Drawn to Disaster

1. Walking Nightmare

Our world is not what it seems. I’ve learned this from a metamorphic madman with submarines, jet packs, computers, shock waves, and minion armies at his metal fingertips. The truth would disrupt our simple society, so once I record my story, I’m going to lock it away. Quite possibly no one will ever read it.

As Historian of Za, I thought I knew everything about my tiny island, or at least where to find it in the archives. Then an iron hulk demolished my door and made me a proposition.

The door in question was the front entrance of the Library, a stone and bamboo building on a low cliff over the bay. The day everything changed, I finished teaching the island’s history to the newcomers. They departed for their next class, and I straightened up the dormitory.

Then I slipped on my swimsuit. I descended steps chiseled into the bluff by the ancients and crossed the beach.

The cool bay soothed my tired body. I drew in a lungful of water and dove toward the reefs with a flip of my webbed feet. Fish drifted around me, their iridescent scales flashing filtered evening sunlight.

Abruptly, the water darkened. The sea creatures darted under rocks. I surfaced to see roiling gray clouds. A strong wind was whipping up frothy whitecaps.

Wringing water from my hair, I hurried up the cliff. Ever since my mentor’s death, bad weather terrified me. I battened the shutters and lit a candle.

As I pulled on a dry tunic, I heard a knock. The lighthouse apprentice had doubtless returned, on the pretext of storm safety, to finagle a few more cookies from me.

Hand on my hip, I yanked open the door. Shouldn’t you be—

An angular form towered against the sky. My gaze traveled up the individual I never wanted to see on my doorstep, ever.

It was Morgoz the Dark Destroyer.

Two feet above my head, his voice rumbled, Were you expecting someone, Zarena?

I slammed the door and slid the deadbolt. What was he doing here, and how did he know my name? Had he discovered I was researching him, and come to kill me?

You may not be from my island, or even my universe, so I’ll explain my terror. Za is defined by contrasts. At each cardinal compass point is a distinct climate region (beach, jungle, volcano, mountain) with a tribe suited to the element. The blue amphibious Aquans and silvery feather-tufted Aerans are female, whereas the red scaly Pyrans and tan leonine Terrans are male. Even our island’s benevolent protector, Zan the Liege of Light, has an opposite. When the Creator formed Zan as a surrogate to continue the work of creation, he simultaneously forged his shadow brother. This dire being now stood on the other side of my front door.

The rapping became more insistent. Heart pounding, I dashed into the kitchen and veered around the table. The door exploded into splinters. I don’t know why you’re bothering to run, growled the intruder.

I reached for the back door. A rock wall erupted from the flagstones at my feet and blocked my escape. I spun around.

Clanking heavily, the Dark Destroyer stalked into the main hall. I grabbed my harpoon from the broom closet. Get out of my Library, I said, my voice thin and trembling.

He stopped and uttered a laugh, low and gravelly like grinding machinery. Candlelight glinted off his tarnished silver armor. Under the visor of a spiky helmet, an optical instrument covered one eye. The other glowed purple in his shadowed face. He had a gauntlet on one forearm and a scythe-shaped staff. A tool belt cinched his waist. A rifle and metal pack were strapped to his back.

Spots fogged my vision. I reminded myself to breathe.

Shifting the staff to his elbow, he turned to my desk. He pushed aside a letter and perused my notes. It seems you’ve taken an interest in me, Zarena. I’m flattered.

I winced. What are you doing here, Morgoz?

His jointed metal finger ran along the book spines, stopping at my late teacher’s History of Za. He removed it from the shelf and opened it.

As he flipped the pages, I had an idea. The document storage vault had an exit to the sea. Maybe his iron plating would slow him down in the water. I knelt and reached for the trap door.

Ice spread in a thick sheet, freezing the wooden panel to the floor. I jerked my hand away and stood gaping at my nightmarish visitor.

Morgoz looked up from Ileia’s work. This is impressive. Did you help?

I nodded slowly. A thunderclap made me jump.

He tilted his head. But it lacks perspective. Closing the volume, he approached.

I glanced at the window over the sink. After what had happened to all the doors, escape seemed unlikely. If you want, you can take that copy with you. We have a lending policy. The moment I spoke, I realized how ridiculous my words were.

That’s very nice. He tucked the book into his rifle strap. But I think I’ll stick to my policy. Take what I want, and set fire to the rest.

Are—are you going to kill me? I blurted.

His whirring eyepiece examined my face. That’s up to you.

I inhaled sharply.

He shrugged. You historians of Za have not been kind to me. My role in the universe is every bit as essential as my brother’s. Yet wherever my name appears, fear and hatred practically radiate from the page.

Well, you’re—you’re awfully scary, I stammered. I watched him stride toward me. Especially up close.

"Intimidation can be quite effective, he remarked, striking the kitchen table with his armored fist. He kicked the pieces out of the way and took a step forward. But in your case, I…"

I found myself backed into the stone wall. The table had offered no real protection, but I felt even more vulnerable without it. Flustered by his intense stare, I squeaked, What do you want?

Morgoz blinked. Then he grinned. I’m glad you’re willing to cooperate, Zarena. It would be a pity to destroy you over a gesture of futile rebellion.

"I’m not agreeing to do anything, I retorted, my fingers tightening on the harpoon. I’m just asking what you want."

His eyebrow rose briefly, and then the confident look returned. I want you to do what you’ve always done. Write history.

From your point of view?

Exactly. He extended a tarnished claw. Come with me. I’ll give you my side of the story, and you’ll add it to your book.

My eyes widened. This incarnate vortex of doom was requesting my services as a scribe. And then… you’d leave me alone?

Yes. When you Zaians interact with the world at all, it’s through merchants, and they always have an agenda. You don’t have the information to compose an accurate history. I say it’s time to change that. What do you say?

Curiosity edged out my fear. This might be interesting, particularly if it could avert my death. But by all accounts the Dark Destroyer was a shady character. Will you be telling me the truth?

He gave me an ingratiating smile. Now, why would I want it recorded if it weren’t true?

Well, you’ve lied to us before, I pointed out. You posed as a—

It was a rhetorical question, he groaned. His armor creaked as he shifted his weight onto his staff. Once you hear me out you’ll understand. Destruction gets a bad rap because creation is more glamorous, but I’m necessary for life, too. So, will you come?

Where? I asked warily.

To my lair. I’ve set up an office for you, with conveniences you’ve never imagined. He gestured around us. Don’t you want to find out what’s going on beyond your little cloister?

I pondered the consequences of transcribing his story. How long would this take?

A few days. You can leave a note to say you’re traveling, so no one will worry.

And then you’d bring me home?

Yes.

In one piece?

Yes. Morgoz sighed. I have no desire to hurt you, Zarena. I’m simply tired of being slandered, and I want the real story told.

You’d never come back to bother me again?

Yes.

I’d only be adding events?

You will also correct some inaccuracies. He lowered his voice. But just between you and me, given the true nature of the universe, what you write doesn’t matter in the least.

I narrowed my eyes. My mentor had insisted that truth was critical to historical writing. How could it not matter?

He crossed his arms around his staff. I’m supposed to be the one asking questions here. Now, what’s your answer?

The panic returned. I swallowed.

Morgoz tapped his armored foot. Lights flickered on his gauntlet.

Then the solution came to me. After he released me, I could preface his version with a warning about its source, and then recopy the original in the vault. All right, I whispered hoarsely.

The sinister face broke into a broad smile. Wonderful. I’ve been looking forward to having you in my employ. Now, jot a note about your trip, so we can be on our way. With a wave of his hand, the ice evaporated from the vault door. And fetch the original manuscript.

But—but— I stuttered, you didn’t mention the original!

He rolled his eye. I thought that went without saying.

I hesitated. How could I face myself in the mirror after replacing Ileia’s life work with lies?

Oh, stop fretting about your principles, he said testily. I can erase your memory of the whole thing, and you’ll be free of regret.

The Dark Destroyer was rumored to have such a power. And if I couldn’t remember anything, I wouldn’t know the history had been altered. I’d be participating in the deception of my people. Forget it, then, I declared. I won’t work for you.

Morgoz seized my throat. The harpoon clattered to the floor as he shoved me into the wall. Your objections are becoming tiresome, he grumbled, his breath reeking of ashes and overheated motor oil. It’s simple, Zarena. You do what I say, and I let you live. The inverse should be obvious to someone of your intelligence.

As I struggled for oxygen, I formulated a plan. I’ll get it, I gasped.

He wrenched his fingertips out of the stone. I stepped around him, gingerly rubbing my neck. I pulled open the trap door and stumbled down the steps. Groping along the shelves to the iron hatch, I rotated the hand wheel and threw my shoulder against it.

Scents of sea, ozone, and rainwater met my nostrils as I crept onto the narrow ledge and shoved the door closed. Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating water roiled by strong winds. I leaped into the blackness and driving rain.

An orange streak slammed into my side, and the Dark Destroyer’s arms clamped around me. He flew up over the cliff and landed with a clang. A brilliant flash revealed palm trees whipping in the gale.

Morgoz lifted me through the door shards and followed me inside. Your lie was really unconvincing. I didn’t even have to read your mind. Did you not know I can see through rock? He tapped his optical instrument.

My rain-soaked tunic was clinging to my skin, and my hair dripped down my back. I had no hope of outwitting him and preserving the original history, on paper or even in my own mind. And he would slay me if I didn’t cooperate.

Wisps of steam rose from his armor. You’re trembling, Zarena. Shall I dry you, too?

No, thank you, I mumbled. I was shaking, but not because I was cold and wet. I had to stall him. How many powers do you have, anyway? Ten? Twenty?

Sixty-four. Surely you’ve noticed our Creator’s compulsion to make everything binary. I’d like to acquire one more just to buck the system, but for now I’m stuck at two raised to the sixth power.

You acquire them?

He straightened his posture, grazing the ceiling with his helmet spikes. Yes. Some were obvious, but others I had to work to figure out. Now, how about getting that—

Like flying? I interrupted. Your jet pack looks like the ones Zan gives the fire Heroes. Did you build that?

His face twisted into a grimace. Don’t say that name again.

Sorry, I whispered.

He jerked a metal-plated thumb over his shoulder. But yes, I did build the jet pack. My glory-stealing brother is not the only inventor in this world.

I nodded, relieved his expression had relaxed. I pointed to his arm. What does that gauntlet do?

A variety of things. Are you finished distracting me? I’d like to get going.

Well, I do have more questions, but… I glanced at the antique sword mounted above the desk. It seemed like an absurdly long shot.

I’ll tell you all about myself in the comfort of my lair. Now, go retrieve the manuscript. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the trap door.

I stopped on the top step. Can’t you change the books yourself?

Sure. I could forge your lettering, or force you to rewrite them with a mind control device. His eye glittered with purple fire. But you need to believe my story and convince your people, so they’ll give me control of Za’s defenses. Once you have the facts, you’ll be on board. Then I won’t need to alter your memories.

You’re the enemy of my people, I murmured.

That’s what you’ve been taught. Still, as a historian, aren’t you eager to hear both sides of the story?

I gave him a strained smile. I had no doubt he had concocted some elaborate lie to justify his ambitions. Perhaps I could act as if I believed him, and then he would spare my memories. But what if he read my mind? It would be a dangerous gamble.

I know I have a reputation for being rather… unrelenting. Morgoz glanced at my arm, pale under his metal fingertips, and released his grip. "But as long as I see earnest effort, I’ll treat you well. Although I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you that. Now that you’ve coaxed me into divulging my plan, if you refuse I really will have to kill you." He hooked his thumbs around a triangular belt buckle inscribed with an M.

I hastened to change the subject, even though I was digging myself in deeper. But—but why do you want to conquer a tiny rock in the middle of the ocean with no industry, no riches?

My, you’re inquisitive, chuckled the Dark Destroyer. ‘Conquer’ is such a pejorative term. I want to protect your lovely little island from a powerful evil. I’m the only being in existence that can offer you security.

What about Z—uh, your brother? I asked. We’ve always been safe in his care.

He sneered. He hands out weapons and advice. You fend off enemy hordes by the skin of your teeth, with abundant casualties. Ever wonder why he never gets his hands dirty fighting? He says it’s to keep you self-reliant, but he’s really just a coward.

I bristled at his insult to our provider. But as long as Morgoz kept ranting I would stay alive, so I goaded him again. You don’t have to invade us to protect us.

"Actually, I do. I offered my support, but my brother rejected it. My choices are to stand by and let Za suffer enemy cruelty, or assume control and defend it competently. And given your ignorance, my attempts to help have made me seem an enemy. So I need you to set the record straight. He looked at me sideways. I can’t believe you’ve sidetracked me again! Forget the note. Just get the manuscript, and let’s go."

I shivered. I… I can’t…

His dark brow lowered. You’re beginning to try my patience, Zarena. If you won’t get the original, I’ll burn the archive.

This would destroy all hope of an honest Za history.

My throat tight, I shuffled down the vault steps. I found Ileia’s masterwork and wrapped my fingers around the leather binding, but I couldn’t bring myself to remove it from the shelf.

Then a beeping metal sphere bounced down the stairs. Morgoz’s voice announced, Ten seconds to detonation.

I dashed up the steps with the manuscript. Blinking back tears, I set it in his hand.

He touched his belt, and the beeping stopped. The bomb flew from the vault and stuck to his hand. There’s another one, if you’re keeping track: magnetism. Well, come along. He stowed the book under his chest strap and started toward the front door.

After a few paces, he turned around.

Now, I’m no hero. I wasn’t trying to be noble. But since the day I lost my sweetheart, writing history was all I had. Pitching lies to my people would be worse than dying. I stood by the broken table wringing my hands.

The results of this persuasion tactic are really disappointing, Morgoz muttered. He raised his voice. I said to come along!

My pulse throbbed in my ears. The two people I loved most were dead. I wondered how it would feel to join them.

A pained look crossed the Dark Destroyer’s features. Zarena, please don’t force my hand.

I’m not coming, I croaked.

His eye turned crimson. He pointed his fist at me and pushed a button on his gauntlet. There was a flash of dark light and an impact to the back of my head. Everything went black.

2. Aftermath

In the ancient language, Za means ‘All That Is.’ When sailors discovered the vast Continent beyond our shores, our historian noted the irony of the name. For me, this irony has deepened immeasurably—and the revelation has been a wild ride.

I woke up wondering if I was alive or dead. The excruciating ache in my head confused me. Wasn’t death supposed to bring relief from pain?

I sat up and blinked against the blurriness, wondering why I felt hot. I turned my head to see a roaring orange blaze against a black sky. The ceiling was gone, and the kitchen was on fire!

I ran across the courtyard into the dormitory and fumbled in the closet for the flare gun. Staggering outside, I aimed upward and pulled the trigger.

The flare streaked into the air, illuminating a face. Relax, Zarena. I got the message, smiled Daxion, the lighthouse apprentice.

I’m sorry! I clapped my hand over my mouth. Did I hurt you?

Naw. I’m fireproof, grinned the lanky Pyran. "Well, almost. The lava waves already burned off my eyebrows this morning, so no harm done. Are you all right?"

I guess so. My head ached, my ears were ringing, and I was seeing double, but I was more distressed by the memory flickering through my mind. I was putting Ileia’s History of Za manuscript into the armored hand of Morgoz the Dark Destroyer. And now hours of copying work were going up in flames. I leaned around Daxion to see the Library. Clouds of thick smoke billowed from the thatched roof.

Jaanor and Smoky are getting it under control, Daxion reassured me. It’s a good thing you’re so close. If there’d been flashover, everything would be torched. Stay here. He dashed into the smoldering building.

Through the ruins of the kitchen door, I watched a dragon smother flames with his wings while Daxion and Jaanor poured buckets of water. When the fire tribesmen walked out, their reddish faces were blackened with soot.

The reptile soared through a hole in the roof and landed in the courtyard with a flurry of embers and ashes. I reeled backwards.

Daxion caught my arm and helped me sit on the garden wall. You sure you’re okay?

I felt my head. There was a tender bump on the back. I must have hit my head, I said woozily.

Jaanor, the weatherbeaten lighthouse keeper who’d seen every kind of catastrophe, steadied my face with his hands. Watch my finger. He moved it back and forth. I tried to focus, but it kept becoming two fingers. He asked, What’s four times four?

After a pause I said, Eight?

He turned to Daxion. Concussion.

The younger Pyran arranged some blankets on the ground. Poor Zarena, he said. He laid me on my side and propped up my head. You’ve had awful luck lately. The tornado killed your boss, the earthquake killed your friend, and now the lightning has almost killed you.

There’s more to this than lightning, Daxion. Come look. Jaanor led his apprentice back to the Library. It left these charred streaks down the kitchen wall. But thirty feet away, the door is smashed, with no burns.

A backdraft explosion?

Jaanor shook his head. The debris was thrown into the building.

Morgoz, I said. Morgoz was here. He… he broke down the door.

Morgoz came to the Library? Daxion asked incredulously. Why? Wait, let me guess. To check out books on how to break stuff.

Jaanor shot him a disapproving look. What happened, Zarena?

Details emerged from the fog in my head. "He wanted me to rewrite Ileia’s History. He took the copy and made me get the original from the vault. When I wouldn’t come along, he blasted me."

That would explain the boom, said Jaanor.

Daxion’s orange eyes were large. What was he like? Was he big? What kind of weapon did he have?

He was huge and armored. His helmet touched the ceiling. He had a staff, a rifle, a jet pack, and some sort of gauntlet. I shuddered.

Eight feet tall, he said slowly. You were brave to stand up to that.

I winced. At one point I had agreed to let the Dark Destroyer use me in his evil scheme. Uh, not… not really… I lay down again and pulled my knees to my chest.

Jaanor toured the grounds and returned shaking his head. No sign of him around the complex, besides the wind damage.

Zarena, you shouldn’t be out here alone, scolded Daxion, patting my hand. You should stay with us, where you’ll be safe.

She should stay with Laeka, where her injuries can be treated properly, said Jaanor. And Laeka needs to hear about Morgoz. Let’s check for flare-ups.

Daxion followed his teacher into the Library. I stumbled after them. There was no trace of the stone wall Morgoz had raised by the back door. But if he could produce a slab of rock in an instant, presumably he could remove one.

Jaanor climbed from the vault. The archive is intact.

I sighed with relief and went outside to sit down.

A few minutes later, the lighthouse keepers walked out again. The fire’s out, Zarena, Daxion smiled. You won’t be baking cookies anytime soon, but the books are mostly okay.

Jaanor summoned Smoky and climbed on. Daxion set me on the creature and sat behind me, his arms loose around my waist. The scaly hide was warm against my legs. The massive lizard sprang into the air pumping dark red wings.

As we soared into the starry sky, cool wind rippled through my hair. The pain in my head abated a little, and I smiled. I had now ridden an animal from every region of Za.

The dragon descended toward Aquah and landed on the beach. Thatched huts on stilts lined the docks. At the largest dwelling, a single electric bulb glowed in a wrought iron cage, Laeka’s grudging concession to the Pyran electrification project. With Daxion supporting my elbow, we walked down the dock toward the light. Your fins are scratchy, he complained.

The water tribe Elder answered the door in a long, shimmering robe, pale blue hair gathered in a shell clip. Her eyes darted between our faces.

Laeka, the Library was struck by lightning, and Zarena suffered a head injury, said Jaanor.

Oh, my! Please, come in, she exclaimed. She led us inside and helped me to her bed. You’ve extinguished the fire?

Yes. Mostly the kitchen and roof, he explained.

But that’s not the big news, said Daxion. Morgoz showed up at the Library and smashed the front door. Zarena wouldn’t rewrite history for him, so he blasted her.

Laeka looked up from checking my pulse. Morgoz was at the Library?

Yep.

The Elder glanced at Jaanor. You saw him?

Jaanor shook his head. Daxion said, Only Zarena. He was in a big armored form, bristling with weapons.

Kneeling by the bed, Laeka murmured, Where does it hurt?

Here. I think my head hit the wall.

The Elder probed my scalp with her fingertips. There’s a lot of swelling. Poor girl. Did she lose consciousness?

Jaanor nodded. She couldn’t focus her eyes or do math.

Laeka excused herself. We heard cabinets open and something pouring in the kitchen. It’s weird Laeka’s not asking about Morgoz, Daxion remarked. He scratched the scales on the back of his neck.

Indeed, said his master. Perhaps she’ll want to hear more after Zarena’s better.

Laeka reappeared with coconut shells full of water. As she handed one to each Pyran, she said warmly, Zarena’s had a very traumatic hallucination, gentlemen. She needs to rest. Thank you for saving her.

Just doing our job, Jaanor replied politely.

I sat up to sip my water. The Elder held my chin in her cool, webbed hand and pressed an ice pack to the back of my head.

We’ll keep an eye on the Library, Daxion assured her. Zarena’s got two of Za’s best martial artists a few minutes away.

Laeka gave him a smile. I’m grateful, but I don’t think we have anything to worry about, aside from the usual disasters. Well, have a nice evening. And good luck teaching the newcomers tomorrow, Jaanor.

Thank you. Will you assign an apprentice historian soon? Jaanor asked.

Definitely, she said.

Jaanar bowed his head and walked out.

Daxion called, Bye, Zarena. Hope you feel better! The hut swayed as he bounded down the steps.

Laeka elevated my head with the pillows. I’m so sorry, Zarena. You’ve had more than your share of hardship.

I bit my lip. Thanks, Laeka, I mumbled. I guess it’s part of some plan Zan has for me, like Oria says.

The creases in her round face deepened as she smiled. It’s good your faith is strong.

In fact I was starting to wonder why the Liege of Light would let me mourn twice in one year and then be bullied by Morgoz. Still, I believed he cared, so he had to have planned a meaningful destiny for me. Faith would lighten the load of redoing years of work. I’m lucky, at least, the lighthouse keepers are close. They saved most of the books. Except for Ileia’s original history, and the copy. Morgoz took those.

Laeka raised an eyebrow. How did you know it was Morgoz?

He didn’t introduce himself. But he looked like the descriptions. Big and dark, with rusty armor.

The Aquan elder raised an eyebrow. A being with infinite forms.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Had I assumed too much about my visitor? "Well, he did a lot of things that looked supernatural. I called him Morgoz, and he didn’t correct me. He referred to Zan as his brother. He had an M on his belt buckle, too."

Laeka nodded. All right. What did he say?

He wanted to set the record straight. He said he has to conquer Za to protect us from evil forces. Zan won’t do it and refuses help.

He wanted you to revise history? She placed herbal compresses on my forehead and neck.

"Yes. He took the circulation copy of Ileia’s History of Za, and he threatened to destroy the vault unless I brought him the original manuscript. So I did. I flinched. He tried to persuade me to go to his lair. He was going to dictate some new material and have me change some things. Then I was supposed to come back to Za and tell his side of the story."

But you said no.

My nod sent a painful jolt through my head, as if to punish me for not confessing. I looked away, but knew I had to tell her. Laeka, at first I agreed to go with him. Then he said I would have to edit the original, and he would erase my memory. I knew I could never restore the truth, so I refused.

It must have seemed very real, she said in a soothing voice.

He’s going to come back and kill me, isn’t he? Tears welled in my eyes. And you, too! And Daxion and Jaanor! I sat up.

Morgoz wasn’t there, Zarena. She offered me a handkerchief.

I wiped my eyes. He shot something at me, dark and light at the same time. Maybe dark energy? I woke up, and the building was on fire.

Laeka brought the cup to my mouth. After all the disasters you’ve suffered, you must feel as if their instigator truly wanted to harm you.

He does, I said. He was furious. His eye even changed to red.

She lowered me to the pillows and tucked the covers around my shoulders. Right. Well, you’re safe now. You need sleep.

I looked into her serene blue eyes. You don’t think there’s any way Morgoz was real?

She caressed my face. Young one, you’ve been under a lot of stress.

But he… I pushed the compress off my neck. He grabbed me by the throat. And the arm. Are there marks?

Lightning threw you backwards into a wall. The Elder replaced the herbal pack. I know his presence was as tangible as mine is now. But if you defied the Dark Destroyer to his face, how are you alive? You saw him, all right, but the explanation is here on the back of your head. She replaced the compress.

I closed my eyes. I would love for him to have been a delusion, I murmured. "Then I wouldn’t have to rewrite the History."

Relax, Zarena. You won’t have to, she cooed. Let yourself sink into the softness of the bed. Let your arms and legs loosen. Let a wave of calm wash up your body, through your neck, your head, your hair… Now, you’re floating on a tranquil sea. Gentle waves rock you…

The ice numbed the pain in my head, the herbs filled my lungs, and her fingers massaged my temples. I drifted off to sleep.

3. The History of Zarena

I woke to the glow of sunrise through the hut windows. Outside, waves lapped against the dock, gulls called across the bay, and fishing crews chatted. I sat up and rubbed the bump on the back of my head. In the rosy light, the terror and pain of the previous night seemed distant.

Laeka entered with a tray. How are you feeling, Zarena?

Much better, thanks. I picked up the fork and ate a piece of fish. Laeka, have I gone crazy?

I don’t think so. She patted my shoulder. You’ve been through a lot of suffering, and you personified the source of the pain. But your dark night of the soul is over. Take heart in the love and beauty around you. She set a teacup on the side table.

So, I said between bites, I imagined Morgoz.

I’m sure of it. But the other Elders are on their way, to examine the evidence with us in the light of day.

I nodded and drank the tea. A gray striped kitten jumped onto the bed and sniffed at my food. I held out a morsel of fish, which it licked off my fingers with its rough tongue.

Silver! Don’t beg! Laeka whisked the little cat off the bed. If you like, Zarena, you can put a tidbit on the floor for her.

I did, and Silver gobbled it. Laeka left with the dishes. The kitten hopped on the bed, purring loudly as she curled up against my side. I stroked her fur and gazed out the window, wondering what the other Elders would say. Had I experienced a delusion from the injury to my brain? My frightening visitor seemed real at the time, but now I had doubts. As a historian, I wondered if my past held a clue.

Evidently Zan instilled a love of mystery in me when he formed me, because all my life I’ve been drawn to it. I can still remember the first time I unfurled an ancient scroll and breathed its dusty scent as its secrets spread in faded script before my wide eyes. After my newcomer training I asked Laeka to assign me to the Library. She readily agreed because Ileia, the elderly historian, had been working alone since her apprentice changed jobs.

Ileia had me file volumes and copy Zan’s Book of Wisdom for the next year’s newcomers. This freed her to focus on her passion, writing a complete History of Za. We lived in synchrony with the rhythms of Za that now seem so artificial to me. The last evening of every work week, we walked down to Aquah to share news, stories, and songs around a beach fire. Fourth-Day was for rest and recreation. My mentor praised the Creator for our proximity to the equator and the resulting mild seasons, each lasting four moon cycles of four weeks. I learned to identify wildlife from our walks. She had a Pyran stove, and she taught me to cook and garden. We fished from a rowboat and gathered clams and crabs off the beach.

Sometimes nature was hostile and unpredictable. During my first spring a hurricane drove us into the vault. The next day we hauled palm fronds from the courtyard, replaced thatch on the roofs, and spread damp manuscripts to dry. A month later the volcano spewed lava, blotting out the sun with an ash cloud.

Ileia attributed these events to Morgoz the Dark Destroyer. I called him cruel, but she was philosophical. As much as we despise Zan’s dark brother, he keeps us from taking the miracle of life for granted. That’s why we rejoice in the gifts from our patron spirit, and we honor those who show courage in the face of danger. She sang me a comfort song while we waited for the sun to emerge. Looking back, I’m grateful Ileia taught me to soothe myself with simple truths. I now understand that our Creator designed Za culture, with its rustic charm, as an example for a cynical people.

To celebrate the blessing of life, the population of Za gathers every summer for the Unity Games. They’re held at Zanctiah, on the ridge between the two peaks near the Temple of Zan. The three other tribes differ markedly from ours. The red-skinned Pyrans, who thrive around the volcano at the south vertex of our Z-shaped island, are fire-resistant like the dragons they ride. These metalworkers and hunters have scaly necks, clawed feet, and short, reddish hair like burning flames.

At the north vertex, the Terrans’ majestic village is wedged among icy crags above a mine and a stone quarry. Their farms and herds cover the plains. With tan skin, wavy golden manes, and powerful fur-tufted paws, they resemble their domesticated lions.

West of the wooded ridge between the peaks, silvery-white Aerans dwell in treehouses near their eagles’ nests and gather fruit, nuts, and fibers. They have feathery plumage on their heads and talon-like feet.

We Aquans have pale blue skin, finned lower limbs, and cobalt hair. The other water villagers live in huts on the eastern shore, where the river flows across pale sand into a tranquil harbor. They harvest sea creatures, ride swordfish, and make paper and rope.

During my first trip to the Games, I learned I wasn’t athletic, but I enjoyed the festivities anyway. Tents were scattered across the field like mushrooms after a rainfall. The competitions began with Tug of War, using a thick rope across the river. Then came regional sports: Terrans kicked a leather earth-ball toward wood frame goals, Pyrans passed a flaming metal fire-ball to score in a metal basket, Aerans volleyed a rubber air-ball back and forth over a net, and Aquans played with a sponge water-ball in the lake. Everyone feasted on Pyran venison, Terran bread, Aeran mangoes, and Aquan scallops. At night there was a bonfire, with lutes, flutes, xylophones, singing, and dancing. Morning brought the final event, Capture the Banner. Players tried to retrieve the other team’s banner without being tagged and jailed.

In the autumn after my first Games, peace was shattered by an invasion of creatures of pure power—the Elementals. The volunteer Za Defense Force (ZDF) was mustered, and the Elders chose four individuals to wear the Armor of Zan, which the Liege of Light provides every spring in case of attack. These oversized, self-propelled mechanical suits give each Hero heavy metal plating, lethal weapons, and the power to wield his element. Interface clamps anchor into the flesh to provide structural and neural integration. Heroes who survive are extracted from the depleted Armor, crippled forever by the equipment that enabled them to defend us.

The Elementals descended onto Zanctiah in a whirlwind. The Water Elemental flooded the Terran mines, and the Fire Elemental incinerated the Aeran gardens. The Air Elemental dumped a vortex of gravel in the lava river, diverting molten rock into Pyrah. The Earth Elemental destroyed the dam with a tremor, inundating Aquah.

After months of turmoil, winter finally brought victory, and we headed for the Commemoration in the Temple. Fieron, Elder of Pyrah, approached the podium first. Lean and broad-shouldered with a tuft of rust-colored hair, he was clad in crimson with ornate metal plating. He summoned the ZDF, who brandished swords, bows, harpoons, and rifles. The Heroes emerged in dented and scorched armor to clamorous cheering.

Then the fire Elder recounted the war. After a futile attempt to overpower their respective Elementals, the Heroes had collaborated. Using her electric field generator, the Water Hero hauled the Air Elemental up the volcano, where the Pyran sent heat beams to disperse its molecules. The Air Hero drew the Water Elemental into the foothills with a vacuum so the Terran could bury it under a landslide. As the Earth Hero distracted the Fire Elemental with flying sand, the Aquan diverted the river to extinguish it. The Fire Hero’s magnetic field trapped the Earth Elemental until the Aeran’s gale blew it into dust. Fieron’s account had a lot more vivid detail than my brief summary, of course.

Next to speak was Gradak, Elder of Terrah, a short, stocky fellow with a long gray mane. He eulogized each ZDF soldier who had been killed in the conflict.

Laeka, in a long tunic with multicolored shells, gave tributes to the islanders who had died of old age. Then came Oria, Elder of Aerah, a diminutive creature with a beaded headdress of iridescent feathers. She thanked Zan for the victory and requested provision for the coming year. Afterward a meal was served on the lawn by the cemetery. I didn’t really know anyone, so I ate quietly with Ileia while I stole admiring glances at the Heroes and soldiers.

During the reconstruction I was assigned to help rebuild the dam. The weather was chilly and my muscles ached, but an air villager who’d been in my newcomer class kept us entertained. As the lake refilled, a Pyran welder finished repairing the waterwheel. He gave it a push. Alara removed the plank blocking the flume, and the buckets dumped water on him. Yelling, he chased her around the lake and tackled her. They tumbled into the shallow water. Everyone joined the mud fight, including me. Mirth was welcome after the dark days of war.

Soon afterward Alara, who was the mail carrier for the southeast end of Za, invited me on her rounds. The Library receded as we soared into the sky on her eagle’s broad silver wings. I was thrilled by the wind in my hair and the glorious panorama of land and sea.

We landed on the Lighthouse parapet, and Alara handed the mail to the master keeper. Jaanor’s the one person on Za more reclusive than you, she teased me. I recognized the apprentice, Daxion, from our newcomer class. He showed us the perpetual fire behind the glass lens.

Then Alara delivered mail to the Pyrans around the geothermal plant and foundry. "When are you going to take me for a ride? one asked. She assured him, Next time. His reply: That’s what you said last time! As we lifted off, she called, It’s still true, then!" Alara dropped me off at the Library, windblown and smiling.

Springtime approached, and we prepared to teach the newcomers Zan would soon deliver. I suggested giving each one a Za history booklet. Ileia agreed. Write one. Remember, the unvarnished truth helps us learn from our mistakes. In summarizing the Ancient Age of hunting and gathering, the Stone Age of agriculture, the Classic Age of craftsmanship, and the Modern Age of machinery, I imitated my teacher’s objective approach, breathing life into the facts with contextual detail rather than editorial comments. It’s a narrative style I can’t resist even as I recount my own harrowing tale.

After the newcomer history class, Gradak asked Ileia to help him prepare a booklet for an agriculture course. Then Fieron, Laeka, and Oria developed classes on mechanics, navigation, and astronomy. The Library was transforming from an archive into a learning center.

Oria took me aside during her class, clutched my hand in her tiny, feathered silver ones, and whispered, The stars have prophesied that Zan has an important destiny for you. I was puzzled how an apprentice historian like me, nose in the past, could affect the future, but I nodded. If the magnificent being who gave us life, protection, and guidance wanted to use me in his plan, who was I to question it?

Zan’s plan for harmonious living is the central tenet of Za society, but it’s ignored by other civilizations in our world. This has prompted our elders to keep tight control over outside influences. Many of the foreign inventions brought by our merchant ships have been beneficial, such as mining equipment, which we’ve learned to copy in our factories. Some innovations have required regulation, including firearms, which were secured in the Armory after an appalling crime wave. Other imports have been banned altogether, such as a strength-enhancing spice that provoked a violent conflict between Pyrans and Terrans. To its credit, the Trading Company has never imported any slaves. But in my second year the sea delivered one to Za.

One night Jaanor and his dragon rescued a half-drowned, pig-faced humanoid. He was a native of Vorzollah, an island north of the Continent. He pleaded for help, claiming a warlord had enslaved his people. Because the Vorzollans had once invaded Za, Gradak and Oria urged neutrality. Laeka argued that the war was in the past and even ugly porcine creatures deserved freedom. Fieron insisted Zan had given us weapons in peacetime to defend the exploited.

Aeran scouts on eagle-back confirmed the castaway’s story. A notorious