“That’s quite a smell,” Heimee signed, wrinkling up his face as he contemplated the unconscious man on his couch. “I don’t know what you cretins were up to last night, but if that’s the story you chose to go with, Bastard, help me. I don’t think I want to know the truth.”

“We should’ve lied,” Brinn said, “I mean, I don’t believe our story, and I was there.”

I gave her a side-eye. “We both know I’m a terrible liar.”

“You’re not great at telling the truth either.”

“I think he’s waking up,” Heimee said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

Mathew shifted on the couch and groggily sat up. He said something while pressing his hand to his forehead. Then he said something else, massaging his temples. I looked at Brinn for translation.

“His head hurts,” she translated.

Heimee fetched a glass of water.

I sat by Mathew’s side while Heimee arrived with the water glass and handed it to Mathew. Mathew reached into his bag and produced a small white bottle with a red label where white sharp letters read TYLENOL. He popped it open and poured an elongated piece of chalk, smaller than a fingernail, onto his hand which he then tossed in his mouth and gulped down with some water. “Thanks,” he said, placing the flask back in his bag. He said more, but his lips were impossible to read. I remembered the letter and pulled it out of my pocket.

My head feels like a basketball after a Boston Celtics game, I read in the letter.

“What’s a Boston Celtics game?” I asked.

“Or a basketball,” Brinn added.

Mathew ignored us, extending his hand to greet Heimee. Mathew Doller. Thank you for—I read as he stopped to inspect his surroundings—letting me crash on the couch.

Heimee shook his hand. “Heimee Heims.”

I checked the letter to find Heimee’s reply.

“Blabadu,” I said and watched as my words also popped up in the letter. Then a new line appeared: Brinn: Are you alright? Was the letter going to transcribe everything everyone was going to say? That was brilliant. I looked incredulously at Mathew. “How are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked. I know he asked it because it came up on the letter like a regular conversation. No more headache-inducing lip-reading! This was fantastic.

“The letter is transcribing what everyone is saying,” I clarified.

Mathew peered at the letter as if he too was surprised about it then shrugged and nonchalantly added, “Magic.” His eyes then grew stern. “Boy, you sure took your sweet time, didn’t ya. I thought I was a goner.” He extended his hand for me to shake it. His skin felt normal—though I don’t know what I expected. I had never seen skin that color and regarded my hand half expecting to find it smudged.

“Are you...” Mathew frowned deeply. “Are you checking your hand for dirt? Oh, for crying out loud, you knucklehead. I knew I’d regret coming here. Listen here, you moldy corn cracker,” he rubbed the skin on the back of his hand, “this is my skin. My skin is this color. Do you understand that? I’m going to give you a pass. You probably have never seen a black person before, but—”

Brinn also touched his skin.

“Get off of me!” Mathew blurted. “Were you even listening?”

Brinn shrugged, inspecting her fingers. “Had to check.”

“If you pat my hair next, I’ll burn yours.”

Brinn raised her hands. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”

“Just drop it. Okay?”

Heimee got himself a glass of Heims.

I looked at him intriguingly, and he shrugged.

“I get the feeling I’m about to hear plenty of nonsense, so I’m taking precautions,” he signed, though he didn’t have to. His words were written right in front of me. Then he wiggled the bottle to Mathew. “Care for a glass? On second thought, fire and alcohol might not be the best match.”

“Was that a pun? You know, match?”

Heimee stared.

“No? It would’ve been a good one.” Mathew said. “So they told you everything, huh? Good, then you’re all caught up.”

“Mathew,” I said. “You said you were here for Aureberg. Did it kill your parents, too?”

“My parents? No, no, no. They’re fine. Are you hungry? I am starving; I don’t suppose you have something to eat?”

Heimee cut bread and cheese and smelled the stew pot to see that it hadn’t gone bad. He served portions for everyone and set them on the kitchen table, where we watched Mathew gobble his food faster than Otto ate spent grain.

Heimee looked cautious. I assumed he would pose a heap of questions, but he sat there, observing.

Stolen story; please report.

“Mathew,” I tried again. “Why were you tied to a tree, and what do you want with Aureberg?”

“This stew is amazing,” he said. “What is this, some kind of rice? It’s very thick.”

I showed Heimee the note. Mathew’s words popped as he spoke.

Heimee answered Mathew’s question without lifting his eyes from the letter, and on it, his own words appeared:

Pops: It’s barley.

Heimee regarded the letter with wide eyes. I don’t think I had ever seen Heimee impressed with anything before. He rubbed his chin regarding his guest with new interest.

“Barley, huh? I don’t think I’ve eaten barley before.” Mathew shoved another spoonful in his mouth. “Nope, never. But it’s delicious. Would you stop looking at me like that? I haven’t eaten in days. And what I did back there consumes a lot of calories, you know? I need them back.”

I was growing restless. Why was he avoiding the subject? And what in the Bastard’s name were calories? I needed answers, or I would burst. I looked at Brinn as if her image alone would help me. Her blue dress, dirty and grimy from the night before—oh, right! That’s it.

“Who’s the girl with blue hair?”

Mathew gulped down the contents of his mouth and stared at me.

Well, that did it. Yes, I also know things.

“What girl with blue hair? I didn’t say anything about a girl with blue hair.”

“What are you talking about?” Brinn asked, her words also showing on the letter.

“It was on one of the messages you didn’t read.”

Brinn squinted at me. “You forgot to mention a girl with blue hair?”

“Yes, Ludik,” Mathew said. “Explain that.”

Heimee leaned in with the kind of calm you’d expect from an executioner. “Either start talking or start walking.”

“Damn it, pops, don’t be so scary,” Mathew said. “Alright, deafo. I don’t know who she is. Happy? She came out of nowhere and tried to kill me a couple of times. No biggy. Maybe she likes being the only mage around here, and I’m stepping on her turf. Except she almost succeeded yesterday. I had to think fast—so I did the only thing I could think of. I tied my foot to a tree and jumped off the cliff. Ah! Before you start, it’s not stupid if it works. And as you can see, I’m alive. The little moron scampered down the road and didn’t even see me. Phew, I naively thought. Only then did the flaws in my plan reveal themselves.”

“Why are you in Aviz?” Heimee sipped his whisky.

“I’m looking for something.”

“Aureberg?” I said.

“Well, yes. Here, have a Scooby snack.” Mathew tossed me a piece of bread crust.

“A what?”

“Who’s Miranda?” Brinn asked, brushing me off.

Mathew raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Ludik told me you said Miranda chose him to save you. Who is she? Can’t be the girl with blue hair.”

“Oh, Miranda.” Mathew ate another spoonful of barley stew and stared out the window.

“Yes, Miranda,” Brinn said, crossing her arms.

“Alright, gee, calm down with the belligerent stares. It’s what I call my powers, that’s all. I know it’s silly, and I shouldn’t have told you, but as I mentioned before, I was upside-down a lot.”

“You call your powers Miranda?” Brinn asked, crossing her arms.

Mathew bobbed his head with another spoonful in his mouth. “Why not? Then I can say, ‘By the power of Miranda!’”

“Well, Mr. Doller, fire mage or whatever,” Heimee said.

“Fyr,” Mathew corrected. “That’s what a fire mage is called. Fyr”

“Yes, that’s very entertaining,” Heimee replied, “but you should leave now.”

“I know this is probably too much to take; I understand that. But I’ve had such a rough couple of days. Can’t I rest here for a little longer? I’m tired. My head is throbbing, and my feet feel like cheese graters—you know what I’m saying, right?”

“The thing is,” Heimee began, then paused to sip his whisky. “At my age, you develop a strong sense of smell, and your stink is even overpowering my whisky.”

“Wait, Heimee,” I said. “Mathew, why are you looking for Aureberg?”

Mathew gave me a willful smile. “I need it to save the world. Well, my world. Or at least have a chance of saving it. You can come with me if you want. I know you know where the mountain is. That’s why my powers of intuition chose you.”

“Miranda?” Brinn said.

“Hmm?” said Mathew.

“Your powers. Weren’t they called Miranda?”

Mathew tapped the tip of his nose.

And that’s when it clicked in my head. A fire mage had chosen me to help him find Aureberg. I stood up, one hand on the table, the other grasping the letter. “I’m going with you.”

“Are you mad?” Heimee’s eyes bulged.

“The mountain killed my parents, Heimee. If he’s going to find it, I have to go with him.”

Heimee grabbed me by the sleeve, shaking me roughly, then let go of me and began to sign. “He lured you into saving him because you’re the only gullible moron who would be dumb enough to get involved. Can’t you see he’s having a laugh? Aureberg collapsed, Ludik. It doesn’t exist anymore. Weren’t you there?”

“I was, and I remember it well,” I signed back. “It did not collapse. That’s what people say, but it’s not true. I saw it, Heimee. The mountain—it, it ran away.”

Heimee fell still for a long moment, eyes penetrating mine. “And here I thought you weren’t all that rotten in the head. Maybe the fumes have been getting to you. Let me tell you this. I don’t know what goes on inside that little brain of yours, but mountains only move in fairy tales. In reality, they are inanimate objects—geological features. I know you were young when the Collapse happened, and to see all that misery through a child’s eye—well, you were bound to fabricate some story around it. That’s what people do when they can’t comprehend what’s happening. But you’re older now, and this man’s a charlatan. Whatever he’s after, he is not being honest with you.” Heimee glared at Mathew. “I don’t know what kind of tricks you played on them, but you have to set them straight. You set them straight right now.”

“Heimee,” I began, but I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say. There’s no easy way to make someone believe you when you say things like, I am going with this stranger to find the living mountain that killed my parents. But when would I get another opportunity like this? A fire mage, able and willing to take down a mountain. They don’t land on your head every day. “Heimee, I’m going with him.”

Heimee blinked. “You want to abandon your life to follow the first lunatic you find dangling from a tree?” He glanced at Brinn, beseeching her help.

Brinn glanced between Heimee, the floor and me. “I’m going too.”

“Oh, for Bastard’s sake! No, you’re most certainly not. This man is a liar and a buffoon! Can’t you see that? I don’t know what the trick is with that stupid piece of paper, but it’s only an illusion.”

Mathew raised a hand in front of him, and it caught fire. “I’m not lying, Pops. These are not tricks.”

“So you can use magic,” Heimee said, slapping Mathew’s hand, dissolving the fire into wisps of smoke. “That doesn’t make mountains living or you a good person.”

“Heimee,” I said, but he cut me off.

“Uh! Idiots always attract more idiots, don’t they? You’re not going anywhere,” he signed. “You are staying right here. And you,” he said to Mathew. “Leave.”

“Heimee,” I tried again.

“NO!” His eyes were red, demanding, enraged. “I didn’t save you from the ice to see you walk out that door on some fool’s quest. I—” Something in the window caught Heimee’s attention. He walked closer, peered outside, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Bastard’s bother.”

“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Mathew said.

Heimee pointed at the window. “Why don’t you tell them that?”

Out the window, nothing seemed out of place at first. The meadow ruffled in the wind, the distillery stood still and quiet, and the sky was blue dotted with sparse white clouds. I walked closer to the window for a better view, and that’s when I saw the large column of heavily armed men marching up the road.