Written Wonderland

Sage burst into the tiny cottage, having collected the last of their food stores. Now to get her grandmother on board the ship before the storm really came down around them.

"Nanu, it's time for us to go," Sage said without looking at the older woman seated in her rocking chair. The younger woman packed a few more things into her satchel, slinging another bag over her shoulder before she readied herself to carry her grandmother if she must. But the old woman was still seated, and none of the woman's things were packed. A blanket rested over her lap.

"Nanu..." Sage said, trying not to look irritated. She darted a glance toward the door where the wind was already pushing angrily against the wood.

"Sage, you're a good girl. You have your parents' gumption," her grandmother said with a small smile. "You've taken care of me all this time, such a good, sweet girl."

"Nanu... thank you, but... the runes were clear. We need to go. Now." Sage grabbed and empty sack and started packing some of her nanu's clothes.

"Girl, enough. Stop. Come here and listen to me." Sage stopped and rounded so she could face her grandmother.

"You're fully a woman now, ripe for this adventure. My runes told me you would make it. I... will not." Sage's eyes widened. It was taboo to consult the runes of one's own death, but Sage wasn't about to tell her grandmother that now, of all times.

"Let me choose the way I go," her nanu said, grasping tightly to one of Sage's hands. "I want to be here where the souls of my son and my ancestors still speak." Sage lowered her head, allowing a small pocket of time to grief again the death of her father. She would miss his memorial tree more than anything, but she had paid her last respects. And she really needed to get going.

Raising her head after a moment, tears in her eyes, Sage said, "I will respect your decision." She looked around the tiny house she had grown up in and said, "You should have enough fresh food for a week or two, and there are several others of the islanders staying. Perhaps I could run to tell them you..."

"You don't have time, girl. We both know that. Go. Go, and trust that I will see my own river through to its end. But, first, please, take this. Keep it safe. And if you find yourself feeling lonely, play its single note."

Sage's nanu handed her a tiny white flute strung along a dark braided cord. A tiny blue gem was embedded on the top of the flute, where Sage might hold it if she were to play. It was barely the size of her own pinky finger.

"What is...?" Sage started to say, having never seen the necklace before.

"My grandmother gave it to me when I came of age. She said it is from the time of the water dragons." She paused momentarily. "I've held onto it too long and never once used it. When you miss this little archipelago, when nothing else feels familiar, play the note and the ancestors will come," Nanu said simply. Sage raised an eyebrow at the woman but pulled the flute necklace over her head and tucked it in between layers of her shirt.

"I'll keep it safe, Nanu. Thank you. And good tides to you."

"And to you, sweet girl. You will find your way. The runes have spoken."

Sage woke up coughing, an aching pain in her head and her lungs. She coughed and coughed, swallowing more seawater as a fresh wave crashed onto her. Urged into action, she stood, still coughing, trying to clear her lungs.

Instinctively, her hand flew to the bone flute around her neck, which she had clutched nearly the whole night as the ship rocked and swayed with the terrifying power of the waves. It was still there.

Lightning. Fire. Splintered wood. Cold water.

She looked around, seeing pieces of the wreckage from her people's ship, but she didn't immediately see anyone else lying on the beach. She was soaked through, her linen garments torn and stretched. It would take a lot of repair to make them fully wearable again. Sage then felt for the strap of her satchel--the one carefully sewn with a water-resistant gut lining--and was grateful that had come with her as well. The ties were mostly secure, though some water had gotten into the bottom of the bag. She sorted through her belongings quickly: a few extra handmade shirts, some small bone carvings, her pouch of runes, the tip of her mother's fishing spear, her carving knife, a pouch of bone needles and sinew cord. Those and the bone flute around her neck were the only things she had left of her people.

And where was she now? The ship had been set on heading beyond the islands and going all the way to the continent, far beyond where any of the living islanders had traveled. The islanders could not support a whole other island's population, and besides, the runes had been unclear about if the other islands would be spared from the storm. If this wasn't the continent, it was a large island, much larger than any Sage had been to before.

There were buildings in the distance, and smoke wafted up toward the sky. Maybe they would care for her and take her in, temporarily. She started walking that direction but stopped, remembering stories of violence on the continent. How was she to know what she was walking into?

Pulling her satchel around to the front of her again, she rummaged for the pouch of runes. Taking them out and holding them in her palm, she lovingly counted their smooth, blue-tinged surface. Carved from bone, inlaid with ink, and blessed by her priestess and mentor, Sage had memorized every curve and divot. Seven, each with a symbol sacred to her people. She had been using them since she could remember--each of the islanders had their own set and consulted them often.

All seven face up, yes. All face down, no. Any combination--the future is in flux.

"Should I go toward the smoke to find help and shelter?" Sage shook her runes and let them land on the sand. Six of seven were face up when she looked. Bending down, she picked up the only rune that was face down. The fish, she thought, representative of the lifeblood of the island, the sacred sacrifice, the water we swim in, home. She would not find that here. But, then again, in some ways, she already knew that.

Gathering the runes and returning them to their pouch, she accepted the omens of the gods and offered her thanks, proceeding toward the source of the smoke.

Rongo looked to the sky as the sun began to dip below the horizon, raising an arm. Time to pack up the stall.

He smiled, handing the last of this batch of remedies in a small glass bottle to a family. They returned the smile happily, waving off as they walked toward their home.

Rongo shook his head, smile lingering. He bent to pack the rest of the bottles he had blown himself, empty now. That family keeps my work well, Rongo thought. They always bring the glass back when they are done, Rongo thought.

Loading a walking wagon with the bottles, Rongo picked up the handles of his small cart and walked it the small distance back to his small hut, nestled up in the nearby trees.

When he had almost arrived, Rongo looked over the cliffs toward the ocean and saw a figure on the beach. She was a long ways down there, but she looked... lost. Cold.

The storm had been bad last night.

Though there was a distance between them, Rongo could see she was determined to approach the town. That would probably be all right. There were people to take her in.

Something about her long silvery white hair gave him pause, though. That and the strange blue and gold wraps held around her body. She wasn't from around here.

And she was strong, judging by her stance.

Where had she come from?

Rongo finished his walk back to his house, dropping the cart under a lean-to. Dusting off his hands, he looked again toward the sun.

Gods, it is cold in this place, isn't it?

He didn't mind an extra walk tonight. He may as well visit the inn to see what might happen next. After all, the woman was would get there before him, anyway.

The smoke came from a chimney of a central building. When Sage approached, she could hear loud voices inside. But, they sounded happy. Maybe an inn or a tavern.

Sage looked down at her robes, wet and stained with blood and who knew what else. She wasn't exactly presentable. Then again, what else could she do.

She pressed her hand against the door, seeking permission from the wood, before she knocked.

There was no answer, but the voices did not skip a beat. Perhaps they had not heard her. Looking around and seeing no one outside who she might approach instead, she pushed open the door.

The warmth and smell of the place hit Sage all at once, and immediately something in her stomach relaxed. She wasn't going to die of chill tonight at least.

There were three tables of boisterous people, many of them muscular and smelling of smoke and earth. It turned her stomach a little to think about it, but she didn't fully understand why. It would be difficult to stay here--her runes had been correct.

It took a few moments for anyone to take notice of her, but once they did, all the conversation ceased in the room, and the bartender looked over at Sage, wiping a glass. The people at the tables seem to defer to him, glancing his direction to take cues.

Sage decided not to wait for the man's opinion of her to fully form.

"Wishhil," Sage said in greeting. When they didn't reply, Sage decided to forego formality.

"I believed I have been shipwrecked. Is there some place I might stay tonight?" Would they even speak the same language?

The bartender answered her, "Yes, you may stay here if you like. Have you anything to trade?"

Sage didn't have much time to feel relief at the familiarity of the words, even if they had a thick, mumbling accent. The people around the tavern tensed, maybe even a little unpleased at the bartender's question. Sage noted that. There were generous people here, even if the bartender was not among them.

"Only the barest of essentials," Sage said, taking a deep breath to keep herself from tensing up.

The bartender looked down at the counter solemnly, contemplating the situation seriously. She hoped the opinions of those in the room would sway him. Or maybe one of them would offer assistance.

"Where did you set sail from?" the bartender asked, his eyelids narrowing.

"The Isles of Hilden, approximately... northeast of here if I have any sense of direction."

Several of the people in the bar started murmuring. Sage had the distinct impression that they did not believe her.

"No one's come from there in over a hundred years," the bartender said.

It was well after dark by the time Rongo had made it back down to the village from his hut, and by the lights in the tavern, it looked like things were already getting going in there. Rongo looked around for the woman he had seen on the beach, but he didn't see her. But, the most inviting place at this time of day was the tavern, so he may as well check there.

When he opened the door, he saw the woman straight ahead of him, having what appeared to be some kind of standoff with the bartender. Rongo had only ever really tolerated the guy, but he gave the man a big smile all the same.

"...northeast of here, if I have any sense of direction," the woman said as Rongo gently closed the door and walked to the corner, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible despite his tall and stalky build.

He noticed a wave of surprise and discomfort move through the room, but he wasn't entirely sure why.

"No one's come from there in over a hundred years," the bartender finally said, and Rongo looked at the woman, her long white hair still wet from the ocean, and wondered what he had missed.

Finally deciding that the last thing the woman needed was a bunch of people continuing to stare at her, Rongo stepped in. "Jason, let's get her warm, and we can ask more questions later, hm?" Rongo's smile was large and welcoming, and before long, the bartender seemed to melt under its warmth.

"Glad you came when you did, Rongo. Get her over to the fire, then?" Jason responded, and Rongo gestured to the woman, not quite touching her, even with his thickly gloved hands. He led the way over toward the fireplace, where a blazing heat burned. Rongo sighed, feeling some nostalgia. In front of the fire was one of the few places Rongo felt at home.

He let the conversation around them die down and watched as the woman finger combed her hair and pulled off a couple layers of her elaborately wrapped robes, laying them out to dry.

When no one was much paying the two of them any attention anymore, Rongo offered, "I'm not from around here, either," looking at her with raised eyebrows that he hoped conveyed both sympathy and understanding. "My name's Rongo."

Sage was becoming uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

She wanted to yell, scream, say something to the effect of yeah, well my people didn't want to leave either! but she knew that wouldn't get them anywhere. Then again, how could she explain.

Sage was grateful when someone behind and off to one side of her interrupted. Had he only just come in?

"Jason, let's get her warm, and we can ask more questions later, hm?" The new man, tall and stalky with large hands and darker skin even than her honeyed tone, smiled at the bartender. Sage recognized it as a way to diffuse the encounter.

"Glad you came when you did, Rongo. Get her over the fire, then?" Jason said, and Rongo gestured at her, assumedly in the direction of the fire.

Sage took some time to settle in, unwrapping her extra layers. She had put them on to try to staunch the chill of the storm... back when she had been on the boat.

But now... no boat, no wreck, even. And everyone else, dead?

She had begun absentmindedly combing out her hair with her fingers and realized she had been frowning. That wasn't really any way to treat this stranger who had intervened on her behalf. She worked toward a more neutral expression, which was difficult under the circumstances.

"I'm not from around here either," the stranger began. "My name's Rongo."

"I'm called Sage," she said, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

The woman looked unhappy, which Rongo supposed was more than understandable. If she had been shipwrecked, she was potentially staring down the possibility of having just lost... everything.

He could have a lot of patience for that. As much as she needed, really.

"I'm called Sage," she said, reaching out her hand as she made an effort to lighten her expression. Something melted in his chest at the sight of her attempt even as his eyebrows pulled together in a gentle apology. He looked down at her hand, his fingers curling in their gloves.

He'd been around human beings to know that handshakes were polite, even expected among some of them, and he'd thought it would get easier to turn them down. His desire to show her kindness was strong, and if she wanted some goodwill in the form of this gesture, he wanted to give it to her.

His gloves were of good make, and he trusted them. Rongo had made them himself. They had protected everyone involved in all his interactions so far. Still, those had primarily been light brushes, not direct contact.

But, he wanted to offer this woman, Sage, some vulnerability. Finally, he decided to chance it. He accepted her hand into his gloved one, covering it over with his other gloved hand and bowing his head. Even distantly through the gloves, the contact warmed him and stoked a fire in his chest. Rongo caught whiffs of the woman's shock as it veered toward sorrow as well as an incredible ache for her land and people. That was a feeling he himself knew well.

He pulled away from the gesture gently, hoping he had offered her something of himself in the exchange.

Sage did not expect to see hesitance in Rongo as she continued to extend her hand toward him. There was no urgency in her gesture, and in fact, she softened somewhat, watching him contemplate her hand, his mind clearly grappling with a number of things. All through it, however, Rongo kept his smile, apologetic though it had become in its wanning shape.

She was about to pull her hand back altogether, saving them both any further embarrassment, when he surprised her by taking her hand in one of his. His hands were gloved, but they were soft, molded leather. Clearly, he wore these often and used them for only delicate work. The stitches of them were study but still subtle. Despite her surprise that Rongo was gloved, the experience was still pleasant, even moreso as he laid his other gloved hand atop hers.

Sage felt held and seen in a way she couldn't fully explain. A sense of warmth coursed through her that felt like it had nothing to do with the fire she was sitting in front of. The inside of her arm and her chest swelled with a warm, smooth nostalgia that tasted somehow of loneliness. It tugged at her own thoughts of home, so distant and dangerous to look at while there were still other people around her. She needed to sit with her grief and loss, but she needed some modicum of safety before she could properly do that.

Looking up at Rongo, Sage saw in his eyes the same warmth that now coursed through her. There was a fire in him. How could that be possible? Was she imagining something?

Sage tilted her head and narrowed her eyes gently, curious but unsure of even what question to ask the man.

When he let go of her hands, the warmth she felt in her arm and chest dissipated, and Sage felt sure that something about Rongo had caused it.

"What...?" she started, staring at her hand now if only to keep herself from being rude. But she shook her head. This tavern was probably not the place for such questions at any rate.

"Thank you," Sage said, feeling that was a reasonable acknowledgement for whatever had passed between them. Taking a breath and collecting herself, somewhat unconsciously holding the hand that had touched Rongo's close to her chest, Sage looked again about the tavern.

"Do you know if there are extra rooms here? Somewhere I could stay at least for the night?"

Rongo took many smooth, deep breaths, balancing the desire to offer some vulnerability with an understanding that there was also no need to reveal himself entirely.

But, he seemed to have achieved something of that balance, if Sage's reaction was anything to go by. She met his gaze with a gentle awe, and he pulled his eyebrows up and together in empathy, feeling some small echo of her pain in being so alone in an unfamiliar place.

"What...?" She started saying when Rongo withdrew his hands, feeling that moment had completed. He was grateful that she didn't finish that thought, however. He wasn't certain how he would have explained himself.

"Thank you," she said, closing that loop. She was staring down at her hand and holding it awkwardly by the wrist. Rongo hoped he had not harmed her. But, no, she would not have thanked him if he had.

She reacquainted herself with the tavern, looking around herself, and turned back to Rongo to ask, "Do you know if there are extra rooms here? Somewhere I could stay at least for the night?"

Rongo tensed a little at the question but masked it by pulling back in thought, bringing a hand to his chin. He didn't have any strong reason to believe that the villagers would harm her, but he did feel some protectiveness over her, and knowledge of where she had come from might draw some unwanted attention. Maybe there was somewhere he could take her where folks wouldn't yet have heard of her. But, even if she found somewhere to stay for the night, word would get around. Maybe that would be all right, but Rongo imagined it would be difficult to reconcile leaving while you were reminded about it every time you interacted with someone.

In the end, he didn't feel comfortable deciding for the woman, so he did his best to give her some options. "There are rooms here, yes. I could probably negotiate with Jason on your behalf. I'd offer my place, but you'd be sleeping on the ground there. It's... quaint. There are a couple out-of-the-way villagers I could take you to who have spare rooms if you'd prefer that. Or, if you'd rather be alone, there are caves down by the beach. They're not made up for comfort, but I could bring some torches and blankets down. Sections of them are relatively dry and close to the sea."

He paused for a moment, but then asked, "Do you think you'll be moving on in the morning, or...?" He hoped it wasn't insensitive to ask. He just wanted to get a sense of the situation.

Sage massaged her hand a little while Rongo thought about her question. She didn't think it was a particularly good sign that he was weighing options. Finally, she rest her hands in her lap, embracing the warmth of the fire. It was an improvement to being out in the wet cold.

"There are rooms here, yes. I could probably negotiate with Jason on your behalf. I'd offer my place, but you'd be sleeping on the ground there. It's... quaint. There are a couple out-of-the-way villagers I could take you to who have spare rooms if you'd prefer that. Or, if you'd rather be alone, there are caves down by the beach. They're not made up for comfort, but I could bring some torches and blankets down. Sections of them are relatively dry and close to the sea."

Hm. That was a lot to weigh. Impulsively, Sage reached for the pocket of her robes she kept her runes in, comforting herself with their presence. But, even if she knew what to ask them, she wasn't prepared to read them in front of Rongo.

Still, she could narrow down the options on her own. She was practiced at that much. Did she want to be alone? She shivered a little. No, not exactly. But she did want a place of her own that she could at least retreat to. It seemed like the tavern, then, probably was the best place for her.

"Do you think you'll be moving on in the morning, or...?" Sage looked up at Rongo with a little worry in her eyes. She had not been able to look more than one step ahead for a while now, and she really hadn't gotten that far. But, taking the question seriously, she thought about it. There was still a possibility that other people from her ship might wash up on the island. She wanted to wait at least until it was clear whether or not she was the only survivor, or at least the only survivor to land here.

"I'm honestly not sure yet," Sage said. "It depends on a number of things." She wanted to be as frank as she could be with Rongo. He had been extraordinarily kind to her so far.

"If you could negotiate something with Jason for the night, that would be wonderful. Thank you. I don't have much in the way of payment, but I am willing to offer labor."