peculiar architecture used for the buildings surrounding this square, along with how timber is integrated into their framing, makes them quite unique. Yet they appear abandoned despite their obvious appeal, contrasting with the bustling parts of the city we traversed just moments ago. It’s difficult to even hear the crowds from this secluded nook.
“Why is there no one here?” I ask.
“This is the new quarter,” Yori explains while untying me. “It was developed when the rangers first came, one of the original settlements offered by the river cities as refugees from our world poured in. That’s why it looks so different.”
“So is this how buildings looked where you came from?”
“Kind of,” Yori answers. “It all depends on the resources you have available. These lands had limited timber, at least at that time, so our builders did the best they could with the kinds of stone, brick, and cement available. This was the result.”
“Makes sense,” I muse.
Considering the history, there is an inescapable elegance to the structures that surround me beyond their eye-catching appeal. They would be better described as works of art, of meaning, but I could really say that about the rest of the city as well. It is, in a way, like a painting, one where artists of different ages and styles stroked different parts of the canvass, creating a synthesis of different eras, or rather, of different worlds.
“To answer your actual question,” Wade says abruptly,
“the people are afraid that there are still rangers hiding here.”
“I guess that’s true today,” I reply.
It was Wade who explained to me the other day why the plains’ inhabitants so easily accepted the disbandment of his people. It was a slow sort of persuasion. Strange things started happening, from attacks on small rural villages to strange disappearances throughout the land. The rangers blamed some hidden darkness and began searching the reaches of the plains for answers, but none came as the horrors only got worse.
Things began turning against the rangers when a large village far to the east had its entire population vanish overnight. A rumor began spreading that the rangers had done it, that they had invented the reapers as a way to justify the authority they had gained through the years of protection they’d provided. Most dismissed such tales at first, but as darkness continued to spread, some towns and cities began casting out the rangers.
As it happened, those places would in most cases be almost immediately freed of the plagues and misfortunes that had been going on for some time. This prompted more cities to join the movement, until the rangers eventually lost all havens of refuge. Peace settled over the land, except wherever rangers were found, and so the people began to fear them. According to Wade, that fear remains very real even now, which explains why no one would seek to settle in these abandoned homes.
Once my bindings are removed, I begin taking off the rest of my disguise, but Wade stops me.
“Leave it on, the hood, too. It will make it easier to flee danger when night comes.”
“Are we expecting to have to run?” I look at Yori concerned.
“We should be expecting everything. Who know why they really let us in? There’s little time to waste, and we should assume the worst. We must get to Mavyn. I’ll check to see if she’s still in the city, and where we need to go to find her.”
He pauses and then looks over at Yori, “Keep her safe. No matter what happens, don’t come after me.”
Yori nods, and Wade begins walking out the way we came before turning around and glancing at us one more time. At that instant, an old fear enters my heart. I remember back in the canyons before Sanctuary, when Wade was suddenly gone, how I had wished for him to leave only to regret that desire the moment he was out of my sight. I feel that regret again as he steps briskly down a narrow corridor and beyond view.
I stare off that direction for a long moment, long enough that Yori eventually has to snap me out of my gaze.
“He’ll be okay. I would always wonder if it was my last time seeing him whenever he disappeared, but he never failed to make it back. This time will be no different.”
He then puts his arm around my shoulder and walks me toward a shaded corner where a table and some chairs have been collecting dirt and dust. He brushes one seat off for me and then plops down into another without wiping it clean.
“How are we ever going to do this?” I ask after a brief silence.
“Do what, exactly?” he says probing, like he has the answer but wants me to figure things out for myself.
“I don’t even know,” I frustrate. “What good can we possibly accomplish in this place? Your people were hunted down, and mine have likely fallen into darkness under my brooding sister. This place just seems like a hopeless, maddening whirlwind.”
I appreciate that Yori doesn’t respond at first, though he gives me an encouraging smile. He probably has a response, but he always waits for it, really thinks about what I’ve said. There’s something about someone who truly listens, whose heart is right there in front of you, that makes more of a difference than words can say, and Yori is that kind of person. It brings me the warmth of hope that he must somehow feel.
“It’s hard to imagine now the many years ago when I was a child,” he says with a light chuckle, his eyes toward the fading light in the sky above us. “I was quite troubled. My mind was always racing, but my heart was always hurting. The doctors called it melancholy, a sort of emotional firestorm in my body.
“Some days were harder than others, but my mother always sensed them coming. She was a very compassionate person. Wherever pain was, she seemed to find it, as though it was her purpose in life to put it out like a blazing fire wherever it took root. Like the waters of the sea swallowing a volcano.
“When I felt these hurtful feelings, it seemed like there was no hope, no way of overcoming them. Each time, I would fear that the sadness would be staying for good. Whenever I expressed that fear to her, she’d always reply, ‘No matter how far the sea goes in any direction, there is always a shore on the other end and a vessel strong enough to carry you.’
“That stuck with me. I enjoyed puzzles, but I never looked at what I was going through as problem that needed solving. Rather, it was as a storm that needed enduring. But the boat my mom would speak of wasn’t just withstanding the tempests of life. It had a destination in mind, and so did I.