The rain battering the roof told Silas it was time to begin work. He pulled on his cloak, fastened the hood, picked up his lantern, and went out to fetch his cart. The carmine light from Nara’s well was obscured and the polished stones of the empty street were covered in a dark green blanket of falling manna. Shadows meandered over the translucent walls of the houses, their size proving the people were crowding around the glowing oil lamps inside. He hung his lantern from a pole on the cart. His hands now free, he pulled his shovel off the cart and began scooping the manna that had fallen with the rain into the cart.

When Silas reached the first intersection, he glanced down the thoroughfare toward the reflector suspended over Nara’s well. Even with the manna obscuring the light, it remained an incandescent beacon, its mirrored surface reflecting the light of the well below. A few paces down the street, a small figure stood unmoving, silhouetted by the light.

“Hey there,” called Silas, “are you okay?”

Silence.

Silas laid his shovel on the cart and went over to the figure. As he neared, he saw the grey fur and large round ears of an indri. He reached down and touched the indri on the shoulder, but got no more response than when he had called. Finally, he stepped between the indri and Nara’s light, his shadow falling on the indri’s enormous eyes. The indri blinked and looked up at him.

“Thank you, Darkwalker, for freeing me from the dazzle.”

“I am no darkwalker! I live to keep the darkness from encroaching upon the city of light and I shall not fail in my task!”

“Yet you have cleared the light from my eyes and your face is in the shadow of your hood,” replied the indri. “And look at the empty streets. There is light in them, yes, but they are dim with the rain and empty of people.”

“It is my duty as a harvester to clear the streets of manna, that they might gleam in the light of the wells. Through my sacrifice, the rest of Bastion may live in the light.” Silas made to return to his cart.

“Yet where are your fellow harvesters? Do they toil with you in the rain, or do they cower inside by the light of the fire, waiting for the twisting shadows to fade before they venture into the streets? This is the brightest street in the district, yet I see another harvester’s cart under an awning and the shadow of his presence on the walls of his home.” The indri turned away from Silas and began to walk up the street toward the rim. “I shall spread the word. You will be welcome in our homes. Speak my name, Eronos, to any indri in the city and we will know who you are.”

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Sighing, Silas returned to his cart and resumed clearing the street of manna.

As he worked, the rain lightened and Silas began to see other harvesters working the streets. Once his cart could hold no more manna, he stopped shovelling and made his way to the oil sheds. He opened the door and wheeled his cart through the double doors of the shed. Inside was bright, with lamps illuminating the empty floor and the three tall presses within. All the presses were idle, their operators checking them over before operation. A lantern table by the door was half covered by the personal lanterns of the pressmen. Silas removed his lantern from its pole and placed it with the others.

“You’re here early,” the foreman called out, “We’re not quite ready yet, so you’ll have to wait a bit before we can take your load.” Some of the other pressmen stopped and stared at Silas.

“What’s he doing here? I just got here.”

“How can his cart be full already?”

Silas ignored the whispers and wheeled his cart to the nearest press. “Is it okay if I wait here?”

“Certainly,” said the foreman, “we’re just finishing our inspection of the press and should be able to take your manna shortly.”

After the pressmen finished their inspection, the foreman beckoned Silas forward. Silas picked up the cart and wheeled it against a chute attached to the side of the press. Two pressmen attached chains to the front of the cart and winched it up, the manna spilling out the back, and down the chute to rest against a sluice gate at the bottom. Once the chute was full, the foreman lowered a second sluice at the top, then raised the one at the bottom, letting the manna spill onto a thick cloth disk placed in the press. Another pressman spread the manna over the disk, and when it was covered, the pressmen placed another disk atop the first and released the next layer of manna into the press. So it continued until the cart was empty.

"That's ten disks of manna," said the foreman. He made ten marks on a tally stick, split it in two, and passed one over to Silas. "I'll deposit your tallies for collection at the Nara temple as usual. The manna's still falling, so I'm sure you'll want to collect more. I'll see you when you bring in your next cartload."

Silas put the tally in his pocket, retrieved and relit his lantern, lifted his cart, and went back into the rain.