Chapter Three: Cymon

He wasn’t the person Finneas was expecting. From the way Sebastos explain it, he assumed he was going to be meeting up with the Sensor. There was no mention of another person. Something felt amiss.

“You two look surprised?” the man said.

He stood up and approached Finneas and Kistoph. Finneas was unsure how old the person was, but he must have been in his early twenties. The man had dark skin; far darker than the Natives who lived in Estmere. He was not from around here. His rather large nose stood out. No one Finneas knew had a noise like that. Wearing a leather jacket, he was far taller than either Finneas or Kistoph. Placing his hand out, the man signalled for a handshake. Neither boy knew how to react.

“Where’s Seb?” Finneas asked, trying not to sound too aggressive.

“Serious, what the heck’s going on?” Kistoph yelled abruptly.

The man signalled for silence. With a soft voice, he told them, “There are guards nearby. Unless you want to get caught, I would stay quiet.”

Finneas decided to let the man explain himself, even though Kistoph still didn’t sound convinced. His friend was staring at the man as if he was a threat. Finneas, on the hand, decided there must be an explanation.

“Who are you?” Finneas asked.

“My name’s Cymon,” the man explained. “I’m from what you call the Riverlands.”

"What's someone doing from Rivetia here?" Kistoph said, still sounding a bit aggressive. Finneas could understand. His friend was being just a tad bit protective.

Although Finneas didn't understand everything the Sensor had told him, there were a few things he could remember from the conversation. Sebastos said something about a portal in Rivetia. Surely something happened, which stopped the Sensor from travelling with them. Cymon must be their guide, Finneas assumed.

“I’m a friend of Sebastos,” Cymon explained. “We were meant to be travelling together, but something has happened.”

“What happened?” Finneas asked. Everything was starting to make sense.

“I’m not too sure,” Cymon explained. “Sebastos said he had to travel south. He said he’ll meet us at Rivetia, I’m sure.” As Cymon spoke, the sound of guards could be heard from the distance. "We need to get moving," Cymon said. “If we can hear them, they probably can hear us too.”

Cymon began to move towards the forest area. Finneas followed from behind. However, he noticed his friend wasn’t following. Kistoph was defiantly standing put.

“Why should we trust you?” Kistoph remarked. “You could be a spy for the mayor. Or the Order. Or whatever these bad guys are called.”

“I’m a Water Taper,” Cymon explained. "My people have been enslaved for centuries. I'll do anything to set them free. But we don't have time to discuss matters like this. We can do introductions later."

Kistoph didn't seem convinced. "Prove it?"

Cymon seemed defeated. He simply shook his head.

“This is dangerous,” he explained, “but if it makes you follow me, then…”

Cymon didn’t say anything else. He searched through his backpack, taking out a water bottle. Unscrewing the lid, Cymon poured the water out. He then placed his hand over neath the damp soil, palm facing the ground. Drops of water began sprinkling upwards as if upside-down rain. Placing his hand in a bowl shape, Cymon turned his palm upwards. A good amount of water was clutched in his hand.

The two boys stood there, amazed. Neither boy spoke, waiting for Cymon to respond. Finneas heard about these magic powers, but never had he seen them with his own eyes.

“Now you believe me?” Cymon asked. Kistoph nodded as if admitting defeat. "We better go now, before anyone notices.”

The three began their journey. Trekking north, they followed a small river. The source coming from the mountains above, the river steadily moved north, before suddenly turning left towards the ocean. Instead of following the river west, the group continued their journey north. Hlath Forest was beginning to get closer and closer. It started with a few trees, scatter here and there. But the forest suddenly got denser. Soon, dark green trees shadowed the landscape.

Far off in distance, maybe a day’s walk or two, Finneas noticed the tall mountainous hills. Although not as tall as the mountain range that served as a fortress, protecting Estmere from the Dark Lands, the hills of Hlath Forest were quite a sight. Finneas had only seen them from the distance. Seeing them up close was breath-taking. Finneas wondered if his friend had the same sentiment. He glanced at his friend. Kistoph seemed more bothered at walking such a long distance.

Atop the hill were temples. Tinted orange rust, the temples were built like pyramids. The structures were built thousands of years ago, back in ancient days. The buildings were now vacant, left to crumble to the fate of time. Finneas had heard all sorts of theories for their construction. Natives would claim their ancestors built the temples, as a place to worship the Maker – the local deity worshipped in the Estmere and Riverlands regions. However, the structures were built long before the Natives ever arrived. Finneas once heard a sailor say the temples were built by elves that lived an age long forgotten. Even if the elves had built structures, Finneas knew quite well they were long gone. The last elf was said to have died something like two thousand or so years ago. And even then, it was debatable whether the story was true or not.

The kids would come up with crazier ideas. Finneas remembered one of his friends claiming the temple was used for human sacrifice. He would say naughty children would be offered up to savage ancient gods. Kenelm, however, thought the structures weren’t even temples. Finneas’s younger brother once said the buildings reminded him of a wedding cake. He thought they could even be locations for weddings. A ridiculous thought, but Finneas and his friends used to get a lot of laughs out of that one. Always the sensible one, Mollie took the temples at face value. No matter how much you search for meaning, she always insisted, you would never find its true purpose. Maybe she was right. Perhaps Finneas and his friend were looking too much into it.

Cymon stopped. Having found a flat patch of ground, the Water Taper removed his shoulder bag. Drawing out a map, he placed it on the ground. The group huddled around to inspect the rather large sheet of parchment. The sun had begun to rise, with a glimmer of light shooting through the forest's roof. The map covered the entire Estmere region.

“This is the safest route,” Cymon explain, pointing towards the Hlath forest. “But it will take longer to reach our destination. We can, however, take this path.” Cymon pointed towards another point on the map, a little west of the original point. "But it's steeper. You two a more familiar with this place, are you not?"

“We… we’ve never really left the city,” Finneas expounded.

“Wait, I thought you…” Cymon didn't finish his sentence.

“What my friend’s saying is we don’t know this place” Kistoph responded, on Finneas’s behalf. “But the quicker path seems better? How steep you’re saying?”

“I’m not sure,” Cymon answered. “I’ve never travelled this far before in Estmere. I’ve mainly remained in the south.”

“I thought you a Native?” Kistoph asked. "Don't you people know all these places?"

“I’m a Native of the Riverlands,” Cymon explained. “My people may be linked by a common ancestor with the indigenous people here, but we are two distinct groups.”

“Well, I vote the quicker path,” Kistoph exclaimed. “How about you, Finneas?”

Coming up with a decision, especially on such quick notice, wasn’t Finneas’s strongest skill. He usually contemplated it for a bit before coming to any decision. Most often, Kistoph would make his decision for him. With another person travelling with them, it seemed Finneas’s friend was trying to get him to back him up. Finneas finally nodded.

“The quicker path,” he responded.

The Water Taper stood up.

“So, it’s decided,” Cymon remarked. He was about to pack. But noticing the two boys weren’t following him, he stopped.

“Can we please rest?” Kistoph protested. “We’ve walked for hours. My feet’s tired. We’ve not had much rest.”

“Well…” it was obvious Cymon was pondering for a moment, “it’s not like we’re in a real hurry. I said we would arrive at the temple by tomorrow. But being a day or so wouldn’t hurt.”

“So that’s a yeah?” Finneas asked.

“Lay down for a bit,” the Water Taper instructed. “I’ll keep watch. I was able to get a few winks before you two turned up.”

Finneas easily fell asleep. He hadn’t realised just how tired he was. Finneas was surprised at how easy it was to fall asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any rest. Perhaps it was the excitement that allowed him to stay awake for so long. He'd never left Angleum before. Everything was new.

He awoke just as suddenly. Finneas wasn’t sure whether he’d dreamt at all. The moment he closed his eyes; they were opened again. Finneas wasn’t certain how much time had passed. He had no clue how long he’d slept for. He always felt he could sleep for days. Quite often someone else had to wake him up. Today was different. It felt so sudden.

It was late evening. The rays of the sun shone from the gaps in the mountain ranges. Cymon had noticed the boy had awakened. However, the Water Taper didn’t say a word.

“How long we’ve slept,” Finneas asked still feeling and sounding drowsy. After pulling himself forward, Finneas stretched his arms outwards. He gave an almighty yawn.

“A few hours,” Cymon answered. “Nine or ten. I wasn’t counting.”

“So…?” Finneas turned to check on his friend.

“He’s still asleep,” the Water Taper examined.

“Yeah…” Finneas thought aloud. “Usually it’s me that’s sleeping in.”

Finneas waited maybe a half-hour before waking his friend up. Although Kistoph didn’t seem too pleased being awoken so suddenly, he quickly got to his feet.

“Are you two prepared?” Cymon asked them. Finneas and Kistoph nodded.

They continued their journey. Instead of moving north, as before, the group began travelling north-westerly following the path they'd decided on. Finneas and Kistoph were starting to regret their decision. The small dirt path, which could barely be seen, trailed up the mountain like a zigzag. The terrain started to become much steeper.

Now and then, Finneas was able to grab hold of a tree. Doing so allowed him to keep his balance. This worked for the first few trees he’d passed. By the twelfth tree, he felt as if he'd got a hang of things. Unfortunately, the thirteenth tree caught him off-guard. Like before, Finneas was able to grab hold of the tree. However, he hadn’t noticed the large rock lying nearby. Finneas suddenly tripped. He fell face-first onto the ground.

Kistoph quickly ran to Finneas’s aid. His friend helped him get up.

“You alright?”

“Yeah…” Finneas replied, carefully scraping the dirt from his face. It was unusual for Finneas to trip over like that. He’d never fallen before whilst climbing. He wondered whether it was due to the unfamiliar environment.

Trying not to make a big deal, Finneas continued following from behind. He made sure he didn't get too far away from the rest of the group. They had been walking for what seemed like hours. The sun had set by this point, making it difficult to tell what was in front of them. Cymon found a flat patch of ground overlooking a cliff face. Although they couldn’t make a proper campsite, the group managed to find old branches lying about. Stacking the sticks together into a pile, the Water Taper used a piece of flint to light a small fire. Only a small flame blazed from the makeshift campfire – barely an ember. He made it quite clear they couldn’t make the flame any bigger. While they were quite a distance from Angleum, there was still the potential for guards to see the glimmer of light while on patrol. There was no point risking that.

Placing the large pot over neath the flame, Cymon opened a can he’d got from his shoulder bag. The beans frizzled. It took about an hour for it to cook. Periodically, the Water Taper would stir the beans with a spoon. Besides that, no one spoke a word.

Finneas stared at the photo of his mother. He would have loved to have known her properly. He barely knew who she was. If no one had bothered taking a picture of the woman, he probably wouldn't know what she looked like. She died when he was very young. He barely had any memories of her. There was a name crudely written on the back of a photograph. Finneas assumed that was her name. No one mentioned her. Finneas, nor Kenelm, never really bothered to ask. He knew he most likely get told something like ‘she was a loose woman’ or something.

Cymon had finished cooking. He poured the beans into the bowls, passing them out to the rest of the group. Kistoph got the first, with Finneas picking up the second. Finneas didn’t anticipate just how scorching hot the bowl was going to be. He almost dropped it the moment it was placed in his hands. Luckily, he didn’t. All three began devouring their meals.

“Hey Cymon, you’ve not said who’re you?” Kistoph said, still with food in his mouth. “How’d you come here?”

“I rather not say.”

“Come on!” Kistoph protested. "We should know something about you if we're to trust you."

“I’m surprised you still don’t trust me,” Cymon exclaimed.

“Why should we?” Kistoph remarked. “Don’t you Natives attack our settlements? Kill innocents for some wrong cause, or something.”

“I’m not going to lie, or pull the cotton over your eyes,” Cymon began explaining. “Some of my people have done terrible things. As a Taper, I know we have great powers. I’m a Water Taper, and I'm a Native of Riverlands – that's a double-edged sword if there ever was one. I don't support those acts of violence. The murdering of innocent. For what? Are we any better than those who suppress us?”

“I… er… sorry,” Kistoph said softly. Finneas’s friend wasn’t expecting this response.

“It should be I apologising,” the Water Taper replied. “I didn’t mean to go on such a rant… you’ve got something against Natives like me?”

“Nah… it’s nothing,” Kistoph deflected. “It’s nothing at all.”

The Water Taper stopped with the questions. Finneas knew quite well why Kistoph didn’t trust the man. His friend never spoke kindly of Natives, and he understood very well why. There was no point dwindling on it. The past is now in the past, Finneas was told himself. He would occasionally tell that to his friend. Whether Kistoph either took his advice or not was another question.

It was about midnight, or so Finneas thought. He had lost track of time. But the Water Taper explained it was time to sleep. Cymon placed what looked to be crystal on the ground. It gave off a faint glow.

"If anyone approaches," he explained, "this should alert us."

Lying down, Finneas made himself comfortable. He'd placed a mat on the floor, to dampen the hard ground. He fell asleep easily. Like before, Finneas wasn’t sure if he dreamt anything or not.

Finneas awoke in the middle of the night. Usually, he was a deep sleeper. However, he was having trouble trying to drift asleep. He noticed Cymon was awake. Finneas decided to talk to the man. Perhaps he could discover who their travelling partner was.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Finneas explained.

"I think I'm the same," Cymon stated. "I barely sleep. I guess I'm some restless soul."

“Restless soul?”

“Yeah… something like that…” Cymon seemed to deflect away from his previous statement.

“So…” Finneas began to ask, “How you meet Seb?”

“Sebastos?” Cymon seemed perplexed at the question. He didn’t answer the question immediately. Finneas wasn’t even sure if Cymon was even going to answer. To Finneas’s surprise, the Water Taper responded. "We go a long way, I suppose. We're not friends if that's what you think. It's well… difficult to explain."

“You not friends?”

“Well… we probably could call each other friends… I’m not sure whether that’s the right word,” Cymon continued explaining. “We both need one another.”

"What that mean?"

The Water Taper simply laughed, as if amused at Finneas’s naivety.

“Sebastos is an opportunist,” the Cymon explain. “I’m not an idiot. I know he has motives. But I have motives too?”

“What’s that?” Finneas inquired.

“Free my people,” the Water Taper replied. "For generations, my people have been enslaved, brutalised, disfigured."

“How far you’d go?”

“To hell and back, if not further,” Cymon remarked. "No offence, but the free folk such as you haven't been all too kind to us. I'm sorry to say that. But the Order, and everything they represent, must be cleansed. And with that, the Republic."

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“I’m… sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” the Taper smiled. “You didn’t enslave my people. You’re just as much a victim as everyone else. I suppose we’re all slaves in the end. I might be free, for now, but my brother…”

Cymon stopped mid-sentence. He didn’t say anything more. It was rather awkward. Finneas wasn’t sure whether to prompt the man or not. It was the first time Cymon had mentioned having a brother. He barely knew the Taper, so he was eager to find out more.

“What about your brother.”

“It’s nothing,” Cymon attempted to reflect.

“I’m no idiot, either. I got a brother too," Finneas decided to add.

“I’m sorry you had to leave him…” Cymon began apologising.

“No need,” Finneas interjected. “He has friends. I think he’ll be okay.”

The two sat there, neither saying anything. The moment of silence gave Finneas time to think. He hadn't given much thought to his brother. He wondered what Kenelm was thinking at this moment. He probably was angry, Finneas decided. His brother always dreamt of leaving Angleum. But Finneas knew it'd be unsafe. Although it seemed rather harsh of Finneas; leaving Kenelm in Angleum seemed the best option. Hopefully, he pondered, Mollie could explain everything to him. Hopefully, he'd understand. He wondered whether he’d ever meet his brother again. Finneas honestly hoped so, although he wasn’t too sure.

It dawned on Finneas that he was already feeling homesick. Only a few hours had passed, maybe more since he’d left the safety of the city’s walls. Was he going to feel like this for the entire journey? Finneas hoped it wouldn't be the case. He'd never left Angleum before. He knew nothing else.

“Do you ever feel homesick?” Finneas asked. He wasn’t sure if the man heard him, let alone answer his question. “I think I’m feeling homesick.”

Cymon didn’t reply at first. After a few seconds of silence, and a deep breath, the Taper spoke.

“Years have passed since I last been in the Riverlands. I long to walk the streets of Rivetia again,” he explained. “I do miss it. The sights, the smells. It’s still fresh in my mind, believe me. But…”

“But?”

“It’s nothing,” Cymon said, before changing the topic entirely.

Finneas thought about asking further questions but decided it was best not to. Trying not to wake Kistoph up, Finneas laid down next to his friend. Like before, he fell asleep quickly.

Finneas awoke again suddenly, this time with the help of a small nudge from his friend. It was still dark, with a small glimmer of light shining from the mountain ranges. They quickly ate their breakfast before continuing their journey. The temple was getting closer and closer. Finneas could feel a drizzle of rain. Luckily though, the trees managed to cover them. This stopped the group from getting too wet. The rain wasn't too bothersome. Finneas, in fact, didn't mind the rain.

By the afternoon the rain had stopped. Despite Kistoph’s complaint, with the boy moaning his feet were sore, Cymon insisted on getting to the temple before nightfall. The Water Taper kept telling them it might rain again.

About halfway through the day, the group stopped. This allowed Cymon to hand out snacks for lunchtime. This consisted of a few biscuits the Water Taper had kept in his shoulder bag. Because they were in hurry, they ate their lunch while travelling up the steep pathway. Nightfall crept upon them suddenly, yet Cymon insisted the group keep travelling. Kistoph tried to convince the Water Taper to stop and set up camp, yet Cymon maintained on continuing trekking uphill. Finneas had the same sentiment as Cymon, however, he decided against sharing his opinion in case it annoyed his friend.

They kept trudging through the night. Because everything was so dark – the meandering trees blocked out any moonlight – Finneas found it difficult to tell what was in front of him. Finneas worried he'd trip over, like before. He didn't want to repeat that embarrassing mistake. He made sure to stay close to Cymon, barely being a few inches away from the Water Taper. As they drew nearer to the temple, Finneas noticed a shadowy figure up ahead. He wasn’t able to tell who the person was. However, Cymon waved his arm in front of Finneas, alerting him to stop.

“Who goes there?” the shadowy figure yelled.

Finneas wasn’t sure who the person was. He didn’t know whether they’d been caught or not. He had to trust Cymon. Hopefully, the Water Taper knew what he was doing.

“It’s I, Neco of the House Eshebii,” the Cymon yelled.

“Nasi Neco? The one they call Cymon,” the voice sounded perplexed.

“Yes, that’s me,” Cymon continued, still yelling. “And you?”

“I am Talen. We were told to expect a group. Is that you?

“Yes. Two boys and I.”

“Is Sebastos with you?”

“Sadly, no,” Cymon answered. "He went… he had other matters to attend. He sends his apologies. Is it all right to enter the temple?"

“Yes,” Talen replied. “Come, come. We have a fire lit. The sky is troubling. We shouldn’t keep you waiting.”

Finneas wasn’t sure whether to continue walking forward. For a moment, the Water Taper remained still, not even moving an inch. Taking a deep breath, Cymon directed the two boys to move forward. Approaching the man, Finneas noticed Talen was holding a bow and arrow. Although he never used a bow before, he would occasionally toss stones from a slingshot at the rats found in the hangout back in Angluem. Finneas was a pretty good aim. He wondered if anyone could teach him to use a bow and arrow. Maybe when they get to Rivetia, Finneas pondered.

Talen guided them towards the temple. Finneas had never been so close to one before. He was eager to see what a temple looked like from the inside. He tried to hide it, but he was feeling just a tad bit excited. Cymon noticed this too. The man simply smirked. As they drew closer, Finneas saw large pillars with demon-like faces, their mouths opening as if yelling. They reached the set of stairs that led towards the temple. They soon came to a long passageway. Along the way, Finneas noticed a stone memorial. The artwork was probably ancient; a few thousand years at least. It depicted a battle, probably fought aeons ago. Men in full battle armour pierced their enemies with long spears. Finneas assumed the memorial illustrated one of the many attempts by the Sanlanders to invade Estmere. Finneas recognised the helmets worn by the enemy soldiers. He'd seen them before in books he'd borrowed from Teller. The Sanlands hadn't changed uniform in over five thousand years.

“Don’t see stuff like this back home?” Cymon commented.

“Why?” Finneas asked.

“Most monuments in Rivetia are defaced,” the Water Taper remarked, saying so with a tint of sombre. “I guess some people don’t like art.”

They eventually made their way to the temple’s main hall. Although no one knew what the building’s original purpose was, with the original creators lost to history, in the past the main hall would be used for religious ceremonials. Ancient Natives, before the common folk ever arrived, would present offerings to their god. With the arrival of outsiders, worship had become a personal thing. Temples became long abandoned. A few churches, dedicated to the Maker, were scattered around Angleum's cityscape, although no one ever took them seriously. Finneas couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever visited one. He always remembered to thank the Maker before eating any meals, usually because the matron would make them say grace, but no one believed in that stuff.

The main hall was rather large. Besides the shipbuilding halls in the harbour district, Finneas had never seen a room so huge. The temple's walls were made of large lime bricks. Finneas couldn't imagine how difficult it would've been to stack these bricks on top of one another. Hugging up against the walls were makeshift tents. While a few were made of cloth, a few tents were covered with canvas. The shelters were crudely put together with not much care as if the occupants were ready to flee at short notice. In the centre was a large fireplace. It'd been there long before the temple was a refuge. Probably serving once as a fire temple, the Natives made good use of it. Finneas could count at least fifty or so Natives crowding around the fire, their ages ranging from young to old. He had never seen so many Natives in one place before. Some people would find this frightening – Kistoph certainly didn’t seem comfortable – or even threatening. Finneas, however, found the environment rather intriguing.

Natives were rarely seen in the cities, besides Estmere's capital Heathreed. Most preferred living in the countryside. Most Natives Finneas had come across were usually merchants. There used to be a Native population within Angluem. However, after a series of mysterious murders, massacres began occurring, with common folk attacking the Native's district. Finneas didn’t blame them for leaving.

An old man approached the three. Finneas assumed the man had to be the Native group's leader. Like any Native, he had dark skin, although white wine stains covered his face. The man's skin had become ragged and wrinkled, probably caused by stress and abuse of one's body. The old fella seemed like a person who'd seen a lot. His head was practically bald. He however had a long shabby white beard, big and bushy.

“If it isn’t Neco… I mean Cymon?" the old man said, opening his arms wide for an embrace.

"Suchir!" the Water Taper responded, hugging the old man. "It's been too long."

“It sure has,” Suchir replied. “What brings you? And who are those… kids…”

The old man moved his attention to Finneas and Kistoph. Leaning on a walking stick, Suchir studied the two boys carefully. Although Finneas felt rather unnerved, he understood the old man’s reservations. Some of the other Natives were now staring at them. Most of them probably had barely any contact with the common folk. Some of the younger ones most likely had never seen people like Finneas and Kistoph. Their white skins certainly stood out, for sure.

“Sebastos tasked me to bring them to Rivetia,” Cymon explained.

“The wayward son's returning home?" the old man said as if sounding surprised at Cymon’s explanation. “Never thought it’d be a Sensor to convince you.”

"Stranger things have happened, I suppose."

“So…” Suchir returned his attention to the two boys, “who are they?”

“Don’t know,” Cymon replied. “You better ask them yourself. Sebastos barely had time to explain. I thought he’d said there only be one. But two arrive. Must have misheard.”

“Knowing Sebastos,” the old man continued, “he must have a method to his madness. I never understood that fella. I don’t understand the Order in general, anyway." Suchir laughed, although there didn't seem to be a reason. The man seemed to laugh at his joke.

Realising the boys were eager for food, and perhaps rest, Cymon spoke up.

“Maybe it’ll be better to discuss this matter another time,” the Water Taper told the old man. “I’m sorry for the rudeness, but we’ve been travelling for a while now.”

Again, Suchir laughed.

“No offence taken,” he remarked. “If I was forced to march on an empty stomach, I’d be grumpy as well. Come, come. We’ll bring you something to eat.”

As the old man whispered into one of his men’s ears, both Finneas and Kistoph sat down. Not before long, food was brought out. Although simple rice, whoever cooked the meal had added enough spices to make it exceptionally tasty. It didn't take long before both boys had eaten their meals. Once they'd finished their meal, the two decided it was best to sleep. There were a few mattresses the boys could borrow. Although it was cold outside, Finneas was able to snug into a heavy blanket. He quickly fell asleep.

Finneas was awakened rather early. The storm had finally arrived. Large gulps of rain hammered the area. It was decided they’d stay there until the weather had calmed down. Kistoph groaned. Finneas’s friend had hoped to move on as quickly as possible. Finneas, on the other hand, was glad he didn’t have to trek through the rain. Nothing could be as bad as that, he had decided. A few days turn to a week or so. It seemed they were going to be there for a while. Again, Kistoph groaned.

Although guests, Finneas and Kistoph were assigned tasks. They were assigned to sweep the floors. Despite his friend's complaints, Finneas was glad to help out. At least it stopped them from getting bored. Using brooms, the two boys brushed leaves and debris into one of the temple's corners. They were told someone else would eventually pick the rubbish up and throw it away.

The two were allowed to sit in front of the fire. The last few days had been chilly, with the occasional threats of rain. Although it never snowed in Estmere, the cold eastern winds would regularly move across the mountain ranges and smother the slim stretch of coastal land with icy cold breezes. Each boy was given a blanket to wrap around them. Finneas accepted his one eagerly. However, Kistoph declined, snubbing the Native woman from gifting him a blanket. Finneas’s friend didn’t seem all too comfortable. It seemed Kistoph was trying his damn hardest not to stare into the eyes of their hosts, in case one of them decided to strike up a conversation. Finneas knew quite well how that'd end. Knowing his friend's history, Finneas understood his mistrust of Natives. Finneas, on the other hand, had no reason to hate them.

The days passed quickly as if a blur. The rain and the storm outside continued to ever grow, each day getting more violent. Finneas was glad they'd got to the temple when they did. Although he didn’t mind the rain, he wasn’t too keen on having to wade through muddy terrain. The temple's elder, Suchir, insisted the weather was behaving unnaturally as if someone had caused it. The old man insisted he'd never witnessed such a downpour in his long life. While Kistoph insisted it was a ploy to hold them captive; Finneas didn't mind staying a while. Although they were given tasks to complete, it was not as laborious as working on the docks.

Having finished their chores, the two sat down for a breather. Rolls of bread were handed out. Both boys munched away. As Finneas ate his meal, one of the Native boys sat down next to him. The moment this occur, Kistoph shot up and walked away. Finneas simply ignored his friend’s action. He was well aware his friend disliked Natives. There was no point dwelling on the issue; it’d probably make things worse.

“What’s up with your friend?” the Native boy asked, having noticed Kistoph's sudden move away.

"He's had a difficult… it's nothing," Finneas decided not to finish his sentence. Some things were best unspoken, especially in a place with Natives around. Finneas glanced over to see his friend sitting in the corner, remaining somewhat in darkness.

“The name’s Lochen,” the Native boy remarked, placing his hand out to shake. Not wanting to be rude, Finneas shook Lochen’s hand. “But most people call me Loch.”

“That’s a free folk name?”

Finneas noticed how the boy’s skin was lighter than most Natives. That was probably self-explanatory. He felt somewhat stupid, but Lochen seemed to let it slip.

“My father was from the free city,” he explained. “Insisted I had a proper name. Said it’d make me fit in better. Not like it did any good.”

“So, you’ve never been to Angluem?”

“Why would I?” Lochen asserted. “Not like I’d get the welcome mat. Spat upon more likely.”

“Not everyone’s bad,” Finneas responded, trying to defend his hometown.

“Your friend didn’t seem too friendly.”

“Yeah…” Finneas was unable to counter this, “s’pose you right. Forget I said that.”

“Already forgotten,” the Native boy laughed. “So, where you’re going?”

Finneas was taken by surprise at the question. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure whether, to tell the truth, or not. He didn't know whether to trust him or not. They’d barely met.

"North," Finneas replied, trying to sound as vaguely as possible. From the look on Locken's face, he was probably wanting more specifics. "Rivetia City," Finneas added.

“That far north?”

“It’s not that far, is it?”

To tell the truth, Finneas wasn’t the best at geography. He was never a big fan of studying maps – that was more Teller’s thing. He knew the layout and locations of Estmere. He had seen the map many times before. For all he knew, the rest of the known world was shrouded in mystery. Why should a boy living on the edges of the Republic be aware of stuff like that, only the Maker knew?

“It’s at least a few hundred miles away from here,” Lochen explained. Finneas wasn’t sure how far a thousand miles was. “Why the Riverlands?”

Now the Native boy was going too far. Finneas hadn’t even told Cymon their reason for travelling north; why should the boy have to tell some stranger?

“Rather not say,” he answered, not knowing how the Native boy would react. To his surprise, Lochen seemed to understand his desire not to answer the question.

“All good,” Lochen simply said.

Knowing quite well his friend was feeling rather discomforted, Finneas decided to talk to Kistoph. Finneas was unsure what he was going to talk about. But he knew he had to say something; somehow lighten up the mood between them.

“Only a few more days, huh?” Finneas smiled, trying his best to be welcoming. He spoke in a hushed voice, making sure they wouldn't be overheard. "Then we're out of this place, right?”

His friend didn't reply; not at first, at least.

"A few days," Kistoph began complaining. Unlike Finneas, his friend didn't even attempt to speak in a hushed voice. It was like Finneas’s friend wanted everyone to know his frustration. “It’s like the Maker’s punishing me. If I’d known I’d be ‘round savages, I mightn’t come.”

“Come on, Kist,” Finneas responded, “It’s not all been that bad? Thought you liked adventures? Plus, you wouldn’t ditch your old pal?”

His friend seemed to take any offence at that comment.

“It’s not the same, you know,” Kistoph simply stated.

Finneas was aware he wasn’t going to get much out of his friend. Maybe it was a personality fault, but Finneas hated seeing other people so disgruntled, especially if the people in question were his friends. There was no point bringing up Kistoph's past, especially around the Natives. Finneas wasn't sure whether they'd understand anyway. The storm was beginning to calm, so they were most likely leaving the next day anyway.

Because of this, Finneas decided one last time to explore the temple. He didn’t know when the next time he’d get the chance to examine one so close. Despite its ruined state, the building gave off a spark of grander. It was difficult to describe. Finneas just couldn't put his finger on it.

He wandered down a hallway. There was some smaller room down the other end, used for storage mainly, although the temple's kitchen was located there as well. A few times during their stay, the two boys would be tasked to carry large boxes down to the kitchen area.

As he drew closer, he heard faint voices. Although Finneas could barely hear what was being discussed, he knew exactly who the people were. Cymon and Suchir. Finneas made sure his step couldn’t be heard, walking slowly towards the conversation. The two were in one of the storage rooms. It obvious neither was aware anyone else was eavesdropping.

“So, you know why Sebastos showed interest in these kids?” Suchir asked.

“I’m not too sure. My discussion with Sebastos was brief,” the Water Taper began explaining. “But one of them, I assume… is the Seer.”

“The Seer…?” the old man seemed shocked. “Now that’s a bold claim… you know which one?”

Cymon shook his head.

“Sebastos was vague… but said there would be only one boy… two somewhat made it complicated,” the Water Taper continued explaining. "I assume there was a last-minute change of plan. I wasn't going to tell one of the boys to go back…"

“You don’t have to defend yourself,” the old man comforted the Water Taper, patting Cymon’s shoulder. “You did the right thing… any idea which one…”

“Sebastos didn’t give a description… or a name… just said I’d recognise them…” the sound of Cymon’s voice; it was as if the Water Taper was annoyed. “I guess I’ll find out when Sebastos and I meet up again…”

“I’m sure before then, you’ll work it out,” the old man continued, before turning to another topic. “News of your brother? Information is scant. The movement still going?”

“He’s alive…” Cymon replied. "Isn't that enough?"

“Joses does have a backup.”

"You're not referring to me?" the Water Taper queried. "I'm no leader. That's one thing I'm sure of. It's been years since I stood foot in the Riverlands. Would they seriously follow me? The wayward son? Surely not.”

“Stranger things have happened…”

Finneas heard footsteps. Suddenly, Cymon walked out of the storage room. Finneas pretended he hadn't listened to their conversation. He stared at one of the memorials scattered down the hallway. The Water Taper, however, appeared to be unaware of the boy’s presence. Finneas was about to leave, returning to the main hall. Yet something caught his attention. He stared at the memorial. They were unlike the ones seen outside. At the centre was a giant mountain, each peak sinisterly jagged. Finneas had seen these mountains before, from a distance. They were the mountain ranges that protected Estmere from the Darklands, a cruel and mysterious land to the east. Although faded, the mountains had once been painted with dark colours. The sun shined from the west, revealing a bright and vibrant land. It was an ancient depiction of Estmere, long before the common folk ever arrived. Magnificent mountain temples and cities scattered the ancient lands, most long destroyed, although the capital Heathreed could still be recognised. Finneas knew the city was rather old. On the other side of the mountains was darkness; detailed illustrations of clouds storming the mountainous wall attempted to invade the land of Estmere. Smaller battles could be noticed throughout the image. The ancient Native populace defending their lands from dark mysterious figures dress in assassin-like uniforms.

“The Dark Tapers are a strange bunch,” Suchir commented. Finneas was unaware the old man was behind him. He turned around to face the old man. “You’re too young to remember the last attack?”

Finneas nodded. "Don't know if I was alive?"

“Of course, of course,” the old man responded. “It must be, say, fifteen years ago.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Certainly then, you definitely won’t remember.”

Although Finneas had never witnessed an attack by the Dark Tapers, he heard hallowing stories from the older generation. Nance, who was around his age when they attacked last, once recounted her experience. Unlike the Sanlanders, the Dark Tapers had no purpose for attacking. They simply came and pillaged, taking the few odds and ends. They would never take slaves, instead preferring to kill entire villages. Nance was one such victim, having her entire town torched. She was able to escape, but her family died in the slaughter. It was probably why she had such a soft spot for orphans like Finneas.

After scowling the land, destroying everything in their path, the Dark Tapers would suddenly leave, crossing back over the mountain range. Most people flee to the cities, where walls protected their citizens. Once it was safe, people from the countryside would have to return to their settlements to rebuild. Finneas had heard many stories from all sorts of people, from sailors to merchants, who recounted the same events, sometimes verbatim. The terrifying events were still fresh on many people’s minds. No one knew when the Dark Tapers would strike again.

“Are they evil?” Finneas asked, not knowing whether the old man would have the answers. “Are the stories true? They eat people, right?”

Suchir laughed, probably due to Finneas’s naïve statement.

“Not evil; more misunderstood. And they certainly don’t eat people, I can say that for sure,” the old man responded. “In my younger years, I travelled from place to place. You can say I saw the world. I once travelled what is called the Darklands, many years ago.”

Finneas didn’t seem convinced. He heard from sailors no one is allowed into the Darklands. The old man was aware of Finneas’s doubt.

“It’s the truth, I promise,” the old man assured him. “Sometimes I find it difficult myself to believe.”

“So… what’s the place like?”

“It’s a harsh place, full of harsh people,” Suchir responded. “The Light blinds – something you’ll hear a lot. They always seemed afraid of something. Perhaps darkness suits them.”

“Ever met a Shadow?”

The old man seemed thrown at this question. Maybe Finneas shouldn’t have asked that. He’d heard about the Shadows before; the mysterious order that ruled the Darklands. They are said to be powerful Dark Tapers, able to wield immense power.

“Once,” the old man said. “Only once… the man wasn’t from there, I could tell. But he had risen the ranks. Dark Tapers do occasionally appear outside the Darklands, born to unsuspecting families. Unless the Sensors get to the poor soul, they usually make their way to the Darklands. I pitied the man, at first. But he seemed to make something out of an awful situation.”

“Seems a lot like me?” Finneas pondered aloud.

He certainly didn't have the best upbringing or anything. No one gave much thought to orphans like Finneas. He practically came from nothing. In a way, meeting Sebastos allowed him to make the best out of what seemed like his own awful situation.

“Similar,” the old man remarked. “Similar… you better return. It’s getting late. I don’t want to keep you up too late.”

Although Finneas wanted to protest since he wasn’t all too tired anyway, he did what he was told. He returned to the main chamber. He decided against telling Kistoph what had occurred.