Dean awoke in a cool, dark room. For a second he thought he was in his bedroom back home. Had it all been a dream, is today the first day of school...? Then he saw the soaring wooden beams supporting the ceiling above him. He looked around, he was lying on a wooden deck beneath a stone statue of what looked like a beaver standing on two legs. He sat up slowly, his back sore from lying on the hard wood. His head throbbed horribly as he moved. He pressed hard at his temples and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he could recall was swimming through a flooded room. Yes, the tower. The demon beast chasing them. Then what? Where was he? Where was Emma? Was she alright?

He climbed to his feet, the headache got worse every time he moved. He steadied himself against the statue. His vision swam. There was a figure not far away, he stumbled in that direction, "Emma?" he called out. The figure rose and fled, making a strange chattering noise as it went. Something was wrong, something was off. Why is it...dark? He stopped in sudden terror. Were they still in the tower? Was this the dungeon of that demon creature? He put his back against the statue and tried to slow his breathing and blink his eyes clear. The room wobbled into focus, he rubbed his eyes desperately, the proportions seemed all wrong. The doors too small, the staircase too narrow.

"Hello." the voice from behind him made him jump, he spun around and saw an otter creature, similar to the one depicted by the statue, but much smaller. He peered down at it. Two younger, stronger looking creatures stood on either side of it. They held hooked staffs at an angle that Dean felt was carefully chosen: noticeable, but not threatening.

"Hello?" he said back. The old creature didn't look very threatening either. Hello certainly wasn't a threatening thing to say.

"You, wait. Here." said the creature, it pointed at the door. "No go".

"I'm sorry, where is this?"

The creature made a frustrated motion with its hands and closed its eyes for a second. "Cliff. Town?"

"Clifton?"

It waved its hand again "Yes. Cliff town"

"Is Emma here?"

"Sick." it pointed at a stairway that rose into the dimness of the second story. "There".

Dean thanked the old creature and stumbled toward the staircase, he didn't notice the three creatures following behind him. There was no handrail on the staircase, and he decided to ascend on all fours, not yet trusting his balance. His head throbbed with the effort. The second story was a semi-circular platform. The darkness was deeper here. Along the wall were many small alcoves each containing a small statue. Wooden screens offered some privacy to anyone praying within. Two creatures were stood on either side of one of the alcove screens. Dean headed for it. The guards made no move to stop him and Dean stepped behind the screen. Emma was laid on the floor, covered with a thick piece of green cloth. He knelt down beside her and held his breath. He could hear her breathing.

"Emma?" he said softly, "it's Dean."

Her eyes flickered open at the sound of his voice.

"Dean! Thank god! I'm so...happy." She struggled to sit up. "I...you need to be careful. I'm not sure if they'll try again. Anyway, I'm glad you're ok. But..." she trailed off. "I have the most incredible headache. I can't think straight." she added.

Dean laughed and hugged her, "me too, don't worry, we can talk later. Rest for now."

Dean sat next to her on the floor, let the pounding in his head subside. He felt the silence filling the space all around him. He wanted to say something, to talk about what had happened at the tower, to express what he was feeling, but his brain was still buzzing, bouncing around madly like an excited puppy whenever he tried to get it to focus. Finally he gave up and just said “Thank you, Emma.”

Emma looked over and smiled wildly, then the smile twisted and tears started to pour down her cheeks. Dean hesitated. What have I done, he thought. Should I just ignore it, would she prefer that? She continued crying, so he decided to hug her again instead. She hugged back, burying her head in his chest. His hug seemed to loosen something in her and her sobs grew even bigger, shaking her whole body. Dean could smell the dampness in her hair, the grassy smell of cactus juice, a slight sharpness of sweat.

“Are you ok?” he said, immediately regretting the question, of course not, can’t you tell?

“Yes…yes…” she brought her breathing under control, “I’m fine..It’s just…” her face screwed up again as she tried to explain what had happened and she fell back into breathless sobbing. They sat there silently for a while, and she began to talk, without raising her head. Telling him about the demon, the flood, his illness, the creatures. She didn't stop talking when she was done, She told him about her father and how much she missed him. She told him of the guilt that had been eating at her since the event in the corridor. She told him of how embarrassed and tense and uncomfortable she had felt since they arrived here, how silly she had felt about having these feelings when there were so much bigger issues to worry about. She told him how alone she had felt.

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Dean listened, unsure what to say, guessing that it was best to say nothing. Finally she stopped talking and the silence returned, and he said "You're not alone, we're going to be fine. We're going to face all that stuff together, and beat it, like that tower demon."

Emma's round, tear-stained face turned up towards him, looking through her lashes, still stuck together with tears, and said in a voice full of hope "We are?"

And he wasn't sure of it was the headache or the confusion or nearly dying, but in that moment he felt a warm pain in his chest, a compulsion to protect her, a feeling he thought might be love.

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The mage let them rest for a few hours then came to them. It must have been preparing a long speech, for it talked at length with few pauses: They must leave, it said, for Dean was not 'fixed'. The contagion from the demon still remained within him, for Emma had interrupted the magic. Such a thing was not safe to keep in the village. Regardless, a price must first be paid before they could leave: It would like to learn more of their language, for this is what it treasured most of all. Dean did not sense anger in its voice, only a touch of revulsion.

The three sat in the alcove under the watchful eye of the guards. Dean and Emma sat side by side, opposite the twisted little mage. They talked for hours.. The old creature learned quickly, building its meagre vocabulary to more complex concepts in quick minutes. Dean realised that he had underestimated the creature, its stilted speech masking its intelligence. By the time they had finished, the creature spoke an accented but clear English.

"How did you first learn English?" Emma asked finally, "you already knew some words when we arrived."

"I learned from the people who passed by this place. I traded for the language, but only received the little you heard this previous day."

"Other people who talk like us? What sort of people, when did they come?"

"One comed two generations ago. A fighter who attacked us and buyed his life from me with his words. The other, a one-leg slave, comed previous days. We did not trade but we talked and I learned many words. He speaked Latin and other languages that I also knewed."

"A slave?" Dean leaned forward, "recently? A few days ago?"

The mage flicked his finger in acknowledgment, then changed it to a nod. He had asked many questions regarding body language, which formed a large part of the creatures' communication. Emma had asked what their people was called, but there was no spoken word, only a hand movement, similar to the one used for greetings. He offered the word 'cliff-folk' as a rough approximation they could use. Their language was primarily based on hand and body movements, but a subset could be communicated vocally, useful when hands were full. Usually, the voice mimicked part of the hand language, adding emphasis or nuance to certain words. When emotional, the ratio would sometimes reverse, vocal communication taking over almost entirely.

"He is taked by..." he took a short detour to explain the concept of scavengers and learn the word, "...scavengers. They travel, go to hell-fall places". He checked that he had constructed this term correctly and that they understood before continuing, "They scavenge objects, slaves, things from other worlds from hell-fall places. They found him in the desert before the waters could bring him to us."

Emma turned to Dean, "Do you think...Jeremiah?"

Dean nodded, "Maybe. The timings make sense, and he certainly spoke better Latin than me" He asked the mage, "tall, very thin? Curly, dark hair? Wait, did he say he only had one leg?"

"Taller than you, I don't remember his weight. His hair was dark, yes. One leg, very sick."

"Where did they take him?"

"They taked him over the edge."

Dean unfolded his legs, and climbed uncertainly to his feet, stamping his feet to banish the pins and needles. "Down the cliff? To the sea?.

"They have a boat, they will take him to market for sale, they maybe are still here."

Dean felt a smile melt onto his face. Jeremiah! He would know about this place, maybe he would know a way out, a way back home. Dean wouldn't need to be in charge anymore, wouldn't need to make decisions and feel responsible for the others. He reached a hand down to Emma, "Are you feeling better, can you get up?"

Emma grabbed his hand, "Let's go!"

Dean and Emma moved to leave the alcove where they had been sitting. The two guards raised their staffs and shifted to block the way. The mage stood up also, behind them. "This is good, you go, you find him. He can watch you, and when the sickness comed back, he can fix you, before you harm others."

He made a noise and the guards moved out of the way, letting them pass. Dean rushed for the stairs, making the hand symbol for goodbye he had just learnt, pulling Emma with him by the hand. He could worry about the mage's words later, right now he just wanted to find Jeremiah.

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They burst out of the dark temple and blinked in the light. The water was still as high as when they had entered, flat and calm around the village. The walkways were busy with creatures who glanced furtively at them as they passed but didn't attempt to stop them.

"Over the edge" said Emma, "is there a ladder?".

They followed the walkway until a section that cantilevered out over the drop where it skirted the edge of a building. Emma lay down on the deck and leant out over the edge, poking her head through the barrier. Through the spray, Emma could make out the face of the cliff. Shiny, black, featureless, as smooth as glass, it descended perfectly straight until the bottom disappeared into the mist. There were no ladders, no paths, no staircases cut into the rock. Listening carefully she could hear the crashing of waves where the sea must be beating against the cliff, a hundred feet below.

"How does it look?" said Dean, who was standing a good few steps away from the edge.

A clattering sound caught her attention and Emma looked over to their right. A floating wooden platform emerged from the spray. As it came closer she could make out a handful of the cliff-folk standing in its center, leaning against boxes and barrels. It swung gently and bumped gently against the wall, sending it into a slow spin. The creatures seemed unconcerned, and easily shifted their weight to keep their balance.

"I think I've worked out how we can get down, Dean, but you're not going to enjoy the trip!"