Once down from the pillar, they turned due south, continuing for a good five hours. In that time, Keon experienced more rapid changes in weather than a typical English Tuesday. First, they passed into a shower of autumn leaves. He’d had to tug on his shawl and pull up the hood as the temperature dropped rapidly with each step. The yellowing forest soon gave way to crystalline frost that sparkled like diamonds. 

“Guys?…what the heck?!” he said.

If he could’ve, he would’ve actually set himself on fire.

Shem and Dawit, walking ahead of him, chuckled.

“In Underland, seasons are regional. They can vary from place to place. Even mile by mile,” said Dawit.

“For what purpose, man?! How’s that even work?”

“The state of the region affects the environment. What people are thinking. What they believe. How they feel. It all influences the time and seasons.”

“You’re saying people control the weather?”

“Nah, but they can influence it,” said Shem. “The traffic of the Messengers drives the weather and the weather drives the seasons.”

“The Messengers?”

“Servants of the Royal Court. Running errands and fighting wars,” added Dawit

Keon squinted towards the sky, shaking his head.

“I don’t see ‘em.”

“That’s ‘cause they’re too busy doing their jobs to satisfy your curiosity, mate. Be thankful you don’t see ‘em. That usually means the land’s at peace.”

“And if I do see them? What then?”

“That usually means war…”

By the afternoon, the forests had thinned to vast stretches of long grass as they passed from frosty mist to burning summer. Upside-down ocean and dragonblood trees notwithstanding, Keon was struck by the affinity Underland held to the undulating slopes of Kent he’d grown up around. The hills rose behind them like gargantuan green tidal waves rolling over the region. 

As they weeded their way through the towering stems of long grass, they moved in single file like a human centipede; Dawit at the front with Jonas covering the rear. Zahara walked ahead of Jonas to interpret messages quickly if need be, following Kai, Shem, Avana and Keon in that order.

Keon was convinced Avana hated his guts. She hadn’t broken a smile since that cup of wine the night before. She probably blamed him for ruining the ambience—which, of course, he had. Dawit was cool though and Dawit was leading the trek, so he stuck close to Dawit.

“So, how long have you been…like…Underland-ing?” said Keon.

“I wasn’t much older than you actually. Angry at everything…”

“I can’t imagine you angry.”

“Oh, I had my reasons,” he said with a grin.

“Care to share?” 

Dawit looked at him quizzically.

“Y’know, for someone who clearly has anger issues,” Keon added.

Dawit sniffed a chuckle. His eyes grew serious, remaining fixed on the ground as they walked side by side.

“My family faced a lot of discrimination when we moved to the U.K. Me and my siblings, we didn’t really fit in at first. We questioned why we were there. Why we had to be so different. 

“Eventually, my older brother found the belonging he was looking for in a gang. Things got so tense between him and our parents that he left home. Ended up in a care home for his own safety. One day, a rival gang caught him slipping. Followed him to the home; then came back with a larger group and waited for him outside. They say he held his own for a bit, but…” 

Dawit shook his head, jaw clenched.

“That’s crazy…”

“I was about to follow him into that life when the King called me here.”

Dawit looked up, comforted by the memory as though it sat waiting on the distant horizon.

“It felt like home, coming to Underland. There was something about this place that reminded me of Eritrea. Of family.”

“Is that what stopped you being angry?”

“It didn’t happen overnight, but there was something Wellworn said to me my first day here that stuck with me. He said, ‘Better to be slow to anger than a mighty warrior. To control your temper than to capture a city.’”

Keon’s lips curled in thought.

“Anger and frustration make you reckless. Anger consumed my brother. It’s a path he wouldn’t have wanted me to take.”

“I think he’d be proud of who you are now.”

Dawit’s hazel eyes almost vanished beneath the creases of his cherubic smile.

“I’d like to think so.”

“You should be proud of you too,” said Keon candidly. “If people have a problem, that shouldn’t be your problem. At least…that’s what my dad always used to say.”

“He sounds like a smart guy, your dad.”

A slight smile coerced its way across Keon’s face; the first time he’d smiled at the thought of his dad in weeks.

“Yeah…he is.”

* * *

Keon sat amidst the long grass, staring up at the sky. It was midday, meaning he could get a good look at the Empyrean as it passed directly overhead. The glare from the light made it hard to make out any details beyond the outer fringes of the island; but he could see what looked like white beaches and something that sparkled in the light.

His lips moved wordlessly as he worked, trying to calculate the height of the island. An untouched ring of bread lay in his hand next to a canteen of water tipping precariously to one side. He paused as Dawit stepped into the periphery of his vision. He too was looking up at Zaphon, Codex open in one hand. Glancing back between it and the island, he scrawled something onto one of the pages. Some of the others were doing the same, scribbling notes in their codices. 

Coming to a stop, Dawit tore out the page, neatly folded it, then reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a handmade flint and steel kit. Keon felt around for a similar pouch and, sure enough, found he also had a flint and steel kit. Dawit laid the paper flat on a nearby rock and struck the flint, showering the paper with golden sparks. As it kindled, he held the paper aloft until the flames licked his fingertips. He watched the last flecks of ash rise into the sky.

“What was all that about?” asked Keon.

“A petition for the King,” said Dawit, dusting off his hands.

“How’s he supposed to read it if you burn it?”

“Oh, he’ll read it,” he said with a confident grin.

“Right…So what’d you ask for?”

“Strong winds this afternoon.”

Keon stared at him, incredulous.

The others followed suit, setting their folded pages aflame.

“And you guys?” said Keon, pointing with his chin.

“Private,” replied Kai with a salute.

Shem winked, slipping his kit beneath his shawl. Zahara smiled to herself and went back to playing with a stalk of long grass. 

Avana rose, brushing the grass off her thighs.

“I’m gonna forage. Meet back in an hour?”

Dawit nodded. 

“Come on mate,” said Shem, signalling towards the edge of the nearby forest, a stick of grass protruding from the corner of his mouth. “Time for your first lesson in foraging.”

“Really?” scoffed Keon. “Shouldn’t I be learning something more useful, like Forging weapons?”

Shem sniffed a smirk, spitting out the grass, “That’s not ‘ow things work around ‘ere, mate. Gotta walk before you run.”

Keon looked around, confused, “Looking for nuts and berries isn’t exactly rocket science.”

Dawit and Kai shared amused glances. Shem paced over towards him, stepping over the long grass.

“You see any animals round ‘ere, mate?”

“Nah. It’s weird, actually.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Keon’s shoulders inched their way up into a shrug.

“You got me…”

“All animals in Underland are herbivores and most of what grows comes from the fragments of what we Forge. So, think the wrong thoughts and creatures die. It’s that simple. Eat the wrong thing and you could die too. Best case scenario, you’ll only end up ensnared in a Stronghold.”

Keon blinked silently, swallowing.

“Figure out ‘ow to pick plants without killing yourself—or anyone else, for that matter—and maybe we’ll see about Forging, yeah?”

Keon paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright.”

Shem winked, slapping his shoulder, “Come on.”