The Traveler The Dead World Prologue

May 1, 1893 E.S.T.

2-12.10.19.4.13 T.S.T.

Entstal

Tehrahey

Tehrahey was not a world for precious things. The people of this dimension lacked even the most basic of human decencies taken for granted in other worlds. Tehraheyians did not have families and, therefore, did not care for others. They only looked out for themselves.

The great red sun glared onto the crumbling city of Entstal, capital of Western Tehrahey. Despite the immense heat of the encroaching Erima—a sand-dune desert covering most of the world—a few disheveled people wandered the streets, each person searching for just enough scraps to survive another day. I ignored them, and they ignored me. Sweat beaded and collected on my skin beneath my gray cloak, yet no matter how uncomfortable the fabric became, I refused to remove it and expose the burden I carried to this harsh world.

Lumpy, clay, and mud-brick buildings lined the streets and towered over the road. Large misshapen holes served as windows for each floor and allowed air to pass through the buildings, keeping their inside temperatures just below sweltering. Deteriorating plank shutters hung at odd angles beside the openings. Rickety wooden platforms made from old tree branches protruded beneath each opening. The lower ones appeared to serve as protection from the sun, while the upper ones were used for storage.

Stalls made of weathered wood and aged canvas awnings stood before some of the buildings. Thin, tanned people did their best to make any sort of a living on this baked, dried-up world. Clay pots, leather sandals, and small sheets of dyed cotton were just a few of the things available for purchase. Most items matched the worn, rundown feel of the city and its people. Since the city lacked any natural resources of its own, the items were likely either stolen or imported long ago. I didn’t linger to shop. Despite being the capital, Entstal was a slum and offered no promising future to its inhabitants.

The hot, dry air carried the dusty scent of the Erima, along with the smells of sweat and other unpleasant things. I hurried further toward the city’s eastern edge, following the sandstone brick pillars of a raised aqueduct. Arches of stone ran down the center of the street and kept the flowing water aloft, well out of anyone’s reach. However, people gathered in places here and there with pots and buckets to collect droplets from the elevated waterway. Some formed lines; others clamored over one another. The paving stones beneath those latter groups were usually caked in mud.

The closer I got to the city’s border with the Erima, the more rundown and abandoned the buildings became. The street transitioned from one of a bustling city to that of a ghost town. Most tenants in this part of town seemed to have moved on, no doubt to stay closer to the receding shoreline of the nearby ocean. Only the aqueduct and road remained in decent condition. Still, the road had seen better days. In some places, rocks too rough to be considered for use as pavement were placed in the ground as replacements to patch holes almost as plentiful as the bumps. Whoever maintained the road did their best to keep it clear of sand. The tan granules lay in piles here and there. Some of the mounds spilled into the nearby buildings, which no one seemed to mind. No visible efforts existed of removing any of the miniature dunes.

Despite the weight of my burdens, I persisted onward. I could see the end of the aqueduct. The series of archways came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a small plaza. As I passed the final column of the aqueduct, the sound of flowing water emanated from within it, likely flowing into a cistern below the square. Here, all the disheveled buildings surrounding the abandoned square were falling apart. Roofs were caved in, walls lay on their sides or leaned against neighboring structures, and the remnants of an ancient well lingered in the center of the neighborhood. What once provided water to the people had been capped off with stone bricks, preventing anyone nearby from accessing the life-giving liquid. 

One building stood out from all the others. Carvings and a faded painting of the sun adorned large, smooth limestone walls. The once red mural situated above the entrance had dulled over time to a unique mix of oranges and pinks. A pair of round, stacked stone brick pillars stood guard on either side of the entryway. They held aloft a large block of limestone where three heads were carved into the outer surface. Two eagle heads with beaks pointed toward the center resided on each end of the block. What may have been the first Maker’s scornful face rested in the middle and watched over the abandoned courtyard. The squared carvings were ornate by Tehraheyian standards, but, as they currently stood, they couldn’t come close to competing with even the most basic temples back home. The people of Tehrahey simply lacked any real artistic talent.

The grandeur of the building, which only the local polity could maintain, and the presence of the aqueduct meant to provide water for the hundreds of children housed within told me I had arrived at my destination. This was the Child Teaching System, an institution aimed at educating the next generation of Tehraheyians. At least, that was the intent when the Maker created it. As ruler of Tehrahey, the Maker was supposed to provide the people with new technologies from other worlds. The CTS was one such example, and over the centuries, it had become corrupt, focusing less on education and more on control. After all, what kind of system would kidnap children at the age of three in the name of education? Parents rarely saw their children again, and it was easy to see why the people of this world struggled to make any meaningful connections when their families never truly lasted. Very few inhabitants truly knew love here.

Ascending three stone steps brought me into the shaded, door-less entryway of the building. Darkness and gloom filled the bland interior. Not even the sun could force its relentless light inside, if only the same could be said for the blistering heat. My heavy footsteps echoed through the quiet shadows. I removed my cloak’s hood, allowing me to better survey the small anteroom. There wasn’t much to see. Grains of sand littered the floor and collected in the corners. The room stood barren save for two spear-wielding men who stood guard on either side a pair of large metal doors. Their jet-black clothes concealed them within the shadows, making them invisible until my eyes adjusted.

I approached with caution, unsure of how these lackeys would receive me. The one on the right—the older of the two based off the gray in his facial hair— raised his spear to point at me. “That’s close enough, freak.”

Heeding his instructions and ignoring the insult at my appearance, I complied with the order before responding in a calm voice, “I wish to speak to a teacher.”

I received no response other than the lowering of the spear.

“It’s about my child.”

“Leave. Your child will not be returned to you,” the guard on the left instructed.

I took a deep breath. After this, there would be no going back. Of all the horrible things I had done in my life, this would be the crown jewel. There would never be forgiveness for this deed. “I don’t want to remove my child from the system.” I opened my cloak to reveal my five-month-old son sleeping peacefully in a sling against my chest. “I want to leave mine with you.”

The guards shared a flustered look before the older one gestured with his head toward the doors. The other followed the silent instruction and disappeared into the depths of the building. Moments later, he returned with a young woman no older than twenty. Her thin yet tall form seemed ill-suited for the brown uniform given to all CTS workers. Several knots were tied into the waist of her pants to tighten them, and still they seemed too loose. The pant legs and sleeves were too short, exposing her wrists and ankles. In her arms, she carried a large gourd full of water.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” the woman, sounding more like a girl with each second, stated with fear. She turned to face the guards at their post, her chocolate-colored hair hanging halfway down her back swinging to and fro. “I’m not stealing extra rations. I’m just trying to get some water for the mess hall. You can ask Mr. Nadir. He sent me.”

“You’re not in trouble,” the older man snapped, causing the girl to stiffen. “This woman wants to leave her child here. We’ve chosen you to take care of it. You should be honored.”

I recognized the man’s lie the moment it left his lips. The only qualification the girl had for this job was they had found her first. Still, she would be the one my son needed. I believed she would be the one to take care of him better than I ever could.

The girl’s shoulders dropped, and the water gourd almost slipped from her grasp. She recovered, managing to only spill a few drops. She turned sideways to cast me a disbelieving stare with her brown eyes. After all, what mother would give up her only child, especially at such a young age? Then, facing the guards again, she stammered, “I have to … Mr. Nadir needs me to bring him this water right away. I can’t … I mean won’t … I won’t take a child!” She turned to me and studied my little boy. “Especially not one so young. Besides, shouldn’t … shouldn’t the omega handle this?”

“Are you questioning the orders given to you by one of the Maker’s Guards?”

“No, sir. I would never! I just—”

“You just what?” he asked with a tone which suggested answering would not be in her best interest. She visibly gulped and faced me. Her forlorn expression told me she had no idea what to do.

I gave a pointed glance at what she carried then looked back at her.

She caught my meaning. She placed the object on the ground with a deep breath and stood to stare at me with empty arms. After some hesitation, she took a few cautious steps forward. Her hands rose to accept the baby then jerked back toward herself. Clutching at her shirt, she looked to me for guidance. Under any other circumstances, I might have found it amusing to see someone so big be afraid of something so small.

“I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off as she crept forward.

I understood the unfinished question. She was too inexperienced to have any children of her own.

“It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Helina.”

I offered a reassuring smile while removing my bundled little boy from his sling. “Hold him like this, Helina.” I demonstrated.

With shaky yet gentle hands, the girl took my baby from me.

I bit hard on my lower lip, ignoring the copper taste of blood washing over my tongue, as my mouth formed a thin line.

The girl regarded my child in much the same way I had when first holding him. She studied his soft pale face, admired the black hair already sprouting from the top of his head and marveled at his little hands. For a long moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Finally, she glanced up at me, a small grin on her face, though it faltered in less than an instant. She held my gaze for an eternity. In her brown eyes, I could see the unspoken question. Why was I doing this? She didn’t understand, and never would.

After today, I would not meddle anymore. I had learned my lesson. Whenever I got involved, the people I cared about got hurt. I broke eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the less-accusing ground.

The faintest, sweetest sound came from my waking son held in the arms of another woman.

My body shuddered with a repressed sob.

The girl studied the bundle in her arms with rapt attention. “What’s his name?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Kyle.” I stepped backward.

She didn’t notice. She focused on the son I would never see again.

“He’ll need soft foods,” I instructed. Tears stung my eyes, and I did my best to blink them away. “When he cries, I sing to him.” I locked my mouth shut as another sob tried to escape. “He likes it when I sing,” I managed after a moment. 

A frown grew on her face, and she tore her gaze from Kyle to tell me, “I don’t know how to sing.”

“Neither do I,” I offered with a hollow laugh.

The girl chewed her lips but nodded before staring at my baby once again.

Unable to stay anymore, I offered my final instruction. “Give him all the love I wish I could.”

I fled, and she called after me, as did my crying son, but I left the CTS and the world I abandoned within it.

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