Dim light fell from the sky as the rain announced itself with preliminary droplets. Salome had impatiently waited for the soft drumming for a while, and now she was ready to set off. Hastily, she devoured the last bites of her lunch, dashed from the kitchen into the foyer, and slipped into her boots. She briefly checked their fit and left the house without hesitation. However, she left her oilcloth cloak hanging on its hook—because where she was going, she wouldn’t need it.

Outside, people were disappearing into their homes. Some even checked their drainage systems beforehand, as it looked like a heavy shower was approaching. If one of the numerous gutters, pipes, or channels got clogged, the whole house could be flooded in no time. But Salome cared little about that. As soon as the cold water fell from the clouds, the village was dead—as if there were no life outside the fearfully barricaded buildings that crowded the street. They were plain facades that glared at her coldly and dismissively. They had been familiar to Salome since childhood, and yet it always seemed as though the faces made from narrow windows and doors mocked her, casting scornful glances her way.

Upon reaching the center of the village—the small round main square with the obelisk—she slowed her pace when she saw a few figures in gray coats wandering about. They were shopkeepers, closing up their stores on the edge of the square and entering the tavern with their collars turned up, waiting out the rain. For a while, no one would buy their wares. Not wanting to attract attention, Salome walked briskly yet composedly over the uneven cobblestones. As soon as she turned into one of the narrow alleys, she sped up.

Soon, the edge of the village came into view, marked here as well by a waist-high wall of stacked stones. She crossed the wooden bridge behind the village, spanning the narrow brook, ignoring the dangerous creaking of the rotten planks. Along the way, she watched the horizon slowly blurred by gray streaks as the farthest world pillars vanished one after the other into a cold mist. The rain was drawing nearer.

From the bridge, a narrow gravel road continued—a path laid long ago that was gradually being reclaimed by the surrounding meadow. The road followed the brook upstream, but soon turned right, ascending the hill toward the forest’s edge. The shower began as Salome reached the forest. The occasional plopping of the first droplets turned into a constant trickle and drumming, yet in the shade of the trees—surrounded by sparse shrubs and wildly growing creepers—the sounds seemed muffled and distant, like a hollow echo. She walked past crooked tree trunks, listening to the rain, yet she felt not a single drop on her. The vines and ivy had woven the canopy into an impenetrable shield so that the cold water only ran down the trunks or collected in certain spots, dripping onto the forest floor in small rivulets. Only the pale light from the gray clouds penetrated the foliage.

Usually, no one ventured into the forest when it rained. Rumor had it that cloud devils and other fairy-tale creatures lurked beneath the leaves, but Salome had never seen any such beings. And she often came here. To her, the forest was a refuge where she could retreat without fearing the silence. In the cool, murmuring tranquility of the forest, she could escape the crushing unrest of home.

Under the shelter of the leaves, she turned and watched as the village was buried under the rain. Light mists gathered like gauzy veils in front of the plain buildings, which seemed to huddle into the landscape as if trying to hide from one another. Sometimes, when she stood up there and looked down on her home, she wished the village would be swept away in the pouring rain so that she would never have to return. But she suspected that wish would never come true. So she turned her attention to the dim twilight of the forest.

The distant murmur of the brook accompanied her, but it grew steadily fainter as she walked over the rustling forest floor. She didn’t really have a destination. Following the rises and falls of the landscape, she savored the subdued calm, the drumming patter, the rustling and whispering. She listened as it converged into a rumbling river before finally drowning in its own noise, until nothing remained but a faint echo at the edge of her consciousness. As always, when she wandered like this, her thoughts drifted between the future and the past, in the interplay of shadows and dreams that on days like these emerged from the depths of her imagination and washed away her worries. Here, in this place, she could breathe a little easier.

As much as she relished the calming quiet that differed so much from heavy silence, something about it was different today. A sound mingled with the drumming of the falling rain—a strange, unreal tone that… grew ever louder…

Wait—was that a scream?

Suddenly, from somewhere, the sound of leaves and plants being violently torn aside, of branches splintering and breaking under too much weight, filled the air. In her terror, Salome looked around frantically, only to realize far too late that the source of the noise was directly above her. Something heavy broke through the dense canopy, crashing down along with wet leaves and snapped branches onto Salome, who instinctively raised her arms above her head, burying her with a dull thud. A muffled scream escaped her as her face was pressed into the damp layers of withered foliage covering the forest floor. She flailed blindly for a moment, and all that could be heard was the dull thumping of her fists on something soft, until she finally managed to wriggle out from under the heavy object on her back. Gasping for air, she lay beside it. Her head throbbed with pain and, for a moment, she felt terribly nauseous. “By the endless pillars,” she thought. “What was that?”

Slowly, and breathing heavily, she opened her eyes. Overhead in the canopy, a wide gap yawned through which weak rain fell, dribbling onto her face. She saw broken branches—attached to the tree only by a single strip of bark and dangling loosely—and here and there, wet leaves floated to the ground.

“Ouch,” she suddenly heard someone say. Startled, she turned her head and saw a boy lying beside her.

He sat up clumsily and rubbed the back of his head, which throbbed with pain. Turning toward Salome, he asked drowsily, “Uh… is everything all right?”

Salome just stared at him.

“Well… I’m really sorry about that,” said the stranger, grinning awkwardly. In his disheveled black hair, brown leaves and tiny twigs clung about. Salome opened and closed her mouth a few times, simply too stunned to speak. Suddenly, she noticed the unpleasant chill of the damp ground seeping through her clothes, and she sprang up. Looking down at herself, she saw that wet leaves and forest dirt clung to her skirt and her shirt—the sleeves of which she had rolled up. Stepping aside so as not to stand beneath the hole in the tree canopy, she wiped off the coarsest grime. Her forearms were smeared with mud, and she really didn’t want to know what her face looked like.

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The boy also pushed himself up and wiped leaves and dirt from his clothes—clothes that were extremely strange. He wore sturdy boots with turned-up flaps, leather trousers reinforced at the knees with a broad belt adorned with countless pouches and a small bag, and a deep green, almost black cloak with a dark brown fur collar, beneath which a grayish shirt peeked out. Everything about him seemed foreign, as if he came from far away. And what was up with his hair? Salome had never seen anyone with hair as raven-black as his.

“Is everything really all right?” he asked again.

He couldn’t be much older than Salome, even though he towered over her by a head. He stared at her unblinkingly and boldly.

“Yeah… it’s fine,” she mumbled softly. Yet something in his eyes seemed odd, though she couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Great! You know, it’s usually not my style to swoop down on others from above.” He grinned in a mischievous, almost childish way. “But seriously now,” he continued, glancing upward, “this whole thing doesn’t feel right at all. One moment, everything goes black, and the next, I’m free-falling. Seems I got lucky though. This could have ended damn painfully.” He looked around. “Where exactly are we?”

Had he hit his head? Salome looked up. He must have climbed one of the trees, yet she couldn’t imagine what he was doing up there. And yet here she was, in the middle of nowhere, talking to a stranger who—by the way—kept looking her straight in the eyes. Lowering her gaze, she stammered, “Well, my village isn’t far from here…”

The boy’s expression brightened. “Wonderful! Can you show me the way? I need to get an overview of this place first. Something doesn`t add up,” he said, casting a suspicious sideways glance at his surroundings.

“Yeah… of course,” Salome replied, eyeing the nearby trees. What did he mean? From her perspective, he was the one who was off. “It’s not far. We have to go in this direction.” She wanted to get home as quickly as possible anyway—to wash off the dirt and change her clothes. She silently prayed that no one in the village would see her like this before she reached home. She set off, and the stranger followed her gratefully.

As they walked among the crooked tree trunks, Salome kept glancing over her shoulder. Each time he noticed, the stranger flashed her a smile. Thoughts raced through her mind. Who was this boy? What was with his clothing? Why was he acting so strangely? What was he doing out here? A part of her was bursting with curiosity, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. What if he took offense? Her curiosity had gotten her into trouble so many times before…

“Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” the stranger suddenly asked after a while.

She started, “Sa—Salome.”

“What an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before. But it has a nice ring to it.”

“Well… my name isn’t that rare,” Salome replied.

“Really? By the way, I’m Van. I come from a small, insignificant port town—the name won’t mean anything to you.” He stepped a little closer so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck every time he spoke.

“It’s quite far from here, on an island in the west. At least, I think so.” He suddenly looked pensive. “Hmm… ever since my involuntary flying lesson just now, I’ve completely lost my sense of direction. That never happens to me. Really strange.”

Salome furrowed her brow. He came from the island states? But the sea was incredibly far from here! “Say… does everyone there wear things like you?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

He looked down at himself. “Why, is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“No, it’s fine! Forget I asked.” She quickened her pace a little. Always that stupid curiosity.

The rain continued to drum on the dense canopy, but slowly the roaring rhythm gave way to a pattering jumble that swelled and ebbed. She could already make out the murmur of the brook in it, which meant they were near the forest edge.

“What is it with this forest?” asked Van.

Salome looked at him, confused.

“Was that a strange question? I mean, the trees here look so gaunt and sick, and—” He couldn’t finish his sentence because at that moment they stepped out of the forest into the open.

From their elevated vantage point, they could see the entire valley. Gray veils covered the land beneath dark clouds that heralded days of rain. Moist, fog-laden air pressed down on the villages, which huddled against the mountain slopes amid vast fields and meadows—shy and unwelcoming like grim recluses who wanted to keep to themselves. Far away, through the distorted walls of rain, one could make out some of the world pillars—those gigantic structures, as large and wide as entire mountains, jutting from the ground and disappearing high among the clouds. The ever-wavering cloud masses swallowed the pillars like a boiling swamp, as if they despised the stone giants for the sacrilege of their touch. To their left, where the valley curved around a group of hills, dense black columns of smoke rose from the town’s chimneys, which, despite the rain, carved a path to the clouds.

Van fell to his knees.

“What’s wrong?” Salome asked, startled. His face was suddenly as gray as ash. He looked like someone who had just woken from a terrible nightmare. Had he hit his head after all?

“I… I can’t believe it,” murmured the strange boy. “This here… this… this is Fundament!”

His wide-open eyes stared at the world at his feet, his arms hung limply, and he swallowed hard.

“Of course this is Fundament,” Salome said. “What did you expect?”

Slowly, he turned his head toward her. She could see the color returning to his damp face and a bright, almost mad gleam lighting his eyes. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, began laughing loudly—almost hysterically—and danced in the falling rain like a lunatic.

“I did it!” he shouted. “I really did it!” he repeated over and over.

Salome slowly backed away from him. She held her breath and took one cautious step after another backward, but Van paid her no heed, absorbed in his excessive celebration. He seemed to have completely forgotten about her.

He’s crazy, Salome thought. Absolutely crazy. She spun around on the spot and ran as fast as she could back toward the village. Whoever this boy was, he couldn’t possibly be of sound mind. She knew stories of vagrants and lunatics, and she didn’t want anything to do with them! Glancing over her shoulder as she ran, she saw a silhouette in the rain still flailing wildly. Mud and pebbles splashed around her where the water had not yet soaked into the ground, but Salome ignored the wetness. She strode in two large steps over the wooden bridge, slid across the paved streets of the lifeless village, not caring whether anyone was watching. Only when she slammed the heavy wooden door of her house behind her did she allow herself to breathe. In the half-dark foyer, she sank onto her heels and wrapped her arms around her knees. What was going on with that stranger? Terrifying…

For a while, she sat there with her back to the door, listening to her own heartbeat and the dull patter of the rain. In her mind, she kept seeing the bright, wide-open eyes of the boy. In the forest’s shadows, she had barely noticed them, but when illuminated by daylight, they shimmered green. Salome had never seen green eyes before.

A musty smell rose to her nose. With a blank expression, she raised her arm and remembered that she was covered in dirt and soaked all over. Sighing, she got up and descended the narrow staircase to her right leading to the washroom. There, she removed her shirt, scrubbed her arms and legs with the lukewarm water from the morning, and finally cleaned her clothes. Meanwhile, she thought about the boy. Did he really come from the island states? Why was he acting so strangely? Was he truly crazy? He dressed oddly, roamed alone through deserted forests, even climbed trees… though, some of those things applied to her as well. Was she crazy too? Would she eventually become like him? She shook her head and decided not to think about it any further. Let the cloud devils take him—she never wanted to see that stranger again.

She hung her things over the tub to dry, put on a clean shirt, and then went up to her room. Sighing, she collapsed onto her bed and buried her face in the pillows. Why did such things always happen to her? All she wanted was to attract as little attention as possible, yet now a lunatic knew her name. What if he mentioned her in the village? She murmured muffled curses into her pillow. Maybe she shouldn’t have run away. But now it was too late. Now, all she could do was pray.