You can miss places. You can miss people. But can you miss yourself? I miss myself.

LoG, 284

Drian was leaning against the earthen wall, waiting. The Wellers of all ages surrounded him. They rushed from one side of The Bottom to the other, in various directions. Everybody ran around him on all fours, creating the sense of urgency in Drian. To him, it looked as if they weren't the humans that were passing him by, but the ghastly silhouettes of various animals.

Everyone was now saying goodbye to old Meno as they saw fit.

If you can even say goodbye to someone whose brain had just been spilt, Drian thought, half-amused, half-indignant. The next day they will take him to The Tunnel of Glory, according to Liton. I wonder where he is. Probably issuing orders related to Meno's Rising. I hope that Sceptagog's mother will soon prepare the body. It wouldn't be good for us to get caught by The Dark.

Four Wellers who stood close to Drian were playing with a little girl. When he strained his eyes to see them better, he recognised the child he gave the water to drink only a few hours ago.

Mila. Liton said that was her name.

She turned around and stared at him.

Oh, yes. Superhearing or whatever. She must have developed it underground, in the darkness, along with a lack of vision.

A second later, she was standing beside him, covered with a dirty black cloth. She bared her teeth in a sign of recognition. Then she pounded her hands on the ground, squealing and turning in circles. Eventually, Mila pulled something out of her waist "apron" and offered it to him.

"Thank you, this ... Um ... It's very nice of you," Drian cleared his throat, not knowing what to do with the hard rectangular thing.

Mila pointed to her mouth and patted her stomach. "Eat. That–is–food," she barked and smiled when he tried to take out a pocket-shaped stone knife.

"So, I should just bite it?" Drian grinned back.

Mila nodded vigorously.

Drian shrugged and sank his teeth with all his might into a piece of tough and resistant meat. Then, he closed his eyes in pain but made sure not to complain about anything. I hope I didn't break my tooth. In the name of Mind! What are these people eating? Where did she get this meat from? I bet it's not from The Market Square. Oh well. If it's tasty, it's best not to think about its origins.

He patted the girl on the head. She happily bounced back and returned to the adults who were expecting her.

Apart from them being strong and physically fit... There is a kindred spirit of unity and belonging among them. I never felt anything like that at The House of Credo when The Mind or The Fount were in question. The Wellers are always bound to one another. They have each other. And what about me? I was always on my own or committed to an abstract creator instead of dedicating myself to living human beings around me. My controlling father surely doesn't count as one.

A moment later, Drian repented for such thoughts. He gently touched a whirlwind on his robe as always when he felt nervous.

As he watched the small community, he thought what it would be like to immortalise them in his painting. He loved to paint. There were already colours, forms, and thousands of voices that constantly shouted and screaming in his head. They wanted Drian to hear them out, giving suggestions on how he could portray them.

Liton surprised him, slapping him on his back. "What's up? Why so thoughtful? Ready to go?"

"Where's the body?" Drian looked around.

"Oh, about the body: I don't know what you said to Dera, but she is all for The Glass Dome transfer now. Congratulations. Here comes the corpse, don't fret," Liton smiled.

"That's not a laughing matter." Drian rubbed his nape.

"Ah, yes. I forgot how sensitive you are about these things. The dead man and so on, blah, blah," said The King of the Tunnels. "Listen. You did your job, comrade. Don't feel guilty."

"We must respect the dead," Drian scolded him, changing the subject.

"Comrade. It's just the body, and nothing more. I respect who he was and the memory of him. But, the body that we will now transfer to The Glass Dome? That's not him. That's just a piece of meat. It's no different from the one you just ate."

Drian choked up and coughed.

"I wanted to say, immovable and insignificant. Not 'human'," Liton guffawed. "And oh, here comes our piece of meat."

Drian, determined to ignore Liton's jokes, looked in the direction that The Leader of The Wellers pointed out. He saw Sceptagog's mother, Dera, arrive with her dead son. She had wrapped the body in a black cloth head to toe. She carried him above her head, in a horizontal position, holding his feet on one side, and his hands on the other.

How can she? How does she have the strength to raise him so? Drian wondered.

Dera lowered the body to the ground. The mother knelt beside her son. She whispered something indiscernible into his ear. She waited for Liton's sign for the movement.

"I thought your honorary guard would bring the young man's body," Drian said.

"Yes, this is a custom. You learn fast. But this happens only when we rise The Weller to the Tunnel of Glory," said The Mole Man. "As this is not the case here, Dera insisted that she should be the one to bring him. As she is his mother... I gave her that right. Not to mention that she wishes to make sure you won't harm the body of her son."

"She still doesn't trust me."

"She warmed up to your idea. Now she wants to personally oversee its execution," Liton explained. "Understand her, Drian. What would you do in her stead? For her, you are a stranger. A Surface Dweller, a member of The House of Credo and a blind admirer of The Mind and The Fount. You represent everything that her son fought against. Why would she trust you? If it were not for me, she might still have thought that this was a trap. A bait to capture even more Sceptagogs and bring them to Kamil."

"You?" Drian said, surprised.

"Yes, me. I vouched for you. You are my friend, and you respect my people. You would never betray or injure them. It's not your fault that The Monoliths discovered that Dera's son was a Sceptagog. The fool needed to blab a little less against The Mind and The Fount at The Market Square," Liton concluded, as his facial expression darkened. "If he had already wanted to shout out such things, he could have been more careful. You don't collide with the law. You bypass it because once it's got you in its claws, it doesn't let you go."

Then Liton confronted Drian again. Drian withstood his gaze.

"Still, Drian, don't think I'm not watching you. I know you're a good person. You feel guilty about what you did. I also know that this is not the only reason you wish to carry the body to The Glass Dome. If you don't want to tell me why you are doing all this, I will not ask. I respect your right to privacy. However ..."

Drian interrupted him. "I promise you that what I'm doing won't cause any harm to The Wellers. If something happens, I will bear all responsibility."

"That's all I wanted to hear. Ready to get back to the surface?"

Drian glanced at The Viewstone. It was blue in colour. "Yes, we should go. Soon, The Dark will come."

"You can never know that," Liton said. "The Dark and The Light are changing unexpectedly."

"Yes, but I have a ViewStone. Around this time, The Light disappears," Drian said. "It will be awkward to meander the streets with the body. We could trip up carrying oil lamps."

"The Wellers prefer The Dark to The Light. It's not a problem for us to move during The Dark," the Leader underlined with calm.

"But since we are going with this ... Abbot," Dera sneered, "it would be better to leave now," she concluded imitating Drian's worried voice.

Liton raised his hand, and Dera bowed her head, lowering on all fours. "We'll take a shortcut. Dera, take Drian. I'll take your son, so we'll be faster," The King of The Tunnels issued an order.

Dera paused for a moment as if she was not pleased, but it was just a brief hesitation. She grabbed Drian, threw him on her back as if he weighed next to nothing. "Hold on tight, Surface Dweller," she said.

He barely had time to fill his lungs with the air and grab her bony, uncomfortable waist. Dera galloped toward one of the narrow tunnel openings. Drian looked to his left and saw Liton. His friend had also descended on all four legs. Now he was running to the other opening with a corpse on his back. Liton moved slower than the spindle Dera. Drian attributed it to the weight of the dead body.

The darkness of the vertical tunnel quickly swallowed them. Drian had to abandon the observation. Everything got dark, and his stomach turned from nausea. The tunnel was like a tall tree from Lug, which his father showed him in books when he was a child. Only this "tree" composed of stamped clay.

Dera climbed it like a monkey. She dug her nails in a soft, giving ground, running at an incredible speed. Drian admired Dera's limber, muscular body. He could feel every beat of her heart under his palms, and the movements of powerful, tireless muscles. Not much time went by, when Drian saw a circle of light above him, showing that they were closer to the end of the tunnel.

That proved to be true. They flew out like a stone ejected by a catapult. Dera stopped without a warning. It made Drian lose balance and fly over her head.

He felt like a rider who suddenly lost control of his rumbustious wild mustang.

Drian landed on his hands and knees in red dust. Then he coughed profusely, spitting the speckles of dirt, all the time trying to refrain from vomiting. Catching Dera's mocking gaze, he stood up as fast as he could. He wiped the earth off of his robes and swallowed a few times. That helped him to keep his Second Meal in his stomach somehow.

In front of the strong-willed, I have to appear strong-willed. Dera might respect me more.

They didn't speak, turning their back to one another; both of them lost in their thoughts.

Liton's extrusion to the surface broke down an unpleasant silence. Dera quickly materialised next to her son's body as if she wanted to check if everything was okay. Liton laid the boy down in front of her feet with respect. Both Wellers put on clothes they normally wore on the surface. Liton donned worn black trousers as well as Dera. She also resorted to wearing a kind of short black linen shirt to cover her breasts, lashing out with disgust all the while she was putting it on.

"Unnatural ... Unnecessary. Why are these silly things needed? I would understand that we need them if it were cold. In The Squareworld, the temperatures are always the same, both in The Dark and in The Light, both on the ground and under the ground," she muttered.

"Such are the customs of The Surface Dwellers, Dera," Liton explained with patience. "When we're up here, we play by their rules. Here they wear clothes."

"I didn't see him get naked when he was down in the Wells to respect our customs." Dera sneered.

Drian's cheeks reddened yet he didn't comment on her jab.

After they got dressed, both Wellers looked at Drian questioningly.

He restrained the urge to laugh. Liton always seemed so clumsy, artificial and down in the dumps whenever Drian saw him at The Market Square, all dressed up. Dera looked no better either.

Drian took the initiative. He was afraid, but there was no going back now. I have to do this. I don't want to go to Begi. I will not become a Senior Abbot. A small act of rebellion will be enough. No one has to suffer ... Besides me.

"We can't carry him through the streets of the village wrapped in that black canvas. The Vigils will guess that it's a corpse, they will stop us and prevent us from doing what we wanted," Drian presented the situation to them.

Dera spat into the dust. "The black shroud is a sign of respect for the deceased Weller. I will not allow you to expose my son to public views," she foamed.

"Silence, Dera. He's right," Litton interrupted. "What are you suggesting?"

"The only reason somebody's body would seem so limp and flabby is inebriation. We will take a corpse between the two of us and pretend your son drank too much in a tavern of The Inns district. Nobody will suspect a thing. You have already cleaned his wounds, and The Dark is approaching."

"No," Dera growled and bared her teeth at Drian. "My son will not be publicly humiliated again, just like he was humiliated in that old wooden cage! There must be another way."

"Listen to Drian," Liton ordered. "He is doing it with his best intentions."

"Dera. This is the only thing I've thought of," Drian said, kneeling beside her. "I promise you that we will try to pass as fast as possible next to The Market Square and The House of Credo. We will take side streets. The Glass Dome is next to The House of Credo. We won't have problems, especially if they see you with me. On the surface, the villagers respect me."

He paused for a moment trying to reach her.

"I know how you feel. I too, wouldn't like it to taint your son's memory. Think, just ... a few minutes more and ... he will have the whole eternity in The Glass Coffin. You'll be able to visit him whenever you like, and he will always look the same. Once inside, The Coffin will preserve his body forever. Kamil won't be able to do anything."

"Do you trust him?" Dera inquired of Liton, not even looking at Drian, no matter how hard he tried to make his words leave the impression on her.

"Yes. I told you that already, woman," Liton said impatiently.

"Let's go, then," she unwrapped the unmoving body with care.

Drian closed his eyes for the moment in front of the thin, dried cadaver whose abdomen was filled with holes. He looks so young. I've never noticed that before. His thoughts went back to the event several colours prior. Drian felt sad and disgusted with himself at the same time. He approached to raise the dead man's trousers and cover the wounds.

Dera instantly hissed: "Do not touch him, Surface Dweller!" so Drian gave up on that intention. A minute later, she did it by herself, muttering.

Drian decided not to interfere too much and allowed Liton and Dera to carry the body between the two. They placed the young man's hands so that he was hugging them while his head drooped forward. The Wellers tried to cover up his wounds as much as they could with their palms.

Drian made a gesture of smiling with his fingers. He wanted to show them it would be better to laugh than to act so insecure and dull. Both Liton and Dera, surprisingly, listened.

These people dislike pretence and lies, Drian thought. It's hard for them, having to go through all this, but, ultimately, it will be worth the effort.

As he promised, Drian led them through the side alleys, crossing The Market Square as quickly as possible. There was no reason for fear. The oval square was empty. The Viewstone slowly but inevitably changed its colour to dark blue. The trio increased their speed.

"I'm worried about my father," Drian said. "I promised Nalon I'd eat with him before The Dark. I don't know if I'll manage to do that. Hope he won't ask himself where I am."

"Just tell him you were praying and lost track of Time, he should like that." Liton shrugged with a smirk.

"Liton. You told me there was no more water in The Tunnels. How ... How are you getting by?" Drian asked, wanting to banish his obsessive thoughts.

"We save. All of us get a little out of the water reserves. We go down to The Market Square less frequently. What we find, we keep for ourselves. I don't know how long we can keep it up for. Someone will notice. My best people are digging non-stop. We are looking for new tunnels, new possibilities."

"And ... the rest in Bronze Cliff? They haven't noticed anything yet?"

"The Wells are not the only source of water in the village, friend; you know that. Traders bring it daily from The River Tebesum. Also, it's been like this for seven Lights and seven Darks only. We hope to find water soon. You won't tell anyone, right? People don't have to panic for no reason. At least not yet."

"Of course not," Drian confirmed.

When they approached The House of Credo, a few villagers curiously glanced at them. They bowed before Drian when they recognised him, murmuring: "Glory to The Mind" and "Gratitude to The Fount."

Drian felt relieved. For now, everything is going according to plan.

The House of Credo was made out of black glass, accreted with a tall red rock. The village got the name Bronze Cliff after it. There they faced the complete contrast to a dark, opaque building. Although fashioned of the same material, glass, The Glass Dome was nothing like The House of Credo.

Even though they were not worshippers of The Mind and The Fount religion, Liton and Dera halted at the sight of The Glass Dome. They seemed to forget about the dead body they carried.

"You never saw it before, did you?" Drian asked as he briefly knelt before The Dome, paying his respects.

"No, I can't say that I did," replied Liton in awe, still holding on to the corpse. "Once, I did see The House of Credo from a distance, that's all. It seemed ... Imposing."

Drian could see Dera's wide eyes as she took in the sight. She looked both terrified and mesmerised. The She-Weller was a frightened animal caught in a trap.

Before them, lay a huge, transparent glass sphere, a few tens of metres tall. It was pulsing and trembling. It breathed like a giant organism that dreamed, floating several feet above the ground.

"Let's go inside," Drian motioned.