As the egg-shaped ship drifted toward Swallow’s shore, Rhei jostled to get a better view—past a mother with her baby nestled in a sling, past four or five tradesmen clustered in front of the tinker’s stand, past a mason repairing the rocky wharf.

Near the water, she scrunched between barrels of smelly fish parts, instinctively pressing the back of her hand against her nose to impede the briny odor of decay. To think, the unfortunates ate this refuse. Hunger must drive a person to tolerate the intolerable.

Tolerate the intolerable. Didn’t that describe what Rhei was doing this very minute? To satiate the yearning that intensified every day, she would endure just about any unpleasantness.

Pressure built within her chest. In moments she could be feasting on the knowledge she longed for. Why had these travelers come to Hol? Were they friendly? Intelligent? Wise? Handsome? What language did they speak? And more importantly, what did they know about The Beyond?

Questions. As always, her questions stoked the fire within her soul—the fire she lived with every day despite what others said or did to her.

In childish naiveté, her first word had been a question. Of course her mother, rather than praising her achievement, scolded her for her unnatural curiosity.

As Rhei grew, she realized her questions inevitably brought chastisement, but how could she quench the burning desire to know? How could she look at the trivial bits of life without asking why they were? How could she study living things and not ask what brought them to be? And most especially, how could she look at the charcoal-gray clouds that sealed the sky and not asked what existed beyond?

Certainly someone in Hol had to know. She asked her father, but he beat her. She asked the youth instructor. He excluded her from tutelage. She asked Hol’s Founder, and the governance passed a resolution banning speculation about The Beyond.

When Rhei asked why, the city elders threatened her with exile. The local matriarchs ignored her as they would a crazy person and kept their sons and daughters far from her. Her own father had disowned her, forcing her to move to a storehouse near the docks, but it was there she had first heard the rumor.

The strange ship bobbed past Rhei toward the far berth, not the near one as she expected. If she stayed here between the barrels she wouldn’t be able to overhear the strangers or watch them as they came ashore. Bursting from her useless vantage point, she collided with the Founder, righted herself, then rushed for a spot near the water.

“See here, young woman.” The Founder’s voice followed her over the stone wharf to the pulley draw where yardmen worked to secure the strange ship to the port clamps.

Rhei glanced over her shoulder at Hol’s leader, hoping the gathering crowd would distract him.

He straightened his spectacles before shouldering past the vegetable venders, his hardwood boot-heels banging on the stone. “Young woman, I will not have you upsetting our visitors with your questions.” He held up a hand, stopping her from responding. “If I so much as hear you ask a question of any kind, I will bar you from the welcoming ceremonies. Should the arbiter declare your action to be willful, I’ll ban you from the city.” Without waiting for a reply, he swung toward the disembarkation plank. Situating himself in front, he fingered the collar of his tawny shirt, then each of his vest’s shiny brass-leaf buttons.

Rhei collapsed onto a fisherman’s bench. Not ask questions? Not ask strangers about their strange clothing, speech, gestures, habits? Not ask what they knew about the rumored fire beyond the clouds? Here, about to step off this odd ship, was someone who could ease this incessant pressure inside her, and she was not allowed to ask questions?

As Rhei stared at the bobbing vessel, a weathered seaman, spry for someone so wrinkled and gray, bounded from the cabin and hoisted himself to the disembarkation plank. He raised both hands, pivoting in a slow circle. When he again faced the crowd assembled on the wharf, he smiled. “Greetings from Tonum.” His voice was steady, though his deliberate pronunciation carried a slight accent. “I bring the good people of Swallow a present.” He gestured toward a pile of boxes stacked near the plank. “May our two nations live in harmony.”

The Founder squinted through his spectacles. “Harmony! Nothing has changed that I am aware of to alter Swallow’s age-old harmony with all our neighbors.”

Rhei snorted. “Because we have no contact with our neighbors.”

Glaring at her, the Founder addressed the seasoned seaman still perched on the disembarkation plank. “Dismiss whatever this one says to you, traveler. She borders on becoming an unfortunate, and I’m sure you know how unconventional that lot is.”

The traveler strode down the plank, but instead of stopping in front of the Founder, looking him up and down, and telling him what a distinguished figure he was and how privileged Hol was to have him guide the city into the future, he angled toward Rhei.

“I’m sorry,” he said, at last shifting his gaze to the Founder, “what are the unfortunates?”

The fishermen, venders, matriarchs, and elders lingering within earshot gasped.

The traveler scanned their faces. “Have I said something to offend you?”

Puffing up like a blowfish, the Founder smoothed down the front of his shirt. “Your first visit to Swallow. Of course, our ways and customs and people are all new to you. The unfortunates are of no consequence. What a finely tailored suit of clothing you’re wearing. I’ve long admired linen.”

The traveler studied his long-sleeved shirt, then his trousers as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “If you like, I’ll have one of the lads fetch my spare uniform. You’re welcome to it.” He turned toward his ship and beckoned. “I would not have thought successful merchants such as yourselves had a lack of goods.”

“Certainly, sir, we do not.” The Founder’s resemblance to a blowfish was more pronounced than before.

Rhei hid a smile with a wide yawn, covering that with her hand.

A buoyant youth appeared at the traveler’s side, listened to a muffled command, and scurried back to the ship.

“He’ll have that spare uniform here for you in no time.”

“Why, I … the idea. Sir, I assure you, I am not an unfortunate and have no need of any of your clothing. Keep your spare uniform. Or you may wish to wear it yourself at your welcoming ceremony.”

“A ceremony. What an honor.” One corner of the older man’s mouth turned up.

“Of course.”

“What time will this welcoming take place?”

Eyeing the traveler as he would a pile of dung he needed to step around, the Founder massaged the loose skin beneath his chin. “All gatherings begin at the lighting of the lamps.”

The traveler glanced at the low cloud cover. “Might turn dark soon, with a sky like this.”

The Founder stepped back. “At the lighting of the lamps, sir. And I trust your vessel will be underway on the morrow at the earliest hour.” He spun from the traveler and marched toward town, his nose high enough to test the wind.

The crowd—the few people who didn’t bolt at the stranger’s first question—dwindled into the gathering shadows.

With a shrug, the traveler flashed a bewildered grin in Rhei’s direction. “Was it something I said?”

“Most Swallowites don’t like questions.” With a finger, she traced a miniscule fissure in the fisherman’s bench.

The creases between the traveler’s graying eyebrows deepened, and he sidled in front of her. “No questions? How can anyone learn if they don’t ask questions?”

Rhei scooted to the edge of her seat. “That’s what I think, too.”

“Ah, a harmonious spirit.” The aging seaman’s grin widened. He glanced past her toward the center of town. “Too bad, since I’ll be leaving on the morrow. I could have learned a great deal about Swallow from you.”

“There’s not much to learn. What you see here in Hol is a picture of the entire nation.”

Reaching for the railing that marked the edge of the wharf, the traveler leaned back. “But there’s the problem. I won’t be in Hol long enough to see much of anything.” 

Rhei’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm beneath the bench. The Founder had forbidden her to ask questions, and he had an uncanny way of discovering noncompliance, but maybe, just maybe she could still learn about these Tonumians without asking questions. “Perhaps I can help you learn what you want to know.”

His gaze shifted toward her frayed shawl. “For a fee?”

“Of sorts. You ask me what you want to know. After I answer, you give me the same information about Tonum.”

“That’s all you wish?”

“That’s more than I could dream.”

“Then I agree.” With a nimble spring, he perched on the rail, his back to the sea. “Is it true Swallow has always been at peace with its neighbors?”

“We cannot quarrel with people we never contact.” She leaned forward. “Your turn.”

“Tonum has been in many wars, mostly with Cadreel in the south.” He peered into Rhei’s eyes as if reading her unspoken question, then added, “They attack us because they wish to appropriate the tableland bordering their country. Now my next question. Why don’t you have contact with your neighbors?”

Rhei straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Unfair. That question has no equivalent for Tonum.”

“Ah, but I already told you why we have wars.”

She nodded, relaxing her arms and resting her hands in her lap. “I’ll give you that. Swallow’s overseer—all the governance really—is afraid of … controversy.”

“Controversy?”

“It’s sure to come. Generations past, Swallow nearly destroyed itself with a civil war. Contact with other peoples is certain to stir up the disagreement again.”

“What disagreement?”

In the deepening gloom, Rhei glanced over her shoulder. A shadowy figure moved toward the nearest lamp, and a flame flickered, then flared inside the bulbous globe atop the post. “You should go. The welcoming celebration is about to begin.”

“So soon? But you still haven’t told me what caused Swallow’s civil war.”

“I’ll need some information from you in return.”

“Name it.”

“Not now. The Founder will not tolerate you being late, especially if he learns you were talking to me.”

The traveler brushed a hand over the gray stubble on his chin. “I thought I’d have more time to ready myself. It seems your cloud cover has brought an early night.”

Rhei clutched her hands together. “I’ve waited all my life to speak of these matters.”

“The cause of your civil war?”

She snickered. “In a way. One faction—the defeated faction—claimed unknowable knowledge.”

“Ah!” He slipped from his perch. “Knowledge about …”

“The Beyond.”

“Beyond what?”

“Beyond the clouds.”

“You mean, knowledge about the sun?”

Rhei gasped. “Then it’s true!”

“Your people don’t know about the sun?”

“Some of us—maybe most of us—have heard the rumors.”

He rested his elbows on the rail and leaned back. “But you don’t believe them.”

“You’re saying you do.”

“They aren’t rumors. The sun exists.”

“And you have a reason to believe such a wild claim.”

“I’ve seen it. All Tonumians have.”

“You’ve seen the fiery ball hanging over your heads! You must be terrified.”

He chuckled. “When you say it like that, I suppose we should be, but no, we’re not. When you see it every day, I guess you take it for granted.”

Once again crossing her arms, Rhei studied the traveler’s face for any hint of deception. “You see beyond the clouds every day. That couldn’t be possible.”

“Most days Tonum is above the clouds.”

“Above! So you see…”

“The sun dancing across a sky the color of the mountain iris.”

“A blue sky. And this sun, this ball of fire. You say it sways above your towns, but you’re not afraid.”

The traveler shook his head. “I don’t think of it as a ball of fire.”

“Then this ‘sun’ is not what we’ve heard it to be.”

“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain. It’s just so bright you can’t actually look at it.”

“You said you’ve seen it.” Disappointment pinched her tone.

“I have.” The traveler straightened. “Sometimes cloud wisps veil its brightness so you can look right at it. It’s more like … a bright, round disk.”

Rhei repositioned her shawl over her shoulders. “Then it’s possible you’re seeing an allusion, as the disbelievers say.”

“People actually say that?”

“Our eyes can play tricks. If you’ve only seen this disk when it’s veiled…”

“But when the sun is unveiled, its brightness fills the sky. It outshines every candle and chases away the dark.”

“Dark!” Rhei looked around at the night gloom. “You shouldn’t keep the Founder waiting.”

“I need to change into my spare shirt at least.” With a wink and a chuckle, he headed toward his ship. At the top of the embarkation plank, he glanced back. “Meet me here after the ceremony so we can finish this conversation.”

Acknowledging his invitation with a raise of her hand, she swiveled about to see who might have overheard their exchange. With a wavering flame, the lamp lighter stretched to the top of the last post at the far end of the lane, his shadow blending into the dusk. No one else appeared along the walkway—no one she could see, at least.

Keeping to the darkest side of the passageway, she headed for the Founder’s palace in the center of town. The citizens of Hol would don their finery and bring their fanciest fare for the lavish feast. She had no finery and nothing to contribute to the meal. Still, she could watch the festivities from the fringe—though her presence there would give credence to the Founder’s belief that she would soon become an unfortunate. But how could she pass up the enjoyment of watching the strangers?

When she arrived at the gate, she lingered off to one side until a party of elders and their families piled out of a carriage. As the servants maneuvered the vehicle away from the entrance, the gatekeeper shouted directions and stepped away from his post.

Rhei eased through the gateway. Not that she didn’t belong at the welcoming ceremony—unless the Founder assessed her demeanor to be rebellious … or her clothing disreputable…or her stance aloof or… Better if she entered the common without calling attention to herself.

She trailed the others until they approached the table laden with stuffed pumpkin, curried shellfish, broiled shark, fried peppers and barley, and a dozen other tantalizing dishes. As the spicy aromas reached her, her stomach rumbled.

Slipping around a column, she edged upwind toward the palace grove. No need to torture herself. Watching the others eat would be hard enough without smelling the savory food all night.

“When does he want it done?” The gruff voice was so low, at first Rhei wasn’t sure she heard correctly. Someone else in Hol asking a question?

She melted into the shadows of a side portico, scrunching between a stairway and another pillar. Half sitting, half kneeling, she peered toward the sound of the voice near the tree line.

“It should be done already.” This voice was a mere whisper, maybe another man’s, but maybe a woman’s.

The gruff voice rumbled, like thunder foreshadowing a storm. “Not my fault. He stayed on shore instead of returning to his ship.”

Rhei clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp rising in her throat. This furtive conversation was about the traveler.

The whisperer snorted. “So a girl scared you off.”

Metal grated on metal, and the tip of a sword showed from behind the trunk of a tree. The gruff voice hardened. “If you’re challenging my courage …”

“Put that away. If you still hope to be paid, put it away now.”

“I better be paid.” Once again metal slid across metal, more slowly this time.

“Then finish the job.”

A dark figure slunk toward the gateway.

“I don’t trust him.” That comment from a surly voice Rhei hadn’t heard before.

The whisperer murmured something too soft to catch, then added, “He cares nothing about the rumors.”

“We cannot afford to fail.”

“You have a plan.”

A note of satisfaction crept into the surly voice. “A surprise, shall we say. A special drink, handed to the traveler by the Founder’s daughter. He dare not refuse.”

The whisperer sniggered. “That should silence his tongue.”

Grass swished, and the hum of conversation grew fainter.

Rhei sagged against the pillar. Had she really heard a plot to kill the traveler from Tonum? But why? To keep him from talking about what was beyond the clouds? That had to be the rumor they alluded to. After all, the dispute about The Beyond nearly destroyed Swallow before, and beneath the veneer of meticulous adherence to protocol, strong feelings still raged.

But the traveler could bring an end to the disquiet by revealing to all of Swallow what existed beyond the clouds. With his crew to verify what he said, with all of Tonum, if need be, who could doubt the existence of the fiery ball beyond?

Unless whoever wanted to kill him aimed to prevent revelation of the truth. Then, killing the traveler was only the first step in a greater scheme.

One way or the other, she had to warn him.

As Rhei vaulted for the main gate, the chief steward stepped out onto the portico and blew the horn announcing the Founder. The servants stopped bustling about. The citizenry rose to their feet. Rhei slowed, then stopped. She couldn’t contemptuously ignore protocol without drawing attention to herself. If they threw her out of the ceremony, she’d never have a chance to warn the traveler.

The Founder raised a hand to direct the citizenry back to their seats, but paused, scanning the crowd. “The Tonumians are not among us.”

The steward shifted from one foot to the other. “They have yet to arrive, sir.”

The Founder sniffed. “We won’t wait.”

“Wait for what?” The traveler stood just inside the seldom-used eastern gate, his voice booming across the common.

Pivoting toward him, the Founder clutched his hands behind his back. “Sir, your incessant questions are rude and tiresome. If it were not for the fact that the governance of Swallow requires a welcoming ceremony for all travelers, we would have no more of your company.”

As the traveler moved toward the portico, his crew filed through the gate behind him. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Founder. I mean no disrespect. In Tonum questions are not considered impolite.”

With a wave of dismissal, the Founder turned to the steward. “Have them dine someplace out of my sight.”

The steward scurried down the steps, the lone tuft of hair on the back of his otherwise bald head flapping behind him. “If you’ll follow me.” He ushered the Tonumians to a long table near the grove, away from the others. “Sit here. I’ll see to your meals.”

A chill, like a gust of foggy air, swept over Rhei. With the meal would come the Founder’s daughter to attend to the guests, the most likely occasion for her to serve a deadly drink. Rhei had to alert the traveler.

She navigated around family clusters sprawled on the grass and dodged servants rushing back and forth to the food table until she reached the isolated strip of the common. A watchman stepped in front of her. “No one allowed to bother the Tonumians, child.”

With an abrupt nod, Rhei backed away, pulling her shawl tighter. She glanced around the common. Servants bustled about the food table, two plates in one hand, ladling out generous helpings of each dish. Except for the steward. The plates he prepared held skimpy portions and little meat. When he finished, he picked his way toward the traveler’s table.

Rhei eased in behind a female servant spooning out curry. She grabbed up two plates from the stack and ladled out small portions on each. As she made her way around the end of the table, the steward caught hold of her arm.

“So you’ve resorted to filching an extra plate of food. Just like the unfortunates. The Founder was right about you all along.”

“I’m not filching it. I… I thought I could help serve.”

“Serve yourself, no doubt.” He pried the plates from her grip. “Be off. We don’t need the likes of you.”

Rhei started at his surly tone. As she backed away, she glanced toward the traveler’s table. A servant set down a jug of wine at the head, another in the middle.

Still no sign of the Founder’s daughter, though protocol called for her to make her appearance before the meal was over. There still might be enough time to warn the traveler, if Rhei could get close.

A gust of wind swept over the common, raining leaves onto the Tonumians’ table—the table stuck off to the side by the grove. She scrambled back toward the gate and circled around behind the stand of trees. She reached a spot where she could see snatches of the diners between the branches, then headed toward them. Twigs scratched her cheeks and snagged her shawl, but she shook free and stepped up her pace.

Suddenly a hand caught her by the arm. “Hello, Rhei. I thought we were meeting after the celebration.” The traveler smiled down at her.

“You’re in danger. The steward… They’re planning to poison your drink.”

He released her and stepped back. “Why would anyone in Swallow want to harm me?”

She gazed into his bewildered eyes. “You know the truth about The Beyond.”

“So do all Tonumians.”

“They will never let you tell the citizens of Hol. Unless you leave now, you and your crew may not escape alive.”

“But if we don’t drink the wine…”

She shook her head. “There’s an armed man, too. Someone for hire.”

The traveler glanced toward the table near the tree line. “If my men and I leave together, the Founder is sure to take offense.”

The steward’s horn sounded, and a hush fell over the common.

Rhei stretched on tiptoe and whispered, “He’s about to announce the Founder’s daughter, assigned by protocol to attend you. The drink she will offer is meant to silence your tongue.”

He nodded, then mouthed the words, “The armed man?”

She pointed in the direction of the main gate.

Conversations once again hummed around the common.

“Then we’ll leave the way we came. You’ll need to come with us, Rhei.” The traveler reached for the thin branch blocking their path and pushed it back.

Instead of passing through the opening, she retreated a step.

He motioned her toward the table. “You can’t stay here, you’ll be at risk.”

“No one knows that I heard their plans.”

Letting the branch snap back in place, he faced her. “You could see the sun for yourself.”

She shook a finger at him. “You really don’t compete fairly.”

From the common, the steward’s voice boomed. “The Founder’s daughter must not be kept waiting. Such an insult. You may as well declare war on our entire nation.”

“Thank you,” Rhei said. “I will forever picture brightness dancing in a field of blue.” She sprang through the grove to the Tonumian’s table and snatched up a jug of wine. Spotting the Founder’s daughter, she sprinted toward her, knocked the cup from her hand, then veered toward the main gate.

“Stop that girl!” The steward’s voice again turned surly.

Rhei weaved away from the first man to lunge at her, then ducked behind a food table and tipped it toward the steward. Dishes clatter together, and food splattered over the grass. She stole a glance beyond her pursuers. The traveler’s table was empty.

The Founder’s voice boomed over the chaos. “Bring her to me.”

She backed away. From behind, a provost clamped her arms to her sides. The steward reached for her. She whipped her foot toward him, catching the meat of his calf.

He staggered. “Why you…”

“Bring her now.”

The provost hauled her up the steps to the portico overlooking the sea.

With the back of his hand, the Founder slapped her across the cheek. “You dissident, disrupting all protocol.” He turned to the steward stumbling up behind them. “I suppose she was trying to steal food.”

“A jug of wine,” he said, in that same surly voice.

“You’ll pay for embarrassing us like this in front of the Tonumians.” The Founder’s fingers wandered over the buttons on his vest. “Take her to the cavern.”

As the provost dragged her away, she strained to look past the Founder to the sea. In the distance, a line of sailors filed up the embarkation plank while one released the ropes tied to the port clamps.

“Find the darkest pit to throw her in,” the Founder shouted. “May she rot there.”

Rhei smiled. She’d start with the provost first, then the guard and the servant that would deliver her food. If there were other prisoners, she’d tell them, too, then the arbiter when he reviewed her case. They’d listen, and some might even believe her. But even if they didn’t, she would always possess the image of the ball of brightness dancing across the sky, and that was enough.