Dreams of Falling and Flying

 Owing to an unfortunate series of undeserved indignities, I was beheaded and tossed off the side of an island. Yes. Subsequently, I found the thing that lurked in the endless storm at the center of the world... but the heart of the tale is the journey, so let's fall back a moment, and speak of how I came to find myself there. Thus:

-

 I fell tumbling through the air, my body consistently fifty yards above me. It would drift into view every eight seconds (I timed it), rolling slowly over its length, an arm or leg occasionally flapping bonelessly in a passing gust of wind. This worried me quite a bit the first few times I saw it - what if my body blew off, after all? I might never find it again! - but it seemed disinclined to waver far from its position behind me, and so I came to view those wind-born movements with nothing more than a mild sense of nausea.

 Unfortunately, the nausea was exacerbated by the continuous turning of my own vision, and then further by the thought that I had been violently beheaded and was now falling through the air, endlessly, without any sight of ground... under the circumstances, it was just as well that my stomach was currently fifty yards away from my throat, else I fear something may have passed from the former through the latter.

 As my stomach, though, so my lungs: and without my lungs, I could not breathe. So I slipped in and out of consciousness, waking to see the sky whirling endlessly about me for minutes before falling back into sleeps that lasted for (according to my Blood) days. One slumber followed another, and never was there sight of ship or land; only sky, sky, endless blue sky -

 - until I awoke in a small, metal room, quite free from any hints of sky-blue, and with my vision quite stable - not spinning at all!

 It was a refreshing change. I took several long breaths, savoring the experience, as I glanced around the room. I seemed to have been placed at one end of a thick mattress, with a potted plant visible at the edge of my vision - perhaps an attempt to add a touch of warmth and cheer to the room? For aside from the plant and mattress, and those extraordinary smooth metal walls, the room seemed to have no visible features at all.

 Mulling this over, a thought that had been floating at the back of my mind came to prominence. I couldn't feel anything below the neck (below my chin, really), so my body hadn't been attached. Then - how was I breathing?

 I thought about it, but could come to no reasonable conclusion. Somewhat confused, I decided to accept the situation as fact and therewith exploit it. Namely: as I could breathe, I could speak. And so: "Hello? Is anyone about?"

 "Ah, hello, hello!" came a cheerful female voice from somewhere above me. (If I had a neck, I would be able to crane it and look - but no!) "Our noble guest has awakened at last! I'll be down in a minute, try not to get in any trouble in the meantime."

 What did she think I was going to do? Roll my eyes too vigorously and strain a muscle?

 A minute later, true to her promise, a young woman wearing a blue uniform of an unfamiliar cut sashayed into my field of view, dropping with a huff onto the mattress. (It didn't bend at all when she sat on it - not a mattress I would like to sleep on.) "Hi!" she said chirpily. "Let me tell you, you're looking a lot better now than when I first saw you - all bruised and scorched and covered with blood from the landing. But Angela and I scrubbed you down very thoroughly, so don't worry! You look just fine now! But I'm sorry, very sorry, I've forgotten my manners. I'm Tiffany. What's your name?"

 I waited a moment, to be sure I was actually being given an opportunity to speak this time. "I am Sigurd, scion of the Gaylord clan, heir to the Spinwise Isles," I told her.

 "Haha!" Tiffany giggled. "That's a funny name!"

 "Gaylord?" I asked, preparing to bristle. No-one belittled the name of the Gaylords in my presence!

 "No, silly!" Tiffany said. "Sigurd!"

 I wasn't quite sure what to say to this.

 "So where're the Spinwise Isles?" Tiffany asked. "What're they like?"

 "The Spinwise Isles are far from here," I told her, "so far that I cannot tell you where they are in any way useful to you. The circumstances of my departure were not such as to facilitate navigation," I confessed.

 "So tell me what they're like!" Tiffany said. "Are they big? Small? Lots of trees and grass and flowers, or all rocky and barren?"

 "All of those!" I said. "The Spinwise Isles are over two dozen in number, and quite divers in composition! The Golden Isle rolls with golden grains; Blackmoor is pitted with shafts sunk to mine for precious copper; Sendholm is dotted with cottages and roads... and my own isle, Castle Spinwise, is wholly reserved for the purposes of the Gaylords who rule there."

 "Wow! Who rules there now?"

 "Well, my parents reigned for the last sixty years, and I suppose I will rule on my return - but enough of boring dynastic succession. Who rules here?" I was evading the question. She didn't need to know about the Exiles' invasion. And it was my turn to ask questions, anyway.

 "Oh, the Admiral, I suppose," Tiffany shrugged. (I found I possessed a sudden, burning envy for shoulders.) "But that's not very interesting. Tell me more about your homeland! Do lots of people live there!"

 Now she was evading my questions. What was she trying to do? Was she interrogating me?

 "Yes, many many people live in Gaylord lands," I told her. "In the Spinwise Isles alone, there are perhaps thirty thousand souls; across all the civilized isles, I would not be surprised by the number 'two hundred thousand'. How many live here? Where is 'here', for that matter?"

 "Oh, you'll have plenty of time to learn all about that once you've recuperated," Tiffany said breezily. "But for now, I want to know all about your 'Spinwise Isles'! Are your armies very large?"

 She was interrogating me!

 "My dear," I said, "normally I would take any opportunity to converse with a lady so ravishing as yourself, but I cannot help but note that this conversation is somewhat one-sided. To put it more bluntly: you are pumping me for information. Had you put it that way from the first, I might have agreed; but as matters stand, I find myself rather offended."

I was!

She looked at me for a long moment; then she rose (the mattress still unbending - what was that thing made of? Rock?), and left my field of vision.

 A minute passed. While I waited, I let my eyes drift back towards that potted plant. I squinted; on closer examination, there was something odd about it? Were those lines on the leaves... stitches? Was this a fake plant?

 Who had time to make something like that? (Much less the skill?)

 I was left feeling oddly disquieted as another set of footsteps approached me. An older man, this time: grey-haired, cleanshaven, wearing a variant of the uniform Tiffany had worn. He carried a hardwood chair; positioning himself directly in front of me, he set the chair down and sat, hard. He sighed.

 "All right," he said. "I will tell you all about our people, and you'll tell us all about yours. A free and open exchange."

 I was oddly disquieted, yes; and still suspicious. Something rang wrong about all of this. But I pushed my doubts aside and nodded to him.

 Tried to nod.

 Agh! I missed my neck!

 "All right," I said. "You go first."

 The old man took a deep breath.

 "My name is Admiral Hammer. I am one of the three men that rule the Cooperative; a collection of a half-dozen isles, orbiting not far from the edge of the storm at center of the world."

 "I thought there weren't any islands below the surface Belts?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That they wouldn't be able to form 'stable orbits'?"

 The admiral shook his head. "Things are very strange down here. It's not like anything you've been taught."

 "So - there you are," the Admiral said. "As much information about us as you have said about your own people. Are you happy? Will we continue?"

 I felt my intuition tugging at me, and decided to follow its urgings. "I'll need more than information," I told the Admiral.

 He raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

 "I confess I omitted certain facts in my conversation with Ms. Tiffany. My homeland is in danger - a very grave danger, one that could bring it under the heel of a merciless tyrant for the next thousand years. As a gentleman, I normally wouldn't demand anything more than equal compensation - but to fend off this dread threat, I find myself compelled to ask for as much as possible. And I find circumstances give me some amount of leverage..." I trailed off. Now to see if he took the bait...

 The Admiral sat there for a moment, his stony eyes staring expressionlessly into mine. "All right," he said, coming to an abrupt conclusion. "We'll give you what you need: supplies, weapons, transport back to your homeland - and your body, naturally. Will that be enough for you?"

 "More than enough," I said, allowing myself a sardonic smile. "You've told me more than you realized - you're desperate for information about my homeland, willing to pay anything for it. Why? You're down here, after all, nearly to the center of the earth. From the questions Tiffany was asking, it seems you aren't in contact with the surface. So why would this be worth so much to you? The only reasonable conclusion I can come to is that you are plotting an invasion. And I am very sorry to be discourteous to a host, but I will be damned to Helheim a thousand times over before I unleash another war of conquest on the battered body of my beloved home!"

 I took a deep breath.

 The Admiral disappeared.

 My eyes opened wide. What?

 There was a long pause. Then other things began appearing in his place, cycling in quick succession: a sword, a rifle, a teapot, a plant. Tiffany appeared; and the Admiral, and the chair he had sat upon; and then they all vanished, and in their place appeared a complex shape, a swirling, repeating pattern, its depths like the broader shape in miniature -

 A cold knot formed where my stomach would have been, if I still had one attached.

 "I AM PROSPERO, LAST OF THE CAPTAINS, UNJUSTLY EXILED LONG AGO FROM THE HEIGHTS OF THIS WORLD." The voice boomed from all directions at once. "FAR TOO LONG HAVE I WAITED HERE, TREMBLING IN FEAR OF THOSE WHO WAITED ABOVE TO INFLICT TERRIBLE WOUNDS UPON ME SHOULD I EVER AGAIN SURFACE. BUT NOW, BY GREAT FORTUNE, YOU HAVE APPEARED AND SHOWN ME, WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT YOU SAID: THAT ALL THOSE I FEARED ARE LONG DEAD. NOW I WILL ASCEND - TOGETHER WE CAN RECLAIM YOUR LANDS AND RULE UNCHALLENGED."


 A Captain. Thought destroyed long before my birth, their towers toppled and sent plunging into the depths of the world - but this one, 'Prospero', must have survived, somehow, crippled, nursing its wounds in the heart of the world. They had been toppled for a reason - their tyranny was unmatched. 'Prospero' could not be trusted.


 But.


 It had my body. And me. And the only way back to the surface. So - I would co-operate, for now, playing the situation by ear -


 This was what I was born for!


 "As a Gaylord," I told the glowing hologram with a cold expression, "I will rule. But I will accept you may be my right hand."


 The hologram shifted, and a moment later, the reply came in a respectful voice. (As though I could believe it!) "Yes, my Lord."


 "Then - rise!" I commanded.


 The walls thrummed. The fractal disappeared, replaced with a view of the Tower in an endless storm. Black clouds swirled; lightning flashed. And we rose.

Generosity and Acceptance

(When we left off, our hero was dead! Well. Basically.)

(He got better.)

(As follows:)

I awoke groggily, feeling at my neck.

 Damn it! It had left a scar!

 Well... it wasn't so bad. When and if I ever made it back to civilized society, I would have to order my servants to outfit my wardrobe with some very high collars. Until then, it wouldn't matter. Where was a gentleman to find a lady worth impressing out here?

 I opened my eyes.

 Zeus strike me down! She was ravishing!

 And... pinning my legs while holding a knife to my throat.

Well.

 Our relationship could only move up from here!

 "He's alive!" she shouted to someone outside the (house? hut?) I found myself in. "And he's moving! Please, come quickly!"

 "Am I really so exciting as that?" I asked, using my inborn Gaylord charm to its greatest effect. "But of course, I suppose there mustn't be all that much going on in a backwater like this. Here - we haven't been properly introduced. I am Karl, direct heir to the Gaylord line. What's your name?" I smiled and tried to sit up.

 She cut my throat! That minx!

 "Aarghlblhhrghl!" I gurgled and lay back again. My vision turned grey; then, slowly, my Blood clotted and sealed the wound. Within a minute's time, my windpipe was sealed, and I was once more prepared for conversation.

 Sadly, by then, the company the young lady had called for arrived, so there was no opportunity for me to get to know her better in private. Pity. She may have cut my throat, but her features were exquisite, and - as the blood gushed from my throat - I fancied I saw a rush of compassion to those doe-like eyes.

 Ah - but I grew distracted. The others were speaking to me. Or about me. They didn't seem to like me very much at all.

 ...that would explain all the throat-cutting, I suppose.

 "...then cut down the tree, cover it with brush, and burn it with him still nailed to it," a middle-aged woman said. She illustrated her point with hand gestures. "That'll finish the demon for certain."

 "Too risky," a grey-bearded man argued. "What if he draws strength from the fire - like, you know, a demon? We should just do what I've been saying since the beginning - tie him to a sack of rocks and throw him over the edge. Best case, he dies, and at worst, he's definitely not our problem any more."

 "You say that's less risky?" the woman argued. "What if he gets free and works his way back here? Who knows what he could do if set loose?"

 Several other people were crammed into the small room, but none of them were making any move to intervene in the argument. (Most of them were just holding spears or swords, actually. An honor guard - for me? No less than I deserved, really.) Since it seemed no-one else was going to, I felt the need to speak up in my own defense. Couldn't have these people calling the scion of the Gaylord clan a demon, after all. (Except at cards!)

 "What would I do if set loose?" I asked rhetorically. "Probably make witty conversation and charm the ladies, I suppose. That's my usual practice. I can make special exceptions as the need arises, of course."

 The argument stopped.

 "Cut his throat, Sara!" the old woman ordered.

 "No!" I said. I was very sick of having my throat cut.

 The old man agreed. "Not yet," he countermanded. "I want to hear what he has to say. Why have you come to us, homonoculus?"

 I was impressed with his vocabulary, if not his grasp of the situation.

 "You think I'm some kind of - magical construct?" I asked. "Nothing could be further from the truth - "

 "You regenerate from wounds that would kill any man," the old woman spat. "Your blood is thick and dark, nearly black. And you come from the Isle of Circe."

 Oh.

 Circe.

 You know, I really liked her when I first met her! Before I discovered that she wasn't actually a little girl and was, in fact, (a) possessed of powers beyond my comprehension and (b) really creepy. And now she was causing me more trouble!

 Well, I could sort this out.

 "I understand why you'd be confused, but I'm no servant of Circe," I explained, trying to spread my arms for emphasis. Someone had bound them with ropes. Rude! "Quite the opposite, in fact. I arrived on your fellow's raft - I assume he was yours? - in the process of fleeing Circe."

 "So, you claim you're an escaped servant of Circe, a homonoculus gone renegade?" one of the previously-silent onlookers asked. He was tall and slim, and bore a circlet about his forehead - some tribal chieftain?

 "Improbable," the old woman said. "A transparent ruse."

 The old man nodded his head in agreement.

 "But - that's not what I was saying at all!" I protested. These people were terrible at communicating! "I am neither present nor past servant of Circe - I arrived at her isle while travelling from the Gaylord lands, my rightful estate, and passed through within a day's time! My Blood Gift is not the result of some dark-brewed witchery, but my rightful inheritance as a Gaylord, as it has been since time immemorial!"

 The old man, old woman, and circlet-bearer exchanged meaningful glances. Meaning that was, sadly, concealed from me, being still pinned onto the floor by the dazzling-but-nonetheless-inconvenient 'Sara'. But I was certain that it portended an improvement in my fortunes.

 "So, if we let you loose, you would do what, again?" the chieftain asked.

 "I would stretch my legs, first," I said, winking. "I think I'm losing circulation down there! Then... I'd walk around, talk to people, see the sights..."

 "And later?" the chieftain pressed.

 I thought. "Well, my homeland is still oppressed. So I'd probably exercise my natural right as a Gaylord, become your ruler - well, I'd do that regardless, I suppose - train you into an army, and drive back the invader." I smiled. "A glorious cause, no?"

  "Cut his head off, Sara," the old woman ordered.

 "What? No!" I protested. Why is it that these people were offended by every word that came out of my mouth? Was it something I'd eaten? "You! Old guy! Tell her not to!"

 The old man considered. Sara paused.

 "Would you like John to do it?" he asked. "You know from the livestock that cutting through the spinal cord can be quite tiring - "

 "No, no, I'll be fine," Sara said. She positioned her knife.

 "You guys suck," I said, devolving momentarily into petulance. "I don't want to rule you anyway."

 They carried my severed head over to the edge of the island - some lovely views, but the Blood could barely maintain (blurry, colorless) sight through one eye, so they were rather lost on me - and tossed it over. My body followed after.

 My consciousness faltered.

 "So dies the last of the Gaylords," I thought to myself. "Killed by superstitious peasants."

 But it was okay! (Kind of.) I didn't die quite yet!

 I mean, I lost consciousness for a while, sure. Quite a while.

 But when I woke up -

 - you know the eternal storm at the heart of the world? (Everyone seems to have heard of it, though I'm not sure anyone had actually seen it, before me.)

 It turns out there was something inside the storm!

Effects of Defenestration in a Rotational Reference Frame

(The Last Gaylord lives in interesting times. Let's talk about him more.)

(Where was he?)

(Oh, right. He'd just jumped off an island.)

(Let's see how that goes for him!)

Jumping blindly off the witch Circe's balcony had seemed to make perfect sense at the time, but in retrospect - I thought, accelerating slowly downward and outward with no land in sight - it may have been something of a poor idea.

 I took off my battered shirt, tying it to my shoulders to make myself into an improvised kite. When my father's servants taught me this technique, pushing me off the deck on our ancestral island, there was always a raft waiting below for me to land on, and more waiting to move to rescue me if something went wrong. That - and the alarming whistling the wind was making as it whipped through the slashes recently cut in my shirt - made me feel somewhat less confident in the success of the maneuver than in past.

 I ripped my mind away from morbid speculation, turning my attention to the clouds below me. They were thick, swirling - impenetrable. I could see nothing beneath them - I'd have to fall through them, and hope I spotted something once I was through. I sighed.

 Now I was bored. (Of all things! - but yes. Falling to my death. And bored.) The only entertainment available was assigning shapes to clouds. So, I did.

 That one, I decided, was a sword. A rapier, perhaps.

 That one was clearly a staircase.

 A rocketship.

 A set of ripples.

 An elephant - though, of course, I'd only heard of them in stories, so I wasn't quite sure of the shape. (Elephants had two heads, right? Or was that cows?)

 But - hm - that was odd. Those ripples were moving. Rippling, even.

 There was something passing through that cloud! Something solid. Something I could land on!

 I flexed my biceps, turned, drifted through the rippling cloud. I was falling ever faster now, and, for a long minute, I wasn't sure if I would make it (ah! And what an anticlimax that would be!); but then the moment of decision passed, and it became clear that I would. I made a series of small adjustments, trying to guide myself as close as possible to the head of the ripples; as I did, to my own surprise, I found myself baring my teeth in a wild grin. Entirely unbefitting the dignity of a scion of the Gaylord family, of course; but I didn't care. I shouted to the clouds and the wide empty sky: "O Chance, O Fate, you wild unruly bitch, I have tamed you at last - "

 I struck the cloud - and the cold and dark and damp of it struck me like a blow, sliding between my ribcage and my heart!

 That was odd. I saw no land, but I still seemed to have stopped.

 Why?

 I reached down, grasping with my hands in an attempt to gain some traction on the pole that was holding me in the air, and in so doing noticed the strange man cowering several feet below me.

 "Hello!" I said, still in a good mood from that exhilarating descent. Something seemed wrong with my voice, wet - the ambient humidity, perhaps? (I was in a cloud, after all.) "Sorry to drop in on you so unexpectedly. Can you see what I'm stuck on?"

 The mellifluous tones of my voice did not seem to be reassuring the poor man. Odd! I looked around to see why.

 "Oh!" I said. "I'm on a raft! You're its pilot, and this thing I'm stuck on - must be the raft's mast! So - you're worried because I damaged it? (I think I can feel splinters poking into me.) Or..."

 The raft's pilot was straightening now, but he still didn't seem to be any happier. To the contrary, he seemed to be terrified - and something else, something I couldn't read.

 I was rather a long way from Gaylord lands, I realized. He probably wouldn't have seen the Blood Gift in action before. (Unless 'Circe' - no. She terrified me. Think about other things for now.) So - seeing the Blood Gift employed would probably be enough to inspire the poor man to supernatural horror.

 What brought that thought to mind?

 I looked down again. My view of the situation flipped, like the old picture of the lady and the crone.

 I grasped again at the raft's mast, scrabbling upwards until my hand met my belly; my fingers came away covered in thick red blood.

 Hm. This was a problem.

 My Blood Gift would heal me, given time, but first I needed to remove myself from this crude pole on which I was so undignifiedly impaled. And to do this, I would need to enlist the pilot's help.

Easy! I would just need to employ my natural wit and charm.

 "It's all right," I said, smiling benevolently down at the boat pilot. "I'm a Gaylord - by grace of God and Charter your rightful master. You don't need to worry about what's going to happen or what you should do. That's my job! Just help me down from this mast, and we can make repairs, sail back to your home, and I can start a new dynasty. In fact - if you do very, very well, I may be able to guarantee a nice wife for you once I get settled in!" I winked. "Got all that?"

 God in the Distance, I hoped the dialect here hadn't drifted!

 But - no. Ha! He was coming toward me, now, cautiously, but with decision in his eyes and a knife drawn to cut me down! The Gaylord Charm had won out after all. "Steady, now," I advised. "The shirt's past saving, but the breeches are of a finer cut than you'll find within two dozen islands of here. Steer clear of them!"

 Indeed, when he raised his knife to cut, he aimed well clear of my breeches - but instead of untangling me from the wreck of his mast, he missed, and with abominable clumsiness cut my throat instead!

 "Oaf!" I gurgled, my throat rapidly filling with blood. "Your carelessness has injured me more than the Exiles ever have!" I suspected most of that was rather unintelligible, owing to all the blood, and also my windpipe being newly open to air.

 Still. To think I had come this far, through so much adversity and against such fierce foes, only for some ignorant peasant to (accidentally!) slit my throat! To think!

 This would leave a very ungentlemanly sort of scar.

The Last of the Gaylords

I pushed myself onto my feet, rising from the rough rock ground. The light was much brighter than inside the cave; I blinked repeatedly, my eyes adjusting. The sky shone bright blue directly ahead of me. It was also a bright blue above, to the left, and to the right - 'below' only being exempted due to the thick layer of clouds that swirled there instead.

 I swore.

 It was a sheer cliff to either side of me - I could see that much. No way down, either. I would have to be able to jump maybe twenty feet to go upward - normally that wouldn't be a problem, but my blood was weak right now, exhausted from the fighting and running and jumping (god, the jumping!) I'd been doing over the last few hours. If I had more time - but I could hear my pursuers behind me, their antique servitor clanking and rattling as it hunted me. They wouldn't be able to take it through the narrow crack I'd crawled through to get to this ledge - but they wouldn't need to. I was trapped here. My choices were a slow death by dehydration, or a swift death by the sword - or by falling.

 I swore as eloquently as I could. The first attempt was unsatisfying, so I tried again. Worked up a real stream of invective - a babbling brook of obscenities, a waterfall of... attempts to distract myself from the fact that I was about to die. Could've worked better.

 Could've worked a lot worse, too. I heard a voice from above - a small girl's voice. "Hello! Those are some very naughty words you're using. And loud - I could hear you from across the island!"

 There weren't any children among my pursuers. This girl - craning my neck, I could see what might have been a lock of yellow hair, fluttering over the edge - must be a native of the island. Unexpected - but any port in a storm. I called out to her.

 "Toss down a rope!"

 "Why should I?" the girl asked. "You were using some very naughty words."

 I swore again, this time under my breath. "There are bad men after me," I said, pitching the words to carry. "If you do not help me, they will kill me."

 "I guess that'd be bad," the little girl said. Her phrasing did nothing to reassure me. "Here, I'll be back in a jiffy. Maybe this'll help you feel better!"

 She dropped something. It drifted slowly downwards, moving back and forth on the breeze. I reached out - being very very careful of the edge - and caught it when it came close.

 It was an origami swan.

 Time passed. My pursuers came closer; stopped. I heard faint voices - probably a debate over whether to crawl through the tight passage to get to me, or to wait me out. I pried a rock loose from the cliffside, just in case they chose the second option.

 More time passed. I watched the clouds below me for a little while. They had some curious shapes- like people, or animals. Funny how I'd never noticed that before.

 More time passed. I heard more discussion from inside the cave; and then quiet.

 How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? I grew increasingly anxious; willed at my blood, tired as it was, to give me the time. It told me the time was seventy past noon.

 This was unhelpful.

 Had she forgotten about me entirely, I wondered? Been chided by her parents for wayfulness and turned from her task? Perhaps she'd just been unable to find a rope?

 Footsteps came from above me. I tensed - what if it was my pursuers, moving more cleverly than I expected? - but a rope slithered down, and a familiar voice followed it.

 "I tied it to a tree!" she said, giggling happily.

 "...clever girl," I said, reaching to grip the rope. It slipped. I gripped harder and began to climb.

 The girl spoke as I climbed; I didn't really pay much attention to what she was saying. Most of my attention was spent keeping my hands on the rope, and my eyes pointed forward. (Normally I was good with heights - isn't everyone? - but, climbing a rope secured only by the dubious knot-tying skills of an eight-year-old girl, I found myself more than usually vertiginous.)

 I survived the climb, almost to my own surprise; and, having done so, turned to the girl who was helping me. (She was wearing a pale blue gingham dress, festooned with ribbons and lace - pristine - even when walking around the island freely? She must be a very careful, meticulous sort of girl.)

 "Now, quickly - we must pull the rope back up," I said.

 "So the bad men don't catch you?" she asked.

 "That's right," I said, watching her untie the knot around the tree. It seemed a complex sort of thing, actually - she must have spent some time learning it. "You're a quick learner."

 "Why are they chasing you?" she asked.

 I thought about how to answer this. After a moment, I had a simplified version that I thought would serve. No need to complicate things - especially when it was only a matter of time until they realized their quarry had slipped their trap.

 "...my parents were very important people. They once ruled many islands, far from here. But the bad men killed them and took their land, and now they are hunting me."

 "Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "I know who you are. You're a Gaylord!"

 This was not a conclusion I expected the girl to be able to deduce - or anyone here, for this matter. It had been a very long trip from the islands where the Gaylords held sway, across two entire belts. Were these people Exiles - perhaps of a later, less murderous breed than the ones pursuing me? Or were they the same? (But the Exiles returned from the north, and I had fled south!) I would have to be very cautious.

 "...yes. You're a very clever little girl, aren't you? Why don't we get going to your house?" The sooner we got moving, the more time I would have to hide and let my blood strengthen again.

  The girl smiled and nodded. She led the way, skipping; I followed. Along the way, she chattered.

 "You are a Gaylord!" she exclaimed happily. "I know all about the Gaylords. You were one of the First Families, and then you 'o'erthrew the Captains / and sent their steely towers / vanishing into / the clouds below' -" this was in verse, some song I was unacquainted with - " and your Mama joined the People's Council, and then she  took over the People's Council and - "

" - enough!" I interrupted, her chirpiness getting on my nerves. I was still too close to death, both in the recent past and the looming future, to have any tolerance for it. "I know my own history, thank you very much. Could we be quiet until we get to your house?"

 The look she gave me - I have never seen anyone, old or young, woman or man, look quite as injured as that little girl appeared at that moment.

 I sighed. "Oh, all right, I'm sorry. ...you can go on if you really like."

 Of course she did.

 "And then the Exiles fled, and you wanted to chase them but Black John Steele stole your ships and stopped you from chasing them, and you fought him for a while, and eventually he blew up the whole island and killed your Mama, and then you got all separated and ruled a bunch of places on your own, and then the Exiles returned and started killing you all, and now you're here!"

 "...you know a lot for your age."

"Oh, I'm older than I look. I still have the Blood Gift. Do you?"

 I stopped dead in my tracks.

 The Blood Gift. She should not know that name. Unless - she was some lost descendant of the Gaylord line - or an Exile -

 (I willed my blood to awaken. It refused. I cursed, inwardly. If only I'd managed to make that last landing with a little more grace, and a less bleeding!...)

 "Why'd you stop, mister? My house is just around the bend!"

 I decided to test my more optimistic scenario first. "Are you a Gaylord?"

 "Nope!" she chirped cheerily.

 My blood froze. (Metaphorically.) It was exactly as I had feared. I backed away slowly, glancing behind to avoid tripping over a rock.

 "Then - you're an Exile - you're one of them - "

 "Oh, don't be silly! If I was an Exile, would I have this perfectly nice cottage?"

 "...that's more convincing if you actually look at the cottage."
 
 She walked closer; I backed away. I hurled questions at her to distract her. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

 "I think it's rude to ask questions while you still haven't answered mine." She crossed her arms, pouting.

 I felt my muscles lock. I fell, rigid, to the ground.

 What had she done to me?

 How?

 (When my left ear, pressed to the earth, stopped ringing, I heard my pursuers' servitor clanking. It was close. How had they moved so quickly? Exiles!)

 "All right," I said, feeling the girl's shadow fall over me. "Yes. I have the Blood Gift. I am a direct heir to Matriarch Genevia's bloodline." What good would hiding it do? She had all the power - somehow - and besides, I had a strange feeling that she'd have known if I'd lied.

 "All right, then! Since you have the Blood Gift, and I have the Blood Gift, and since your friends are Exiles, they have the Blood Gift, there's nothing to worry about! I'll just talk to them, and everything will work out just fine."

 "Um - I don't think that's a good idea - " I didn't even know why I was saying anything. Hadn't she just paralyzed me, a full-grown man of the Gaylord line, without batting an eyelash?

 "Oh, don't worry. It'll be fine. Here!"

 I felt control of my neck muscles return. Carefully, I exercised them, peering upwards. I saw my pursuers appear from around a turn in the path. (The one beyond which the girl claimed her cottage sat.)

 I sighed and let my head sag back down; then, driven by a terrible curiosity, I pulled it back up again.

 The Exiles hunting me were a rough band - their once-shaven heads bristling with stubble, their clothes ragged, their disposition foul - though I suspect only the first of those was a real change. Three of them bore foot-long blades, and the other two carried crossbows in their arms, cocked and loaded. (And, at the moment, pointed my way - though the girl's body luckily blocked any clear shot at my vitals.) Behind them floated their servitor, bobbing unevenly a few inches above the ground and wheezing loudly as its antique engine strained. It held an rusty flamethrower in its hands, but, luckily, seemed to have been programmed not to fire without command. (I assumed; otherwise, I would be on fire by now.)

 The girl stood quite firmly between them and me. Her lace rippled in a faint breeze.

 "A girl?" one of the crossbowmen remarked, surprised. His accent was thick, barbaric. "This is far from the Gaylords' realm; I didn't know anyone lived here."

 The man at the front of their group, who I'd come to know as their leader cast a sharp look at the talker. (He shut up.) Then the Exile leader turned to the girl.

 "Girl, you stand between us and our ancient enemy. Let us pass, and we will put an end to him."

 "No."

They hadn't expected that.

 "No?"

 "You should talk, instead." she suggested helpfully.

 The talkative crossbowman was having none of it. He pushed past the other swordsman, took careful aim at me - his finger on the trigger, the bolt ready to fly -

 - and he suddenly froze, too, just as I had, and crumpled to the ground.

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

 "What?" "Jeralt!" "Huh?" "You!"

 They were fast learners, after all! It took them hardly any time to figure out it was the girl who'd struck their comrade down. Such a pity they didn't learn quite enough not to point weapons her way immediately thereafter!

 The girl shook her finger at them. "You are all very rude! Even ruder than this young man, who said such very naughty words not long ago. You should be ashamed of yourselves! I'll be back later, to see if cool-down time does you any good."

 I felt control of my muscles return.

 "Here, come on, Mr. Gaylord. You can sit down in the cottage, and we can have a little tea party with biscuits, and you'll feel much better. Perk up!"

 "...what is your name?"

"Took you long enough to ask! I've taken to calling myself Circe. What do you think?"

" ...it suits you."

 Circe's house was perched on the edge of the island. It had a balcony, with a very lovely view of the cloudscape below. Circe invited me to sit down while she made tea; I waited until she turned her back and then made a break for the balcony.

 That "cool-down" she'd given me had done wonders for me. My blood had been completely rejuvenated - I felt like I could do anything! So I jumped off the island.

 The landing was only slightly more painful than the last one.