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My bare feet are cold against the rocky landscape, uncomfortably so but not by much. I hope i can get somewhere warmer soon. The jaggedness of the rock also presses uncomfortably on my bare soles as I keep my head down to see where I am going. This is so much harder than it needs to be, the simple act of walking. But then again, so many things in life are harder than they need to be. Waking up after not enough sleeping. Sore, aching back muscles from working all day. Hunger, clawing and tearing at your stomach, your arms, everything. Tired joints. Frantic minds. The threat of failure sitting heavy on your shoulders. The frenzied movement from task to task to task. The way your mind and body fizzles to get things done until you aren't quite sure you are real anymore. The powerlessness. The worry for the people you love, for your fellow slaves, for your family, for your children, for the children. Rage at the unfairness of it all. Grief. Overwhelming grief that grows into unconquerable rage. Life for slaves is pure torture. Everything is meant to make life harder for the slaves. But when we have each other everything can't stop us from making each other's lives better.

I think about baby Onomaye, how sweet she was. I think about the literally magical circumstances that lead me to meet her, and her mother, and all the other adults in her life. How, why, did I meet them? I'm glad to have. Incredibly glad. It feels like destiny. A type of destiny that is so much better, more beautiful, than what the priests told us destiny was. It feels like victory. We ... and I still don't know how we did it, but we took down a towerman, we took down a master. And we stopped our work - we actually stopped doing work! - unprompted by any authority. And now they're making medicine to heal baby Onomaye. Wow. I can't beleive this. It's such a victory.

But in a way life is peppered with little victories, little instances of people helping each other, perhaps even against orders. Like when Alesha's friends were helping her with her work. The medicine network everyone is a part of being soothing, healing, and life-guarding to quite a few people who wouldn't have had it otherwise. A victory of sorts. Songs that are just a bit too rebellious for the masters, that we sing softly to each other or in our heads or in the safety of huts, barracks and basements, those are a victory. And we can and will make more victories out of hope and love and solidarity and magic. I just know it.

Jira reminds me a bit of my own mother. Kindness and a calmness that hides tempests and can soothe my tempests. The deep ache in my heart that I have for my mother, my father, my aunts and uncles and titis, my brothers and my friends, it never went away. Despite having new family. Though, my new family got taken away too.

I cry silent tears because here and now it's safe to, without fear of reprimand for myself or my loved ones. We don't even have the freedom to express ourselves.

Onomayie was glaring at her master when I first saw her. That takes both strength and rage, and I'm glad that she has that rage. I'm glad that so many of us have this rage because it's the type of rage that can maybe one day eventually overthrow the masters. Hopefully.

Hope. For forever I'd only been feeling the barest hints of it. But now, now it seems like a flood. Like a waterfall. Like more than that even. It is rising and it will break the dam.

I think about Yenako. The events they had just witnessed were incredible. But what was even more incredible was how hope sparked to life inside them, when it had previously not been there. Hope was something foreign to them, potentially. But they ... they were excited. I am so glad. I hope that one day every Dirtperson is as excited. Is as hopeful. Feels the walls break around them as much.

When will the walls break though? When will I be able to go out and hug my children?

The worry, the greif, the loss I feel at thinking about my kids is overwhelming, a flood that drowns not just myself but my world.

Levi does this adorable thing where he'll just go up to you and drape himself over you or curl up around your arms or legs. He is so cuddly. He is so soft-hearted. He is so affectionate. So confident that all of us love him. So confident that he is so very deeply loved by all of us in his little family. He loves being able to tell people he loves them. He loves being told that by other people. He loves all the soft, sweet moments when we are together. He lives for those moments. He keeps himself going for those moments. He won't have anyone to cuddle with. He'll have to hold all of himself inside until it corrodes his throat, his heart, his everything. I wish I could hug him, tell him that everything's going to be alright. But I can't. And everything's not going to be alright.

And Andronicha. Baby. She pretends to be so strong but she's not. She wants so very much to help all of us and take care of us but she's only a child. She's only a child. She's only a small, sweet child and she needs to be taken care of. We need to take care of her. Her stories are so beautiful, so imaginative, so full of magic and secret hope and hidden rebellion. So full of childish ridiculousness and softness. She can make the stars sing about little mice that band together to outmaneuver hungry cats, or birds that fly into the sun and are granted a piece of fire, hiding it in the crook of their wing, or any number of fantastical things. Andronicha who misses people she has known for minutes and definitely misses us dearly. We miss her dearly.

Pavlin is strong. But not really. Their strength is a childish, breaking sort of strength. It's a desperate sort of strength. Pavlin is a child. Pavlin is angry. They can direct their anger right where it needs to be, towards the towerpeople who deserve it. Unlike Andronicha Pavlin is able to hide their anger better under layers and layers of fake acceptance. And that is lucky. It will keep them safe. It will keep them from breaking too hard. But Pavlin is definitely breaking wherever they are. They need to be acknowledged. They need to be seen. They need to be listened to. They need someone to tell them that they love them, and to mean it. They need someone to tell them how smart they are, how clever they are. They need to feel safe enough to use that beautiful voice of theirs.

Mafalia has so many galaxies inside her, as they all do. I remember how in the rare instances where we're in the kitchen alone together she hides the leftover bits of meals, especially deserts, in a napkin to take back to the other children. It's usually just two or three bites per child but the towerpeople think that good food is only for their children and subverting that feels so good in its own way. She looks so sweet and innocent in front of the towerpeople. And she is incredibly sweet. Sweeter than the morning sunlight, sweeter than the first evening stars. But there's so much rebel inside of her, so much confidence that should by all means be snuffed out. But, now, away from her parents and siblings, maybe that rebellion and confidence is snuffed out.

But look at all these miracles sparking to life inside of us, around us. And I hope that word of it gets back to my kids, to all the kids who toil under the towerpeople. It's evidence that there are higher powers on our side. I hope the truth of what just happened gets passed through the generations.

I hope that dear, sweet Onimaye grows up with hope. She almost definitely will though. She'll grow up with the story of the events that happened around her. The events that happened for her. The magic, the miracles, the love. She'll live knowing that the universe loves her, that something bigger than the masters, bigger than even the Fates, it loves her and so do we. I cannot think of a better gift for a growing child.

I hope she grows into a soul who is strong and confident and knows her worth. I hope she grows into a soul who knows that she is incredibly, deeply loved. I hope she can stay with her family. I hope she can stay with all her loved ones. I hope she never knows the pain of losing her people. I hope, more than anything else in the world, that she can grow up in a better world. That we can create a better world. A world where everything she is and every part of her mind, heart, body, and spirit can be free, equal, and joyous.

My feet are aching, tingling, almost numb now. And I really hope that I get somewhere, find one of my friends, something. Something that would send me in the direction of warmer ground. This cold, it isn't even cold. It isn't even really cold at all. It's ... aggressive and hungry, is the best way for me to describe it.

I trudge over the rocks until I see new flickering. This time I see the image is one of dulled blackness, with the faint light of torches outlining the dark lines of rock walls. It seems to be some sort of cave. I can see the faint outline of a figure sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall like it's a bed. Not that I've ever been in a bed. Beside her there's a figure chipping at the rock with a pickaxe, caught up in the drudgery of the manual labour he's doing but ... there's this sense of energy, a sense of purpose to his movements that's bright and cold like sunlight on snow. Of course, there's the sense of pain, of racing aches arching through you like a lightening bolt. But that in't the only thing at work here. And I wonder why.

I recognize something subtle about the way he moves. Is it? ... yes, it is. It's Anderei. I wonder what he's doing. Why. I feel a strange sense of hope about life. We're finding power we never knew existed. So much exists that's beyond the realm of what we thought existed. Power exists within ourselves. It doesn't make life hurt less. But it's strength and hopefully it's enough strength to get through this darkness. I lift my aching, flayed-feeling feet off of the dead rocks around me and into the shadow-soaked, equally dead rocks that flicker in and out of existence. Suddenly the world around me goes so much darker. I close my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When I open them again, the person leaning against the wall, she doesn't look to be more than twelve years old, is looking at me. Her entire face, which glows softly in the shadows, is laced with pain, with fear, with dejection. But also with a sort of calmness, a sort of warmness, a sort of hope. But it's quite clear that she isn't alright.

Anderei turns around to look at me for a second, flashing me a somewhat strained smile before turning back to continue digging away at the rock.

I crouch down to sit with the young girl, my feet grateful of the rest they're receiving.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

"I ... my stomach really hurts. So much. I don't know why. Anderei here offered to do my work for me. I appreciate it." Aww thanks Anderei. Yeah towerpeople are notorious for forcing us to work even when we are sick. To work until we collapse and physically are not able to anymore. It does not surprise me at all that this girl has been pushing through crippling pain to keep working. It doesn't surprise me but it kills me all the same. But more importantly, why is she sick? I hope she isn't dying or anything. At least part of me does. What can we do?

.... Oh the herbs! The herbs that we used to heal baby Onomaye should still be growing. I can go gather them but at the same time I have no idea what we need.

I kneel down beside her. Gently brush a hand over her forehead. It is warm. Too warm. Fuck.

"I can get you some herbs. Do you know what you need though?" I ask softly, voice laced with pain but also with maternal protectiveness. Motherhood. I wish I could protect my children and this child who of course is also mine and all the children of our people. The girl, whose name I don't know, leans into my touch ever so slightly. I smile a heartbroken, tear streaked smile. We are all on the same boat. All slaves. All Dirtpeople. All people. All our children are each other's children and everyone else's children are our own. And yet we can't shield any of them from the cruelty of the world. But we can hold on together. Until better days.

"I..." she starts, "my sister, when she was here, got like this sometimes. We would get these herbs from some slaves on the outside. They were ... I don't quite remember. But I'll know if I see it. I think."

Oh. Fuck. I can't really make her walk in this state. At least I'd really rather not. Can she even traverse between the dimensions as we are able to do? I don't know. But at the same time it's the best shot we have.

"Hey. I'm going to go and get some herbs. But if you could come with me that would be good, so we know what to get. It's a bit of a long walk, do you think you can make it?" Shes looks at me with wide eyes. Bracing herself against the inevitable, as she hardens her resolve. She's so young. Oh gosh this girl is so young. Too young to be here. But I guess we all are.

"Anderei, we'll be back in maybe an hour."

He turns around for a second, already tired from chipping rock for who knows how long. His face is etched with exhaustion. It's also etched with concern and kindness.

"Don't be too long."

I help the girl get up to her feet. I can tell that she's in so much pain. She is leaning on me for support, and her lithe frame is not as difficult to bear as it should be.

We come upon the place where the Fateworld melted with the normal world before, only to find it an empty darkness of stretching wall. I panick for a moment, banging my hands against the side of the wall, before deciding to continue onwards for the sake of hope if nothing else.

[scene continued in next part]