, laying down in all that cool green would feel amazing.

“Can I climb it?” Anton asked.

“No,” Moira said, ready to catch his arm in case he started running to the dead trees. “For all we know, these things will crumble the second we touch them.” Anton looked up to the woven canopies, erasing ownership of branches to once-trees planted close together. Moira came up carefully to check if the dead trees got petrified as well. Her hand extended to the surface, but paused a few centimeters away. No matter how she pushed, there was a barrier around the plant matter.

“What’s wrong?” Anton asked, coming up next to her. He reached out to touch the tree, only to be equally repelled at the last few centimeters.

“Zaxients might have been more technologically inclined than recorded,” she said. “Just… I’m wondering why.”

“Because of the stars?” Anton asked, throwing Moira’s thoughts to their faith that stars were living beings that could move around, but sacrificed that for our sake.

“I suppose,” Moira said, circling the tree while touching the outside field. “Having access to the stars that have lived countless years when compared to the human few, could have given Zaxients advanced technologies. Just goes to show, even the most advanced civilization is bound to die out.” Anton drew out his dagger to test if the blade could make it through the invisible shield. The blade heated up against the invisible object, but remained repelled.

“Or did they just leave this planet?” He asked.

“That’s a lot harder than you think,” Moira said. “With technology, it becomes easier, but it takes a lot of energy.”

“Look!” Anton burst out as his hand glided down to the tree surface as if sinking into some invisible water. Moira was by his side in an instant, ready to pull if the system was designed to attack whoever managed to touch it. “It’s soft. I think it works by soft touch. When I tried the knife against the surface, it resisted, but when I touched it slowly, my hand sank right in.” Moira put her palm on the surface again, and sighed to relax. Everything told her to keep her guard up, but whatever this material was, it relied on relaxation. She pictured Gabby laughing and dancing with her.

The palm sank into the invisible material, as if into a batch of sticky sap. Moira kept applying gentle pressure until she could feel the bark of the once-trees. When she tried to pull on the submerged hand, it was very stuck. It was something that relied on slow motions, akin to molasses of old. When she looked over to Anton, he was already up in the tree. It made sense that a civilization of people who spent most of their time looking at the stars would have something like this to help them climb up to the canopy weaves.

“Wait!” Moira called out to Anton. While the climbing surface was intact, the tree itself was dead and withered. Even his weight could be too much for that weakened form of once resilient living plant life. “Anton, don’t go too high!” Moira tried to hurry after him, but the initial hand was submerged deep, holding her in place for the time it took to slowly pull it out. Just as her hand was about to leave the strange coating, a branch broke under Anton’s weight. Moira watched in horror, and lunged to catch him, but his feet were still submerged and caught him.

“Whew!” He exclaimed.

“Careful!” She said. “This was once a tree, but it’s withered by now. I’m not sure the canopies could hold you up like this.” Anton changed his position slowly until he was mostly submerged in the coating.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, looking to the canopy above. “I really wanted to see the stars the way Zaxients saw them once.”

“It’s the same as from the ground, just higher” Moira said. “Climb down. Ok?” She looked down to find herself barely away from the ground. She had conquered her fear of heights a long time ago, but it still showed up sometimes without her intention.

“Ok,” Anton said, saddened. “I like to think that Zaxients made it off this world before it got destroyed. At least the last few who remained in touch with the stars above.” He looked into the night sky above, and shuddered. The exciting thoughts kept him warm for a time when climbing up, but now the bite of cold night sent chills all over his body.

“Let’s set up a fire,” Moira said, grabbing the broken branch that threatened Anton’s life as kindling. With a slather of cactus jelly, and a spark, the orange flame burned a little green and red for a few moments until it started eating the old wood. Once both of them were a bit warmed up, Moira looked over to Anton inspecting the dagger he picked up in the wastes.

“For a tool meant to wage war, it doesn’t want to fight,” he said. Moira was confused. “What I mean is, it’s a dagger. That’s a coward’s weapon, not meant for the field of battle. You said this belonged to a civilization who always fought, right?” He looked over when she did not respond. Once the fire blazed bright, Moira looked inside thinking back to the scavenger that tried to steal Anton away.

“Moira?” He asked.

“Huh?”

“I was asking about the people who made the dagger,” he said. “They were always fighting, right?”

“The Quelloar were quick to a fight,” she said, flipping through her mental record of ancient civilizations that existed before. “They didn’t only make war, but saw the fight as more than just arguments. They sparred amongst each other, holding tournaments for feats of strength that welcomed anyone to challenge them. If someone from another kingdom won, they would cordially invite them to a war to test their might against another.

“The whole thing was… fancy,” Moira said, and smiled. “They allowed women to fight, even children. To a child fighter, a dagger isn’t a coward’s weapon. Young muscles can’t hold a full size sword, so they get smaller dirks and daggers. The Quelloar were viewed as savages because of their views, but it was obvious that they had a rich culture based around enjoying the fight.”

“So why did they disappear?” Anton asked.

“They did and they didn’t,” she said. “Some of the rougher parts of their culture were smoothed out, and from there, the culture melded into a fraction of what the modern population is. The parts of their civilization that upset many, were torn down. In the end, statues of women brandishing swords in one hand while cradling a baby in the other were just a symbol for motherhood, rather than the idea of mothers bringing children with them into battle.”

“Wow,” Anton said. “That DOES make them sound like savages.”

“And to an extent, they were,” Moira added.

“Then what about this dagger? How come it heats up sometimes, but stays cool at other times?”

“That must have something to do with their worship,” she said. “Or their technological prowess ahead of their time. Many would look at something like that and instantly think it’s magic, but from a scientific standpoint, all magic is science not yet understood.” Anton lifted the dagger and asked for it to heat up with his mind. Maybe there was a deity in there that could hear his thoughts. Much to his surprise and Moira’s, the blade lit up red hot.

“I asked it to heat up, and it did,” he said. Before Moira could say anything, or stop him, he touched the red glowing part of the blade. Moira looked in horror, expecting it to burn him, but he did not recoil from it. “The second I touch it, it’s cold again. If that’s technology, it doesn’t fit the way Quelloar lived in the ancient times.”

“Don’t do that!” Moira exclaimed, making Anton jump and drop the dagger. “You almost gave me a heart attack! What if the surface was hot? You’d have burned yourself!”

“But it wasn’t,” he said, not understanding that his curiosity continued to endanger him. Moira shook her head, and closed her eyes.

“You have to be more careful, Anton,” she said. “Remember what I said about curiosity?” He grimaced.

“Sorry,” he said, bowing his head. “I just wanted to show you that it’s magic. The dagger wouldn’t burn me, because the god inside of it has control of the properties.”

“Or it was lucky,” Moira said. It was insane to believe that a supernatural being was enshrined in a random dagger they found in the middle of nowhere. If that was the case, the existence had to be lonely, only created for the fight, but lost for so long. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. The Kemaros wells await.”

“Where did the Kemaros get the water?” Anton said, getting his mat and cover ready.

“The rivers used to be all over the place,” she said. “They ran from the mountains, and sometimes just sprung from the ground. Those were called geysers. Between large swaths of land, there used to be salt-water pools that people swam on without the poisoning danger and corrosiveness. At a certain point, everyone was sailing around on those large pools of water. That was the Maelstrom Era, and the most prominent civilization of those times was the Giberlatte.” Moira looked over to Anton already asleep, and smiled. He used her memory banks of knowledge as bedtime stories. Perhaps he would dream of the seas of before because of it.

The Giberlatte were the first people to create boats, and they advanced throughout the Maelstrom Era upgrading their craft to dominate anyone else trying to take to the seas. Their most iconic ships were modernized and converted to wheeled wind-based travel over the stretches of the wastes in the modern age. The boats carrying hundreds of people “sailed” from city to city on favorable winds to this day, but only catered to the rich. It was still a sight to see further north where the terrain was smoother.

Moira looked up at the stars for a moment, getting drowsy. Before drifting off, she lurched up remembering that she needed to keep watch while he slept. She would not let another scavenger take away her last bit of Gabby left in the world. Her fist clenched tightly on a memory.

They were sitting at a table together, with baby Anton equally sleeping in the bedroom of her tiny little hut. They had metal cans for cups, with some home-brewed alcohol fermented from berries of the forest. Her eyes were dancing wildly in the candlelight. Moira felt a pull toward her. When Gabby slipped her hand into hers, both stood up just beside the table. The silence was key, but Moira’s heart beat so very loud in her ears.

“I’m with James,” she whispered, with a disappointed look in her eyes. When those dark eyes met Moira’s again, it was like a stab through the heart. The urgent sound of her beating heart vanished completely. The rest of the night was absorbed in a shroud of pain. It was James, and the child they had as the result. Moira hated him in secret, even if he was a good person.

That night was the last they had together, near each other. Moira threw herself into her work, funded by rich people up the river to find a way to prolong their lives thanks to some miracle devices from ancient civilizations. Years passed, writing postcards to Gabby from the places Moira visited in pursuit of her own goals, catching small connections to other women she met along the way. None could rival the feelings she felt for Gabby, and the loud heart frenzy she heard that day.

When exploring a dig in the southeast regions of Gaveris, a town to the east of the landmass known as Balenos, she got a letter back from Gabrielle. It made no sense at the time. The letter was just a few sentences, and sounded sad.

“Moira, my dear,” Gabby wrote. “By the time you get this, it might be too late. I wish I could explain it to you better. I trust you. Please look after Anton for me. Your treasure, Gabby.” Moira felt that wild frenzy of the heart once more, dropping everything she was doing to return. Moira wondered what changed. She had been away for years. Was James out of the picture? The thought circled her mind in joy. What she found was much different.

James was alone, struggling to support a growing boy. If he was awake, he was drinking the cheapest and strongest alcohol he could find. It took Moira days of sobering him up just to find out that Gabby was gone. She disappeared one day, and after weeks of searching, presumed dead. Moira read the letter over and over, until the words flickered with different phrasing. She tried to delve into the words written with her knowledge of hidden meanings, but it felt as though Gabby left Anton and James for no reason.

The fist Moira held tight, started bleeding at the nails biting into her palm. Gabby would not abandon her child. It was a worrying thought, one that only bundled up to anxiety when there was a lot to figure out. James disappeared one night, and never came back to the hut beside the lower parts of a river. Anton cried a lot at night, but hid his tears during the day.

The people funding Moira’s dig in Gaveris were not happy that she dropped everything and went back home, so her funding dried up. After struggling for a few months in the pit of the world where all the garbage from upriver ended up, Moira put her foot down. This was no place for Anton to grow up. He would catch some disease before long and die unless she did something. It was unlikely to find funding for the Kemaros wells of a distant cluster of their civilization. That was their goal, but it was a gamble. It was not a recorded fact that the Kemaros people ever split off to settle in the western regions of the landmass of Keloar.

The world was divided into the three giant regions: Balenos, Keloar, and Vorturu. In the ancient times, those were the continents separated by large swathes of saltwater. The Giberlatte of the Maelstrom Era originated in the very northernmost part of Vorturu, but once technology got out of control, it caused the chain of events that resulted in a period of upheavals.

First came the volcanoes, breaking out on the surface of the world because of deep drilling for energy conversions from the molten metal within, steaming the oceans down to corrosive and poisonous salt lakes. The next came the sweeping acid storms, eating up pollution of the sky only to create water that could not be consumed without heavy treatment. Everything was affected, but humanity survived it. The unprotected vegetation withered and died under the constant pummeling of acid rain, arriving at the world of the now.

Most of the surface was now wastelands where the oceans were. The cracked ground held together just barely, and sometimes resulted in deadly dry-traps when traversing the terrains. The divide into the three regions remained, now separated by the unstable land following the dry-lock upheaval. Paths between were made, and tested for stability to withstand travel, but much of the wastes were still deadly. Moira just hoped that the land the Kemaros cluster settled on was one of the solid regions. Given that they were just past the ancient Zaxient, the chances were good.

“Moira?” Anton asked, sitting up. “It’s your turn.” Moira nodded, and closed her eyes while laying down. Almost instantly, her drowsiness took her into Gabby’s arms. When she woke up hours later, the sun was coming up. Anton was nowhere to be seen.

All his stuff was still around, but as Moira scanned the horizon in a panic, she could not make out anything resembling him. Rather than call out his name and give off her position to a possible enemy, she picked up her gear while shifting around to look in every direction. This was a wake-up call. She would just never sleep again until they found the Kemaros wells. Now fully geared for a fight, she called out at the top of her lungs.

“ANTON!” She yelled, trying to cover as much of the open field as possible. “ANTON! ANTON!” She repeated his name until a hand touched her shoulder. In that moment, the day fell away back into the night, a dream. Anton looked at her concerned.

“Moira?” He asked. “You were saying my name. Is everything ok?” She sat up and looked over to the backpack beside her. Her gear was still tucked away. It was nothing more than a nightmare. The closer they got to hopeful salvation, the more she worried, but could not let on.

“Just a dream,” she said. “A nightmare, I guess.”

“Was I in trouble?”

“You disappeared, like before,” she replied. “And this time you were gone. I think—”

“That won’t happen anymore, Moira,” he said, and held up the necklace weapon. “I have this dagger.”

“But do you know how to use it?”

“It’s a blade,” Anton said, as if that said anything.

“Right,” Moira said, then sighed. “I’ll teach you a few moves to defend yourself. Stand up.” Anton scrambled up, slipping the dagger from his neck. Moira was not sure the weapon could slash as a necklace. “Put that away for now.”

“Oh,” he said, and slipped the string back around his neck.

“Watch my hand,” she said, holding it motionless in front of him for a moment. In a split second she was holding a knife of her own, long and silver, with gleaming gold inscriptions along the spine. “That’s about as fast you should be at drawing your dagger.” With another arm motion, she put the dagger away. It was like magic.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s an old technique called sleight of hand,” she said. “The hand you see is there to distract you, while the other hand gets the weapon and brings it to the first. Look.” Moira held her hand out to Anton as if pleading for her life, then waved her other hand to draw attention as she retrieved the dagger from her hip sheath and tossed it over to grab out of the air. “Now you try.”

Anton put a hand up, then struggled with the necklace to grab hold of the dagger. When it came time to toss it, he threw it at Moira instead by accident. She reacted quickly to knock it away, but grimaced.

“Sorry,” Anton said.

“It takes practice,” she said, picking up the dagger, still surprisingly cool to touch. “Try again, but do it slower. You learn to do it slowly, then you increase the speed until you get to what you saw me do. We should also make you a sheath with a strap. Having the dagger on your neck makes it difficult to prepare.” Anton tried the move again, losing the dagger once more, but he caught it on his third try.

“I got it!” He exclaimed in joy.

“Now comes the more difficult part,” Moira said. “You need to know where to stab the person attacking you, and what it will accomplish.” Anton nodded slowly. “Most often, a slash of the blade will glance off because of bones. You end up cutting them even if you lunge. You have to remember that they are a thinking being just as much as you. They will try to live, to dodge.

“Knowing that most attacks will only cut, you aim for different parts to accomplish different things. For starters, cutting the neck is most likely a death blow. If you aim for their chest, you can slow them down. Don’t aim for hands or feet. They move the most and don’t make good targets. If you do happen to land a stab on the chest, any will cause internal bleeding and will result in death. If you hit the stomach, their end will be more painful and prolonged. The head is surrounded by bone and any hit will be a cut.

“Remember, they will try to kill you, or to catch you. You have to be ready to cut and stab them, even if they might die. Easier way to remember the spots is: head is cut, neck is dead, chest is fast, and gut is slow.” Anton grimaced at the information. “Again, I hope you never have to use these, but I worry about you.”

“I can also burn them with the blade,” Anton said, holding out the dagger. It blazed red hot in a moment of holding it out, but when he brought it back to his other hand, the glow and heat vanished. It felt too smart to be technology, unless it was something advanced to such a degree to rival a powerful ghost-in-the-machine. It was a wonder why the Quelloar would have such a thing, but there was a part of their writings that made no sense, almost as if there was something beyond the pure fighting spirit of their surface remnants.

“Can I see the dagger for a moment?” Moira asked. Anton handed it off without hesitation. Moira expected some residual heat, but the dagger was cool to touch. “Hmm. How about we do a fun activity?” Moira said under her breath to the dagger, then stabbed the pointy end into the ground. With a few quick motions, she drew a rhombus shape around the dagger following an old text from the Quelloar. It was used in their rites for child warriors. It stated that an item with spiritual resonance, a weapon of war, could be visibly called into the mortal plane.

Once all the writing was completed, the dagger glowed red hot for a moment, but then it faded to nothing. It was a small subset of the Quelloar empire after all, and made no sense in their culture. Still, the design remained in Moira’s mind, a centering prism to something else beyond the empire of war. Maybe there was something to it. Moira shrugged, and picked the dagger up again. Her reflection was clear on the blade. She smiled, and handed it back to Anton.

“I guess it wasn’t one of those,” she said. “I was hoping.”

“For what?” Anton asked, inspecting the dagger.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “Just a little hope of mine. We should get going. We shouldn’t be too far from the wells.”

“Ok,” Anton said, and tried the maneuver again, this time catching the dagger perfectly, with a slow toss. “Got it!” Moira smiled. If it came down to it, this little bit of fighting training could mean the difference between a flame consuming Anton, or him snuffing it out, per the metaphor.

They spent the rest of the day walking, only taking one break to finish up their water. Moira hoped that more water awaited them in the offset of Kemaros. There were no more cacti this far south, but plant life had to thrive near water. For the water to be viable, the wells would have to be capped, but even if nature somehow got to it, there was a way to gain it back.

Spending time in a moisture deprived world only taught humanity to find it easier, and never waste it. Even though the richer masses capped what was left of the below ground sources for themselves, whatever made it into the world even after it passed through people, was still possible to clean and use again. The one thing that always bothered Moira was that after the era of pounding rain, and snow in the north, none of it equalized afterward. It was as if the rain and snow falling was considerably less than the vaporized oceans.

“I see something,” Anton said, pointing forward into the horizon. The sun was setting, leaving visibility low, but the small blip in the distance expanded into what Moira hoped it was. She almost shouted out in joy, but did not want to get ahead of herself. It was trees, green and darkening in the disappearing sunlight. Her pace quickened, checking if Anton could keep up. He was not next to her.

Moira looked back to where he stopped, a few paces back.

“Come on! We’re close now!” She called over, but his eyes were pointed down. When she followed them, her heart sank. She walked blindly into a dry-trap. The cracked earth under her was the remains of a water basin, dried multiple times between the eras to leave wide surface areas on top, while being supported by columns of salt and earth. The whole surface was fragile, often ending up with deadly falls from which there was no escape.

“Moira?” Anton asked, and was about to take a step forward to help her, but she threw her hands up.

“STOP!” She called out. “Don’t come any closer! Let me think!” This was a horrible situation, made only worse with the setting sun. In just a few moments, the remnants of light in the sky would fade to pure darkness. She carried all their supplies. If she fell in, it would equally doom Anton. The ground under her feet felt like plates on wobbly supports.

“Moira, I’m scared!” He called out. She was equally terrified of dry-traps. The amount of people who got caught in them was staggering before the remaining people set up the beaten paths. They were called beaten paths as they were created by path-beaters. They were criminals who chose the job instead of being put to death. Many of them still died while creating the beaten paths around the dehydrated oceans, but they did horrible things to warrant their demise.

“Does the cracked earth end where you are?” Moira asked.

“Yes, I stopped when I saw it!” he called out, then broke into tears. “I’m sorry! I should have said something! It’s my fault!”

“It’s mine!” Moira called back. “I was too happy! I saw trees! If there are trees, there has to be water! I promise to get you there, Anton!” He wiped his eyes, but the tears just kept coming. This was not the end for him. She would have to give up the gear to make herself lighter, but Anton would do better with all the tools. She had to throw it over.

“I’m going to throw you our gear, ok?” Moira asked, trying to remember which direction Anton was before the last bits of daylight vanished. She tried to gauge how much force she would have to exert to throw the backpack over, but she decided to use everything she had left.

“Won’t that make you fall?” Anton asked, in near darkness. Moira faced his direction and imagined the distance. “Moira?”

“I need you to keep talking!” she said. “It’s getting too dark! I can’t judge the distance if I can’t see!” Out of the darkness, a bright orange plume of light illuminated his face and the ledge before the dry-trap. She had to act now. “You’re going to need the gear to survive, Anton! I’m throwing the backpack over! Take a few steps back!”

He said nothing, but stepped back from the ledge. The terrified look on his face was not the last she wanted to remember, but this was her fault. She imagined Gabrielle next to her for a moment.

“Being happy isn’t a fault, dummy,” Gabby said by her side. Moira smiled. She was right. She was happy that she got Anton here at the very least. Very carefully, Moira removed her backpack, and grit her teeth. She was scared to fall, but there was no other way. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. With a screaming wind-up, she spun in place keeping the light in her target zone. When it came time to release the weight, her feet buckled in the dry soil. In a fearful moment, her grip loosened, luckily in the direction of the light.

“I got it!” Anton called out in darkness, plume of light faded from sight. Moira felt her feet sink into pebbles, shivering the ground underneath. This was it. The ground would shiver her all the way, and crush her under the weight. “NOW YOU!” Moira felt tears spring to her eyes. How could she tell him that it was too late for her. She lamented on the response for a moment of sinking until a thick rope hit against her leg. In a quiet act of desperation, she wound the rope around her waist and tugged.

The pressure was weak, too weak to help her. She trained her dagger at the rope to let herself free and save Anton from falling in with her, but the pull increased ten-fold all of a sudden. Her body felt like a marionette being pulled along on the rope along the crumbling surfaces. It could not be Anton pulling. Maybe he was strengthened by desperation. Moira could not see anything except red eyes in the darkness, pulling her closer. When she was closer, the eyes faded as a globule of viscous, glowing liquid moved over Anton’s body and back into the dagger on the ground within a diamond shape she only drew once.

There had to be something to this dagger, but it had to be a secret of the Quelloar Empire that was never recorded as fact. Moira felt dizzy as her mind swam from exhaustion. She knew someone had to keep watch, but Anton was equally wiped out. She only hoped they evaded notice from anyone traveling in the area. Her consciousness faded to a dream of the events, watching the red eyes pull her closer was terrifying.

Moira woke up with a start. The sun was already up on the horizon, and the blinding light stabbed her eyes with brightness. Once her vision adjusted, she rushed to Anton’s side. After trying to wake him up a few times, it was too obvious that he was exhausted. She recalled a glowing orb sliding over his body to the dagger and wondered if what she saw was real. Anton was priority. She grabbed him, put her gear on, and rounded the dry-trap now a gaping hole with jagged pillars of rocks on the bottom.

When he woke up in her arms, she was almost at the tree trunk. The canopies of green shielded them from the sun now coming up into the sky. The first thing he saw was his stout guardian, smiling in the partial sun.

“Moira!” He burst out, shifting his weight to force a fall. When his feet landed, the small frame tackled Moira into a hug. She smoothed a hand over his head slowly. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“You were reckless,” she said. “But thank you for saving my life. It was my fault we got in that situation.”

“I should have said something when I stopped,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s behind us now, Anton,” she said. “Look up. Green means there is water here. Now we just need to find where the Kemaros wells are.” Moira patted Anton’s back a few times before turning away from the hug. She wanted to ask about the red eyes, but put the idea in the back of her mind. If it was something magical, it was best to revel in the mystery.

“There is someone inside the dagger,” Anton said, making Moira almost trip over herself while walking away. “I don’t know what it is, but when I was trying to pull you back in, I drew that diamond shape and a glowing orb jumped out of the dagger. Next thing I knew, I had enough strength to pull you out of there. I think it’s thanks to whoever is in the dagger.” Moira smiled.

“The secret of the Quelloar empire,” she said. “That was something I never understood. They were a civilization who waged battles for the sake of fighting, but still prospered. It seems they had a connection to another plane of being all this time. Perhaps, a molten plane?” Moira held silent on the question to see if she got a response from the sentient dagger. It remained still on Anton’s necklace string.

“Or maybe not,” she said, and shrugged. “Sure didn’t feel evil from where I was at the time. It’s a good thing to have beside you, fight or not.” Anton inspected the dagger for a moment in confusion. He wanted to ask if she was talking to the piece of metal, if it could understand her. When she walked off, Anton followed after quietly, taking in the vast patch of green they walked through. The sky was difficult to see with the green trees in the way. The river where he lived, had significantly less plant life than this.

Most of the water was used by the rich people, and even though it was filtered after, the processing plant failed to purify it for the lower part of the river. The highest tier got the most purified water, and the part where Anton lived at the very base of the mountain left the water so polluted by everyone before, that it was more of a soup. It took hours of boiling off to a horrible stench before it was drinkable.

“Are the wells really here?” He asked to set his mind away from that horrible experience. The travel was not much better, often drinking boiled-off cacti, or waiting for rain that was as rare as plantlife.

“They have to be,” she replied. “How else would these plants survive here like this? They are bountiful, suggesting a large resource of water underneath feeding their roots. Compared to plants, we drink water, but only to pass it through our system, so we can give it right back boosted with vitamins that could help the trees cultivate better.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes, Anton,” Moira said. “Our pee.”

“Gross,” he said.

“But natural,” she said, and put her hand up against the bark of the tree. It felt so solid, sturdy, and special. The amount of trees in the world was low. Most went their whole lives without touching one. Most remaining sources of water were controlled by the owners of that land, and while they let the water run down from their property, there was none left to cultivate forests.

“Where are the wells?” Anton asked.

“Deep underground,” Moira said, gathering her things back up. She wanted to take everything off and wade in a large pool of water for a bath, but they would have to extract the stored water first. “Kemaros had an ingenious system for storing water at the well. They closed the well off for a time to build a large sphere in the ground. When it was finished, the water rose up to a certain level until they filled the rest of it from previously extracted water. This settled the sphere of water atop the well to prevent it from overflowing.”

“Oh, like those people in the north,” Anton said, generalizing a whole landmass. The people living in Keloar were often called Northerners, as the landmass stretched over the northernmost part of the planet, surrounded by the largest array of dry-traps discovered. There were only two paths to and from Keloar available, and they had to be reinforced countless times for the amount of travel over them.

“The Keloarians,” Moira said. “Yes, but they do it out of necessity. Their landmass is so big, they have to rely on their sources of water, so they transport it to well systems all over Keloar to keep people alive. Unlike Vorturu and Balenos, they have limited water springs still active. This Kemaros tribe who were annexed some time during the acid downpour upheaval built these wells here to survive apart from their main civilization hundreds of years ago.”

“One could say, they still live on to this day,” a voice behind Moira spoke. She drew her dagger with lightning fast reflexes before turning. “Whoa, whoa, there is no need for that.” It was a short man, stout with a long braided beard. He put his hands in front of him to indicate no aggression, but he carried a heavy-looking axe on his back.

“Who are you?” Moira asked. “The wells are ours. We found them first.”

“Moira,” Anton said. She turned to find more short individuals surrounding them. This did not look good. There were too many of them to just put in the ground and move on. This was a village of some sort. “It’s ok. Let the flame breathe.”

Moira met Anton’s eyes and lowered her knife. All of them were about the same height, smaller than a standard human being. Men were all bearded, while the women all had their hair braided in similar patterns. The clothing they wore hid them from sight, if only to blend colors of brown and green. The second they stepped out from the patch of trees, they would stand out.

“We mean you no harm,” the man with the axe said. “So please mean no harm to us. Come. You must be thirsty.” He beckoned with his hand and turned around. If there was a chance to take out their leader, this was it. Moira’s hand twitched at the opportunity, but Anton’s conversation about the flame reeled her back in. She sighed, sheathing her dagger, and followed behind Anton through the trees.

“Thank you,” Anton said with a smile. Moira returned a stern look. He did not understand, as they merrily followed along a group of strangers.

They walked through the array of trees for a few minutes, before something blue appeared just beyond the darkness of canopies. It was the strangest thing to see, a pool of water in the middle of a forest. That was how the world looked like before, nature surrounding sources of water, either captured from the sky, or crowded to springs. The volcanic upheaval put a stop to it in a big way, not only evaporating the seas, but eliminating most lakes and ponds.

“Whoa!” Anton exclaimed. “There is so much water!”

“It’s a lake,” Moira explained. “They used to be everywhere once. I’ve never seen one that wasn’t man-made. Did you do this? Did you turn the wells into a lake?” The chief-looking person nodded with a smirk on his face.

“You’re idiots,” Moira said.

“Moira!” Anton reacted. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes, I do,” she continued. “You’re idiots for turning an array of wells with clean drinkable water into a large pool of water that absorbs the dirt and poisons of nature.” The chief said nothing, but another short woman came up to her.

“Would you like to take a bath with us?” She asked. A bath. Moira’s back shivered with delight at the idea. Her mind traveled back to sharing a bath with Gabby one time when they got enough water together. They had to take it together, to preserve the water. That was the first time she was close to her, the first time she caught feelings for her. From then on, bathing was a rarity, and a general waste of water. She nodded carefully.

“I wanna go, too!” Anton said. The chief laughed and slapped a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“He will bathe with the men,” he said, then met Moira’s eyes and nodded. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed to try and relax. Bathing with strangers was not her way of unwinding.

Anton walked with her until they got closer to the lake. There was a house built at the edge, supported just above the water on wooden pillars. When it came time to go into different parts of the building on the water, Moira hugged Anton with a warning.

“If any of them try anything, keep your dagger close,” she said.

“Let it breathe, mom,” he said, but did not cover his mouth in surprise this time. Moira hugged him tighter for a moment, feeling tears well in her eyes, then righted her feelings and let go. When he went inside, her eyes overflowed for just a brief few tears. When she was right about to stow it away, one of the women came up to hug her. Moira considered resisting, but instead let tears for her departed friend Gabby flow in a moment of weakness.

Once she calmed down a bit, Moira followed the other women into the house over the lake. There was room to disrobe before steps down into the lake. She could smell the nature of the water, so crisp in the air. The women were more muscular than her, but still very pretty. Moira was a little embarrassed to see them all naked. When it came time for her to take her clothing off, it took a considerable amount of time to pry some dirt-caked parts off.

“I’m Genevieve,” a woman said, coming up to help her.

“Moira,” she replied. The woman skillfully helped her remove the difficult clothing, and led her by the hand to where the other women descended. Much to Moira’s surprise, the water they entered was warm. She looked to Genevieve in surprise.

“We pump the water up to boiling tanks,” she said. “Then it gets poured out here to make the surrounding water warm.”

“It feels too good to be true,” Moira said, and twitched at the memory of almost falling into the dry-trap. If this was a coma from the fall, she did not want to wake up. When she opened her eyes again, Gene handed her a yellow block.

“Soap?”

“Won’t that pollute the water in the lake?” Moira asked, concerned.

“Not at all, it is made of plants,” she said. “Oh, we didn’t even get you any water to drink,” Genevieve said, then waded in the water that covered up to her neck to a wooden wall. “Here.” She handed over a wooden block with a notch. Moira popped it open to find fresh clean water. It took her only seconds to inhale the contents of the wooden bottle. It tasted so clear, and fresh. Nothing like the boiled-off cactus water.

“That was amazing,” Moira said. “That’s the clearest water I’ve ever had. It all makes me think this is some sort of dream while I’m dying.” Gene laughed, shaking her whole body to create ripples that hit against Moira’s chest. The water level did not cover her whole, but it would if she knelt down. She tried setting down slowly, and slipped, falling fully into the warm lake water. When she floated up to the surface, her mind once again found Gabby smiling at her.

This memory was of a time right before Gabrielle met James. Moira pushed her feelings onto her friend, trying to get her into situations where she would consider kissing her, or holding her. Gabby was just Gabby, until Moira kissed her out of nowhere. Her look changed after their lips parted. It was partly confusion, but also happiness. The very next day, Moira met James, who Gabrielle was already dating at the time. If she showed her feelings earlier, maybe Gabby would still be with them, maybe she would be with her here, beside her in this warmth so rare.

“Are you ok?” Gene asked. Moira righted herself, and stood to soap up.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said. “I was thinking back to a friend of mine now gone. I wish I could have shared this feeling with her.”

“Sorry to hear about your friend,” Genevieve said. They cleaned themselves up in the ambient sound of others talking. When walking up from the warm area, another woman handed out weaves of fluffy plants that absorbed the water. Moira was a little anxious to see Anton again, having not left his side in the months of travel gone by. When he walked out, all clean and fresh, he bolted right into her arms.

“Wow!” He exclaimed. “You smell nice.”

“Excuse me?” Moira asked jokingly. “You saying I smelled bad before?”

“So bad,” Anton said, with a smile. Moira smoothed a hand through the hair on his head.

“You, too.”