The Traveller from Pont

Demeter May

 Copyright 2014 Demeter May. All rights reserved.

This published work or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any
manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.

Table of Contents
Prologue: A last thought in the beginning...
Chapter One: The Meandril Told Me to Turn Back
Chapter Two: The cold winds of Olamor, when naked
Chapter Three: A Crude Spear is Very Much a Weapon
Chapter Four: A God Hanging by a Thin Strand
Chapter Five: Reasonably, Death Could Be a Beginning
Chapter Six: The Welcome Breath of Spring
Chapter Seven: A Holy Man of Sense and Purpose
Chapter Eight: Up
Chapter Nine: Down
Chapter Ten: A Sad Realization
Epilogue: My Monument

Prologue: A last thought in the beginning...

Here I am, thinking that travelling by space ship lacks imagination. Why confine
yourself to a metal box, when you can simply glide on the Strange? I guess most
civilizations arent evolved enough to have discovered it, or simply dont have the
adequate training to use gliding.
Depending on who reads this story of mine, should anyone venture to find it, I can
tell you that gliding the Strange is the most rewarding experience in Existence. You cant
do it more than a few times in life, because it takes training and a load of energy that
simply isnt available to most species in the Galaxy, at least not naturally. When you pin
that heavenly body in your meditation and want it, for lack of a better term, you feel
time and space warp around your body.
Youre there, wherever you want to go, in an instant, after travelling with your
minds eye through countless systems and gas clouds, on paths that dont really show
you any of them, but that exist in your calculations and your planning. Theres reward in
the glide through Strange. And the reason its called the Strange is because the fabric its
created from isnt really visible or there. I dont want to bother you with technicalities,
you essentially need to know the Strange is there, a lot of energy to launch yourself in it,
a great mind from a race like mine, the Travellers of Pont, and a calculated destination.
Most importantly, you need to get your calculations right, unless you want to end
up, on your last possible glide, on a poorly inhabited planet in the backwaters of the
galaxy, with no means of getting home, not even an inelegant space ship. Well, almost
no means
This is my story. My name is Balar, Im a Traveller from the planet Pont.

Chapter One: The Meandril Told Me to Turn Back

There are races that inhabit the Strange, that exist only as energy. To them, the
physical realm is all but forgotten. They are intelligent, they live, some die, almost all
communicate. For them, planets and suns, even black holes are markers in the vast
network of canals that connect Existence, with all its dimensions. Some of these fellows
are dangerous, sucking your energy in order to add to their own, in a cosmic battle that
sometimes affects the physical world. But historically, at least as far as Travellers know and our civilization is among the oldest in existence - most of the Strange is peaceful and
some of its races are, at most, antisocial. The more dangerous sorts hang out between
galaxies and are rarely heard of.
Travellers such as myself use the Strange to glide between planets, but have never
decided on joining its form of existence as energy. Were umanoid creatures with
relatively standard features, in what is a vibrant galaxy, bursting with all kinds of life.
We have two hands, two legs, four fingers on each limb, a slim and athletic body with
silvery gray skin, and a head that some might deem as larger than average, but then you
try calculating billions of lightons of distance between stars. Its only evolution.
The Council of Elders, which, Ill be the first to admit, is a clich name for what
basically amounts to a few friends with a lot of spare time and loads of curiosity, put
their big heads together at one point in our history and decreed we should travel to
special locations on the galactic map, in order to act as storytellers for future
generations, places of some interest for others or just as plain signs of our journeys. This
was widely seen as a great idea, given our special and rather unique talent for gliding the
Strange, and the fact that our society had nothing to prove, but to ourselves.
Our meaning, never imperial in nature, simply as explorers with some technology
and power at our discretion, is therefore to live and learn and maybe tell a story, after
enough glides to make a personal tale worth it. These would then be ingrained into what
we call a Monument, a permanent sign of our passing, connected to the Strange and to
the rest of Existence. Now, people from the Pont system live a long while, which means
that relative to our home planets rotation around its sun, or a cycle, we exceed 2000 of

them. Its a lot by most galactic standards. I myself, in writing this, have passed 1853
cycles of life, so Im rather old, if not in perfect health.
Anyway, the Meandrils, in their state of pure energy, arent dangerous, but they
employ a stationary capacity that sometimes blocks calculations, getting in the way of
other races gliding on the Strange. Why they do that, why they feel the need to act as
traffic stops is beyond me, or any of my people, but thats not really important at this
point in my story.
I met one such Meandril on this last trip. I was meant to travel to Parxia, where I
intended to retire and live a moderately uneventful life, after four glides to distant
corners of the galaxy. I am an Outer Traveller, you see, someone who has decided to
calculate very large distances and to gather experiences from far-off civilizations. I have
seen and met the giants of Maribund, with their war guilt and their religious fanaticisim
towards ecology, the regal and dignified Alterons and their project of creating a galactic
network of free trading stations, the Xiulund and their warlike penchant for domination
- and their subsequent demise to the Laramites; finally, the water begins of Ea, who
exist only as energy in their gaseous bubbles of thought. Each of these races has a story,
a couple are quite similar in their evolution, all are worthy of being celebrated.
As I was leaving Pont, drawing energy converted from my planets core and
calculating, for over 2 cycles, my way to Parxia, I met a Meandril in my meditation, a
being that simply would not budge. He covered an important node in the Strange,
making it horribly difficult to calculate around his position. Conscience is space, even in
the Strange. I never got his name, I just remember passing him by, at speed, in the later
memories of my landing on Parxia. He resisted my calculations, getting in the way, as if
warning me of something, but I wasnt at my first glide and I certainly wasnt going to
listen to a glorified speed bump. It was my last trip, I could permit myself a little
arrogance. I tricked him and finally passed by, identifying the final strand that would
lead me to the Parxian system.
Later ending my calculations, I mentally sent the request to the Council for lift-off.
The Elders agreed, happily, to allow me a final (rarely was there a fifth glide)
destination. I bade farewell to my friends, they all cheered me on and promised to keep
in touch, as I went away. Dying off-world is the social norm on Pont, given were
inhabiting just a few planets in the system and dont want to overcrowd things. Quietly
6

spending the last few hundred cycles somewhere nice, warm and unique one way to be
remembered, especially if you include your later findings in your life story.
I wanted my Monument to be on Parxia, a planet in its early stages of development,
with an adequate atmosphere and even intelligent, if somewhat backwards life.
Umanoids there were in a classical age, after having discovered space travel, but they
had an amazing ability to carve metals on an almost molecular level. They built these
fantastic buildings that seemed solid, yet somehow posed almost no wind resistance,
kept the elements out and also were energy independent. Even their space ships, crude
vessels that they were, had a certain elegance in their design. They would build me a
nice Monument.
So I left, closing my eyes, comfortable in my pod and perfectly ready to transform
myself into Strange energy. My whole planet, with its deep and beautifully red gash of
volcanic activity across it, conspired in my benefit, propelling me into the Strange. A
moment, and I was on my way. Another moment longer, and I opened my eyes, with a
headache the size of Pont, disturbed beyond reason and with a virtual waterfall of
memories attacking my brain, each droplet screaming at me, all telling me I was
certainly not on Parxia.
I muttered a curse in the ancient tongue of the Xiulund, to all the Meandrils and
their future generations.

Chapter Two: The cold winds of Olamor, when naked

When landing from a Strange glide, its natural to feel disoriented. You were energy,
now youre back into physical form. The whole of Existence, which has protected your
conscience and kept it from the rest of the Strange, now rushes in to fill your brain. Its
hardly painful, you just get a jolt of memories and downloaded data. It ends with your
last glide, bits and pieces of imagery that you somehow gathered with your minds eye.
Its beautiful, in a sense, it makes you relive your entire life and it only gets stronger, as
you advance in your glides. There is a physical limit to how many glides you can make
because of that, because of the volume our brain has to download whatever weve lived,
in the span of a few moments.
Truthfully, we could have always solved that with neural memory implants and
specialized receivers, but it was decided that having four, maybe five such events was
more than enough in a lifespan. We cherish our physical form, because as far as we
know, were unique in the galaxy. Adding hardware to the whole thing would be tricky
when translating between Strange and physical form, but also would rob us, to a large
degree, of our special selves. Weve never been conquered or enslaved because of our
gift. What Im recalling to you now is largely public knowledge and background for my
story. It is only civilized of me to present myself and my race, which has stood the test of
galactic time.
From the glory of our civilization to the nakedness of Olamor, with its howling cold
winds is contrast enough, I think. Its also an adequate representation of my cringeworthy state, as I landed in the freezing mud of Olamor, a small, barely inhabited planet
of some two hundred thousand souls. The giant burst of light in the physical world,
followed by the bang of my arrival, were seen and heard for miles, alerting the
inhabitants of Pridulam, the planets only city.
Now, Travellers have a cheat in their gliding, something we all use in our
calculations and most assuredly when we pick a destination. An ancient race called the
Osinqui hard-coded something interesting in the strands that make up the Strange.
Since all Existence is connected to it, including planetary bodies and even the gases that

make up the apparent nothingness of space, the Osinqui, now long gone into whatever
higher form they chose, left a sort of database that updates itself with information. In
meditation, as a Traveller or as any of the races that can access the Strange, if you find a
planet, a fixed point exists around it, somewhere, that informs you with the number of
lives present, main metals in the crust, type of atmosphere and so on. From the data
presented, you can easily read out whether it has life, what kind, if its intelligent and so
on. Incredibly, the system somehow generates new instances around each strand, so
almost nothing is left secret.
Blasting into the freezing ground, the fixed point in the Strange was already
downloaded. When I got around to it, its information told me that I was on what was
called Olamor under the galactic standard naming system, which meant there was
intelligent life and that it was space faring. The planet had 235,043 souls in the most
developed species, which obviously represented uman inhabitants, but the vegetation
was too widespread to indicate a highly industrialized society. There were ample signs of
metal on the surface, yet corroborated with the vegetation information, the conclusion
was simple: Olamor was a world scarred by war, a remnant, a paltry survivor.
I opened my eyes, still smarting from the memory overload, shivering from the cold
air whipping my exposed skin, and I tried to get my bearings. I was in a clearing,
surrounded by small trees and bushes, all yellowing in what was most likely one of the
later seasons. I shut off the neurons just under my skin.
The fixed point memory reminded me there were two seasons, nominally, but there
were patches of frosty grass and the leaves in the trees, the ones that survived my
explosive entrance, at least, were dark and withered. It was probably a climate of
extremes, which strengthened the theory about a post-war present.
I started turning, looking around. If there were so many people left alive on this
rock, they would have eventually congregated into a city. Umans did that, in a reflex that
spanned the galaxy. Most subspecies were social, in nature, if not always peaceful. I had
little to go on and my first instinct was shelter from the elements. Despite being able to
shut off cold or pain, my body did have certain levels of tolerance, and I wasnt going to
start testing them on what was already a fiasco.
This was embarrassing and wrong. Few Travellers had survived such accidents, but
most importantly, none that I knew or heard of had made any such mistake. I could
9

swear by my calculations, but I needed some confirmation which only technology could
afford me. My instinct told me I was not wrong, that either the Meandril reacted
violently, upon my passing, or I simply hit something stranger than Strange on my way.
No point in overloading my brain, especially after the glide, with guilt or needless
calculations. What was done, was done, I quickly thought, what I needed now was to
search for shelter. I would figure out the rest later.
Far away, to my delight, I saw a tall spire, most likely metal. It was dark and thin,
connected to what was an elevator or lift of some sort. If they were space faring, that
meant the giant cable led to a structure in space. A place to connect to the galactic
dialogue, maybe even a rescue party from some friendly race with ships. I would
endure the weeks or months in hyperspace to my original destination, maybe brush off
the embarrassment of this glide. For the first time since my fall, I had purpose and was
hopeful. I started briskly walking towards it, trying not to damage my feet.
I was just exiting survival mode, when I stopped dead and realized something even
more important than the space lift. The fixed point would have mentioned structures in
orbit, unless.. two reasons: one, that it was highly secretive and therefore managed to
obscure the Osinqui, which required some amazing feats of technology. This was most
probably not the case; second, that the station was dead and, therefore, unable to send a
distress call. I pressed on, troubled.

10

Chapter Three: A Crude Spear is Very Much a Weapon

Travellers dont rely solely on the energy fed by their planet. We are able to read the
Strange because we have an ample supply of energy stored in us, which we use to
interface with whatever we desire. Earlier in our history, we were able to connect with
Existence through all sorts of ways. Leaves and animals, even simple buildings store the
energy of Existence. Now, connecting to a shrub isnt going to give anyone the archaic
knowledge of the universe, but reading an animals energy might help you understand
whether its scared or hungry. Reading umans, although difficult given their biological
complexity, is possible.
Later in our development, we discovered that we could channel our energies,
concentrating them from our brains towards whatever or whomever we choose.
Naturally, gliding the Strange depletes most of that energy, but as a form of defense,
ancient as it might be, it has its merits even in limited quantities. Its hardly a means of
communication, but neither is getting spears thrown at you simply because youre alien
to the locals. Then again, Ill admit that seeing a weird, naked umanoid angrily walking
into town, after a huge explosion in the forest, might not exactly follow First Contact
protocol.
There are billions of languages and dialects in the galaxy and no one really knows
them all. Generally there are technical meetings held ahead of any official first contact,
where species exchange language and cultural details. I had no such chance at civilized
discourse. Given Olamors post-war state, pushed so far behind the space age, an alien
was still an alien. My entrance into Pridulam was the main event of their recent history,
and the citys people met me as expected: screaming children, angry men and a hastilyorganized militia that threw ancient projectiles at me, trying to stop me.
I remained calm, despite the ongoing debacle. It all took a good half hour in which I
stood my ground, at the gates of the city, while about thirty men circled me and tried to
kill me in various ways. A few dozen more women and children looked on, from farther
down the cobbled road. I had chosen the most direct way into the city, not really caring
for social norms or niceties. I could have waited, but I wasnt in the mood.

11

While we blocked pain receptors a long while back, I still needed rest after the glide.
And I could still die. Getting the natives to accept me, as fast as possible, was my main
goal. I didnt strike an aggressive or warlike posture, but I believe my brisk pace into
Pridulam in the wake of my landing had spooked them more than a Xiulund war
dragon.
It was only much later that I would find out why their reception had been so violent,
their sacred forests and all the rest of the religious tale they had developed over the
centuries of isolation. I dont want to ruin the story, its enough to say that my coming
was foretold and my entry into Pridulam awoke their most basic and desperate fears.
Returning to what amounted to a botched First Contact and with no actual means of
making myself understood, I realized that awing them with my powers wasnt going to
get me very far. The first few spears that disappeared mid-flight apparently didnt send
the correct message to the defenders, who rushed in with some very ancient-looking
guns. At this point, I had to weigh the consequences of making some of the umans
disappear, and since Ive rarely done that sort of thing (and only as a last resort, in selfdefense), I quickly realised how much an escalation of hostilities would mean to them. I
was marooned here, using deadly force would not solve my problem at all. I quickly
dropped to my knees and raised my arms, knowing this the gesture meant submission
and surrender pretty much everywhere.

12

Chapter Four: A God Hanging by a Thin Strand

Pridulam was the last city standing on the planet Olamor, a once powerful world of
a ten billion souls. My first guess was to be proven true, they had lost a long and terrible
war a few thousand years ago and their society had almost turned back the stone age. It
was a sad story for them, as I myself was witness to such demise on Xiulund. That was a
conventional war, though, fought to some degree of civility, in that only industrial
centers and high interest targets were levelled, and ultimately space battles agreed the
victor. To bring a whole planet back to pre-space antiquity meant racial hatred and a
very long conflict, even with the most advanced technology available. Provided you laid
waste to the fleet, you could carpet bomb a world from space with pretty much anything,
including biological agents or planet-busting tech, but you still needed boots on the
ground to mop up the survivors.
That being said, the reaction I witnessed on my first day on Olamor spoke volumes
to the ferocity of its people, undoubtedly warriors of the highest caliber in their genes
and education. The fact that a few thousand souls survived the onslaught and managed
to rebuild even a passing semblance of civilization meant grit and determination. And I
bow to that, as a storyteller and a Traveller.
Technologically, they were a hybrid of some atomic power with steam age finishes,
which basically meant, at least in my mind, a disaster waiting to happen. The atomic
part was ancient and most probably in severe disrepair. It was used for powering basic
city utilities and was operated by the clergy. The space elevator that connected to the
power plant represented a temple, with its large circular base as the headquarters for
their religion, simply named the Belief.
I learned some of that, together with my first words in the Olamor language Pridulam litearlly meaning the last ones, from Arop Womm, the head of the militia
defending the city. From me, it seemed.
After I knelt and raised my arms, the guards circled me with care. I saw them
talking, and I read them as frightened and a little curious. They gestured towards the
bowmen and the spear throwers who were now without any weapons and then all

13

nervously looked back at me. I stopped myself from grinning. One of them said
something regarding his pistol, probably betting that I couldnt stop that. He would be
in for a great surprise, as I could make the bullet disappear, the gun and him whole, if I
wanted to. He was soon calmed down by the leader, the man I would know as Arop
Womm.
The language they used was rather generic, to my mind. After hearing sonar clicks
on Ea for a few hundred cycles, any spoken language seemed generic. I sighed, waiting
for them to decide what to do with me. I was tired and in no real mood to be debated
over, but anything else would have meant even more time wasted. So I waited.
I think they appreciated my lack of offensive and now they were talking, not
knowing what to do next. They were dressed in dark colors, with short tunics and pants
tied by belts holding all manner of tools or weapons, tall boots and metal or studded
shoulder pads. Not exactly the latest galactic fashion, but I wasnt going to comment in
my sorry state. Finally, a man dressed in a bright yellow robe rushed in, nervously
conversed with Womm for a while, then started wailing. That was clearly because of me.
He soon ran away. I looked at Womm and gave half a shrug, arms still halfway up.
It was all comical, a being that could travel the galaxy without the aid of technology
was kneeling in front of a few spears and projectile weapons. I could level half the city
with my mind, if I was fully recharged. I wanted time for rest, then to figure out what
that space elevator was all about.
They finally decided, it seemed, because Womm took a few steps closer, gun ready
and said something. I looked at him and replied, I am Balar, Traveller from Pont. I
come in peace.
He didnt understand me and said something else. I looked him in the eyes and
repeated myself, slowly lowering my hands and joining them, a message that could have
no other meaning anywhere in the galaxy. He thought for a few seconds, then nodded
and called on someone. Rope was brought in and he tied my hands, while I smiled,
patiently. He motioned me to rise and follow him, which I did, to the cheers of everyone
around, as if I was defeated. I played along, all I really needed was rest.
*

14

Why us? Why here? Womm finally asked, a few weeks later. He was still surprised
by the speed at which I was learning his language. Despite Womms apparent good
nature, I was still his prisoner. The food they provided was acceptable, the jail a sort of
tall metal box on the outskirts of the city. There was only one window, a bed and a gas
lamp. A small room to the side was intended for resolving some bodily functions which I
did not have or need. That really made them wonder. It wasnt a prison if there werent
any bars or force fields (hah!), so I was basically under house arrest.
It was an accident, I replied. I was meant to travel to Parxia. I still dont know
how I ended up here.
Travelling without a space ship?
Har, I said, which meant yes. I was repeating myself and I was getting tired.
Travellers glide on the Strange, I offered. Its an exotic energy that ties all of
Existence.
Glide?
Yes, maybe I do not know the word yet. I motioned with one palm above the other
a skidding motion, tracing a takeoff and landing. He followed my gesture with obvious
incredulity.
And what is Existence?
Everything, my friend. The stuff that binds us, from a sub-atomic level all the way
to planets and stars. Its a web of energy that includes the Strange, but also matter in all
its forms.
It is part of Belief, then!
This is your religion? I asked.
Not religion, he corrected me, Belief is faith that all living things are finite, that
there is no God, only the path that comes from regeneration. It was my time to raise an
(hairless) eyebrow, so he continued explaining. A mountain seems immortal, but the
winds and waters slowly turn it into dust. That dust travels to other places of the planet
and helps build other things, in it will grow trees and then animals and -
So its all nature, the steady evolution of time, I cut him off.
Yes, but more than that, he allowed, without being bothered by my interjection.
Umans like ourselves are also the same. We die and we are born anew, but we must live
in this system, trying not to disturb it.
15

So how do you control birth rates? On my planet, we send old people off to travel,
much like I am now here. He knew my age. He said he was 34 years old, something
which I gathered to be cycles. The day on Olamor had 24 hours, a bit less than on Pont.
We dont. Families request the honor of childbearing from the priests.
And you have children?
No, he replied without regret. He was sitting on a small chair in front of me, while
I lavished in presumed comfort on something that could have been a torture device on at
least one hundred worlds. Here, it was a bed. I never found a mate. Protecting
Pridulam is my only concern, it is my caste and my duty.
Ah, a caste society, I said. And who do you protect this city from? Wild animals?
Aliens like me, planning on taking dangerous strolls through your streets?
He laughed at my sarcasm, which indicated intelligence. Then again, Arop was a
decent man, I felt. I sensed he was curious about me and also a little scared, given his
colleagues penchant for violence towards anything alien. Of average build and with dark
hair and blue eyes, Womm seemed more than willing to help, once he got his answers. I
wasnt going to make it easy for him, given that I wanted answers of my own.
Our calling, our caste, is very strict. He finally said.
Ah, you were afraid a breach of security - I mean me, of course - would be
problematic with your bosses?
Bosses? He asked.
Yes, your higher ups.
I have no higher ups. I am the Head of Pridulams Guard. But I understand what
you mean, and yes, there were repercussions to my troops allowing you into the city.
I gestured with my hands, saying, It was not my intention to harm anyone.
Agreed, Womm replied with half a smile. Which is why were friends.
But who are you defending the city from, Arop? Pridulam is the only settlement on
the planet!
You are, as you say, alien here, my friend, its hard for me to explain. Belief
demands we are to protect the city, regardless of origin or threat. I felt a certain whiff of
irony in his voice, but I pressed on.
To keep the people safe.
Har, of course. No one is to venture outside without mandate from the priests.
16

And then it hit me. Womm, you loveable police fellow, you werent keeping wild
animals or aliens out, you were keeping curiosity in. He was the enforcement for the
thought police - the priests!
I see, I see, quite right. I said.
You now understand your.. position? He looked at me, looking for a sort of
understanding.
Arop, I do. Its not my intention to cause you problems. Like I said, I am a Traveller
from Pont, a very distant planet in this galaxy, and I came in peace, after one of my
glides went awfully wrong. Now, I understand clearly that you dont believe me, and that
I might be from somewhere on Olamor, even a spy! I smiled. My entrance into your
city, especially after my magic tricks, must have scared a lot of people.
Indeed it did, he agreed.
Well, nothing I could do about it, friend. Having spears thrown at you isnt saying
hello! in any culture. How can we solve this issue of ours?
You cant stay and you cant leave. He informed me, after a few moments.
Give the man a medal. I realize that. But I can at least learn about your culture,
through these talks with you.
He shrugged. Im taking a risk even with them. I dont believe youre who you say
you are, but I am curious still. This is a game we play.
A stupid game, if you ask me, I shot off, impatiently.
A useful game, he insisted.
Fine. What do you want to know? Exactly.
Who you really are and where do you come from. How many of you are there, what
plans do you have against us and when will you strike. He was serious. I realized the
whole friend sheen to our dialogue had gone away the moment I snapped. My mistake,
I really wasnt the patient type.
It was clear I wasnt going to win him over with logic. This was very much a local
affair, and if their paranoia was deeply entrenched, as Womms was evident to show, no
amount of insistence on my part was to prove my story. No ship - if they knew how one
even looked like - meant no landing, so I must have attempted to attack the city and
failed, only to surrender afterwards. And an enemy that is capable of making things
disappear is treated with some respect, but not too much. They were probably racking
17

their heads trying to figure out ways to torture me, if this friendly dialogue didnt work. I
had to play it smart. I sighed and sat for a few moments in thought.
Friend Womm, I began, do you have a sacred text in regards to Belief?
Of course, it is the Book of Pridulam.
Very well. Could you teach me your written language and allow me to read it?
How will this help your answers? Womm asked, slightly annoyed.
It will help, dear friend, because I will only answer the questions you raised to one
of your priests. But in order to be respectful towards them and towards Belief, I want to
understand it first.
If youre a spy, consuming such knowledge might give you information youre
better off not having.
Smart man. Agreed. But if I dont, and the information I bring isnt heard, it will be
on your head. I was playing a game learned on Alteron, where bureaucracy was king
and no mid-level manager would dare make a decision without a higher ups consent.
Womm wasnt exactly the type I was looking for, but he obviously held respect, if not
fear, for the priests. I couldnt remember what the one in the yellow robe said to him,
but if I was in his position, I would have assuredly protected the leaders from a possible
embarrassment. In this scenario, Womm was a mere gatekeeper to higher accusations,
as I would find out.
Thats assuming they will agree, my guard said. And that I will allow it. Holy men
arent to be played with, Balar.
Aha! Again, agreed. But you do your job and pass this information along. I want to
read the Book and I want to meet with a priest. They werent going to say no, given how
much power they wielded in this society. At least that was my hope. I was banking on
them being a bit more sensitive to the whole alien angle, given they inhabited a space
lift. Think about it, please.
I will, Womm said, standing up and motioning for the door.
Thank you.
And if it doesnt work, what then? He asked.
You are free to try any other form of interrogation you please, I replied,
dismissively. Actually, after making this cell disappear in a flash of light and probably
killing you and your men, I will deplete all my energy in trying to escape and figure out a
18

different way up. I smiled. He didnt smile back, which again confirmed he was a decent,
if ever so scared and curious man.

19

Chapter Five: Reasonably, Death Could Be a Beginning

Womm did take up my request and I was presented with a thick paper book, bound
in copper. The cover had a relief of a triangle, wide at its base and rounded at the upper
tip. It was gilded and had inscriptions on each side, both inside and out. I asked Womm
what they meant and he replied, with strength in his voice, The base holds Belief, above
it Honor. To the left is Reach and Danger. Only following the bridge of Truth, as he
traced his finger over the curved tip, can one reach Life and Regeneration. It is a simple
drawing of all that is inside the Book. The angles are there to represent hardship.
So in order to reach Belief.. I began.
No, Reach is the outside of Pridulam. He corrected me. The Reach is Danger, as
Life is Regeneration.
So through Truth one can access Reach. I played dumb.
Nar, which mean no. Only through Belief, and having an angle, it means
hardship. I am not a priest, but this is what were taught.
So through Honor, one can get to Danger? I could see he was getting annoyed, but
he wasnt dumb enough to fall in my game. He drew a long breath.
Too much Honor, too much pride, can be dangerous, yes. The outisde, Reach,
Truth, Life are general concepts, for our society. Inside, Honor, Danger and
Regeneration are all individual. Belief ties everything together.
Now I see. Having individual thoughts that could harm society could be dangerous,
whereas Honor or Regeneration are important.
He cocked his head to the side and finally allowed, Something like that. Let me
read you the first page. And he did, and I finally understood their alphabet and a little
grammar. I read the book in five days and

20