Ulduk wandered the mountains in a glorious trance. In the light of the sun, he ascended to their peaks, trudging over the cold, rocky ground as the wind blew tiny white flakes around him. In the shadow of the moon, he descended to deep valleys and ravines, building fires by night to warm himself as he fell asleep beneath a rain of falling stars. He found the birthplaces of mighty rivers, the highest reaches of vast forests, vents which leaked steam and smoke from the heart of the earth, and gargantuan monuments of stone which stood proudly as the mountainsides eroded around them. On northern slopes, he found patches of dark green moss stretching for miles; on southern slopes he found prairies of flowers painting the hillsides pink and purple. It rained and it shined and it snowed and it fogged and it smoked and it was all beautiful. In the valleys, he felt miniscule beneath the towering faces above him, yet he was high above the earth. On the crests, he was perched above the world, yet the skies opened above him in all directions, dwarfing him in a way they could not when the horizon was nearer.

  In time he approached Oort Peak itself, tallest of all the mountains, black as obsidian and shrouded with gray haze. The air smelled of fire and the ground trembled and groaned beneath him. Ulduk dared not ascend to the top, but simply looked up in awe, trying to see through the acrid smoke pouring out of the mountain. He'd never seen a place so majestic, so terrible. His mouth opened and he screamed: “42!” But it made no sense to him. When a gust of wind cleared away some of the haze, he looked down to the lands below. The city of Oortou was a tiny speck. Memories flooded him. It was in Oortou… that was where the Society began…

  “We appoint you, Ulduk Penney, as head of our new organization, The Society for Wetland and Marshland Preservation.” A crowd of people from the southern tribes cheered. The speaker continued. “Ulduk, your efforts to educate the public of the values and virtues of wetlands are astounding. You have long been a speaker for the lowlands, protecting them from the unethical advances of technology, greed, and prejudice. We award you this necklace as a sign of your faithful dedication and unending work for the preservation of our environment, our culture, and our future.”

  Ulduk beamed as the garish blue and green necklace was lowered over his head.

  “Yes,” the speaker continued, “we admit it looks a little strange.” The audience laughed graciously. “But so are the wetlands, we all must admit!” The audience burst into applause. The speaker raised his hands to quiet them and continued. “This necklace is bright blue and pine green… bright blue to remind you of the waters of the swamp… waters that must be preserved and protected. It is these waters that provide in times of drought, keeping our rivers full and clouds satisfied. And, it is pine green! A symbol of the lush vegetation and life that thrives in the wetlands, complimenting our fragile ecosystem and aiding in a million ways. May the swamps never be forgotten, for we are plain as plains without them.”

  The speaker motioned for the audience to rise.

  “Dear tribesmen and tribeswomen, I present to you Ulduk Penney, head of the SWAMP. Under his guidance we gather united to fight for the wetlands. Though we are of different tribes, different villages, and different families, may we ever pledge to preserve the swampy realms in which we live and play. May this—”

  A thundering boom jolted Ulduk back to the present. He turned, startled to see a plume of dust rising behind a nearby mountain. The noise crashed and echoed for a bit, like a dam bursting or rocks cascading. There was a minute of silence, and then another great explosion and echoes of the mountain rumbling in anger. Ulduk could not imagine what could make such a noise, so he set his eye upon a reasonably safe-looking route across the steep mountainside and set off to see what was happening.

  * * * * * * * *

  Zekrye's gaze went from Hans to the V'hogel beside him. “V'hogle come when great happenings are imminent. Truly this is a sign beyond refute.” He sighed and looked out into the crowd with sadness. “Yet a signpost is without purpose if those who see it cannot read.”

  “That is my V'hogel,” blurted Hans. “It has nothing to do with this place.”

  “You are mistaken,” responded Zekrye. “This creature is not yours, but the Sheeks'. You led them to Quinn, and now you lead them to me, and to the Leader whom they want to destroy. When I said the Sheeks were on their way, it was true. And it has happened because this V'hogel has called them.”

  “It is not so!” exclaimed Hans. “If the Sheeks come, it is to silence your lies, not because of V'han.” He turned to V'han. “V'han, speak and deny this!”

  Instead of answering, the V'hogel turned in panic, facing the doors to the room. It stood motionless, sensing danger.

  “V'han, speak. What are you doing?” pleaded Hans.

  An eerie voice silenced the murmuring crowd. “It is come. There is no time. All must run.” And with that, the V’hogel turned and fled deeper into the temple, vanishing down a hallway.

  Hans watched in confusion as a shrouded figure standing near the hallway split from the crowd, dashing after V’han, and the two vanished. Were they together? Was he one of Zekrye's men, chasing down a spy? Hans did not know.

  This did nothing to ease the growing tension in the room, but what happened next was even worse. No one knew what to make of the events that were occurring, like fat raindrops falling harder and harder, bringing an immediate threat of a flash flood. The crowd parted down the middle like the Red Sea and the room was filled with screams. Hans had been staring down the hallway where V'han and the other had disappeared, but now he turned to a scene of terror beyond his worst nightmare. The largest rabadon he had ever seen was standing in the midst of the assembly. It stood a tad taller than a Sheepel, but long and slim, with sharp claws and teeth on one end and a whip-like tail on the other. It was a creature built for death.

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  Some shrieked, scattered, ran. Others were frozen in place or shaking. The rabadon held its position, swiveling its head wildly, surveying the crowd. A childhood scene dominated Hans' mind, of a rabadon in a similar situation, surrounded by frightened Sheeple in the middle of the Central Plaza of Talmyn. It had wasted no time in killing as many Sheeple as it could, knowing that it was doomed to die. Seventeen were dead and countless wounded before gunshots brought it down. As it died, it uttered one word, 'Gulah,' the only sound ever heard from a rabadon. Hans' father was among the dead. Hans mourned for weeks, and never forgot the memory. When he reached voting age, he cast his ballot in favor of killing the last remaining rabadon imprisoned in Seoltin. Now his world hung in haunting paradox. He'd encountered a rabadon in Talgar. Mordei claimed to be running from one near The Zone. V'han clearly could sense them, and seemed to believe there were many. Now this one in Selfar. If all the rabadons had been killed, why did so many remain? Where were they hiding, and why only now were they appearing?

  Several Hakes had pulled out guns, surrounding the creature with their weapons trained on it, but still it did not move. Hans gripped his own knife. It was useless against a rabadon.

  “Do not shoot it,” warned Zekrye, stepping forward calmly. Hans knew he was right, for to shoot at the creature would only enrage it, and by the time enough shots had been fired to take it down, there would be far too many Sheeple killed, both from the rabadon and the stray bullets. Yet still Hans despised the priest for siding with the beast.

  A Hake with a gun trained on the reptile spoke up. “Is this your divination then? It will only attack when you give the command, eh?”

  “Or is it another Sheek spy?” called another.

  “This creature is harmless,” said Zekrye. “The Leader has silenced it. The Leader is here, and shall restore peace to this land.”

  Suddenly, the rabadon's eyes focused on Zekrye, as if seeing him for the first time. It lurched forward, uttering that one sound known to rabadons: “Gulah!” It swung its sharp claws at Zekrye's side, but Zekrye ducked out of the way with a cry.

  “Peace! Peace to you and the Sheeks!”

  It's going to kill him, Hans realized. The old fool is going to die, while offering peace to the rabadons and the Sheeks, our enemies. “There is no peace!” Hans shouted. “There is only war, dragged on by the Hake leaders who urge their followers to battle and then flee to the wilderness. You cannot see that V'han is good, that this creature is evil! How will you ever lead us against the Sheeks?”

  The rabadon swiped again at Zekrye, but again the priest evaded the blow.

  “Kill him!” shouted the red-eyed woman. “He has brought this terrible animal here with his vain teachings. Kill the prophet, kill the beast, kill the Sheeks!”

  And the rabadon again began to swing its claws at Zekrye, but again it was moving too slow and Hans could see that it would miss. Does he control the evil creature, then? A silver glint flew threw the air and a metal knife sunk deep into Zekrye's neck. The priest collapsed backwards into a chair and the rabadon growled in triumph. Hans gasped as he realized what he’d done, for the knife had flown from his own hand. He didn't know whether he'd meant to hit the priest or the rabadon, but the target told no lies. His heart had aimed for the priest, and now he froze in fear at what might happen next.

  A tall Sheepel, whose name was Rimdar, stepped forward amidst the gasps of the crowd. He passed the rabadon, took his outer coat off and pulled it around Zekrye. Zekrye looked up in thanks. “My Leader.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he dropped from the chair and hit the floor, dead.

  Rimdar turned to face the crowd. “No one should fear this rabadon. Its days are numbered. Yes, it will spare every one of you… but woe to those whom it seeks! For this rabadon will not rest–cannot rest–until its anger is avenged. Let every Sheepel hope he or she doesn't become this monster's target.” He faced the rabadon with a look of disgust covering his face. “Go! Those whom you seek are not here.”

  The rabadon bared its yellow teeth, and slowly turned away from Zekrye and this newest Hake. It shuffled through the parted crowd, exiting the building. Hans could not believe his eyes. Suddenly, being the killer of Zekrye did not seem so popular. Had this new Hake seen that it was he who threw the knife? Hans backed away, watching from the far end of the room, but no one seemed to notice him. All eyes were on the Hake who had appeared out of nowhere.

  The crowd had again calmed down, but the raindrops were still falling. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was the arrival of the One-Who-Seems-To-Be-Leader, or maybe it was because the price of Maowkie Pickles had gone up six percent in a two-hour time span, but the Sheek Army chose this exact moment to burst through the doors. Again the crowd screamed and parted, making way for the soldiers. A commander with a microphone called, “Now! Where is the one called Zekrye? He is under arrest. And, um, anyone claiming to be a leader, and all the rest of you, are arrested as well. Surrender your weapons and prepare to be taken into custody.”

  “On whose authority?” sneered a Hake, the same who had previously called for the death of Zekrye.

  “Detective Barth DeManth, of the Sheek Authority, has issued the order for the arrest and questioning of all Hakes congregated here.”

  “This is a Protected Site. You cannot take us!”

  “The scrolls are protected for historical and religious reasons. There is nothing in the law about the protection of mere Hakes.”

  “Just try and take us!” The Hake evidently had a gang of followers, for many of the same Hakes whom had minutes ago pointed their guns at the rabadon aimed at the Sheek soldiers. “Take them down!” he screamed, as even more Hakes revealed weapons to join in the fray.

  Things were happening so fast that everything seemed as a blur to Hans. He heard Rimdar shouting something about authority, and then everyone was shouting, and the soldiers were running like ants, and strangest of all, no guns were being fired. There was the sound of explosions outside and the building shook. Hans was certain his life was about to end. They're dropping bombs. This temple will be destroyed, and all inside killed, both Hake and Sheek. But eventually the explosions died out, and the Sheek soldiers seemed even more frantic.

  By this time, everyone had realized that no one's guns were working and had abandoned them. The Hakes were rolling tables and throwing chairs at the Sheek soldiers, who themselves were screaming at each other and retreating toward the exits. The Hakes rushed after them, out into the green grass where the flyrs of the Sheeks had just landed. In their places were smoking balls of charred metal.

  Rimdar stood on a table which had been rolled outside and shouted for quiet until all paused to look at him, both Hake and Sheek. “Listen to me!” he declared. “Now is the time of peace. Your firearms are useless, because no longer can we murder each other for unjust causes. All across the planet, Sheek war-flyrs have been destroyed. You soldiers would do best to cooperate, for there will be no Sheeks coming to rescue you, and you are greatly outnumbered.”

  Hans stared in awe at the one who had taken charge, a Hake who seemed to exude confidence and great purpose from within. He had heard stories about the ancient heroes: Quinn, Mahoj, Ertius, even old Wyvere… but never had he heard of such powers as this. Perhaps there was hope for the Hakes! Perhaps the war was not useless; perhaps the Hakes could win! It was something he had never dared imagine. He forced his way through the crowd to stand before the tall Sheepel. “Sir. Are you the Leader, the one prophesied by the Seven Scrolls to save the Hakes?”

  Rimdar looked at him with compassion. “It is as you say. Believe, and spread the good news to all you meet. For this day, the words of many are fulfilled. From now on, a new authority on Shamonj is established.”

  Hans stepped back and considered this. He hated the war. He had just murdered a Hake priest. His friend Zak was far away and V'han was apparently a Sheek spy and traitor. He had no good news to spread, and the words of Rimdar seemed just as empty as those spoken before him. But Hans could not deny the power he had just seen. To stop weapons and destroy flyrs with no effort? Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time the Hakes will win. He vowed to return to Talmyn and tell Zak what had happened. Although Zak was a Sheek, he had always been wise and impartial. Zak would know what to make of these strange events.