Miranda1

The last part is the hardest. I make it to the bottom of the rope ladder, but there is still much more space beneath me. With shaking hands, I undo the linen bandages and let them flutter below me, one end tied to the last rung of the ladder. There are strips and strips of bandages; they filled my bedroom floor, but it seems ridiculous now, here in the Outside.

I have to trust my life to linen bandages.

I wrap the rope-bandage across my back and hold it against my body, under my arms. I plant my bare feet on the wall, and I slowly let the bandage run through my left hand, then under my right arm. The Treekeepers have shown us this technique for descending a large tree.

The sun is going down, and the curved wall beneath my bare feet feels warm. I wonder if anyone can see me from inside Oculum. What do I look like? A strange Fandom spider wriggling down the world. Or maybe the Sentries have shut everyone up inside their homes, forbidding them to look? What’s happening now that I have escaped with everyone watching? The children must be very afraid. They watched me escape through the top of our world, and now they know that William1 isn’t dead.

I slowly walk backward down the curved wall, one foot, another foot, lower and lower. The ground slowly gets closer, and I peek out over this new world. There are houses, broken down and fallen over, as far as I can see. Smoke rises in a few places.

Are there people out here other than William1? A terrifying thought, but there must be.

There is no Oculum wall above me for the first time in my life. I can’t scream in fright or give in to fear of the openness all around me. I have no choice but to be brave. If I die, at least it will be out here, in the Outside. Where William1 is.

I get to the end of the linen bandages, but it is still the height of my house to a landing spot. There are piles of rock and rubble below me, and I have no shoes. I dangle for a while, wondering what to do next.

My cloak.

I adore my cloak; of all my clothing it’s the most dear and useful to me. Mother made it for me when I was four, when I first entered her house, and she let it out each year as I grew. It’s hard to think of sacrificing it, but there’s no other choice. I must cut up my cloak.

Mother would want me to, I realize. She would want me to live. Otherwise, why did she kill Regulus and sacrifice herself so that I could get away? I tie myself securely with the bandage rope and then wriggle out of my cloak. I cut it with the pruning shears then tie the strips together and one end to the last linen bandage.

Then I descend the final distance, land, and roll on a flat piece of rubble. I’m bruised, I cut my leg, and banged my knees, but I’m unharmed. I look back the way I came. The curved wall of Oculum rises, up, up, up, above me, lost in sky. I can’t see the rope ladder at all from here, just linen strips and my cloak, in shreds.

Thank you, Mother dear, for your handiwork.

I slump to the rock and lean against the wall.

It’s unfathomable what I’ve done. It’s ludicrous, crazy. I suddenly start to shake with exhaustion and fear. I can’t move from this spot. I eat an apple, keep the core in my satchel, and take a sip of water from the water jug. Then I lean back and watch the sun disappear into the ground at the edge of the world, a strange and frightening sight. Darkness comes.

Where am I? And what have I done?

I lost the pruning shears after the final cut. They slipped out of my hand and into the rubble below, gone forever. And on the last tear of the cloak, William’s map fluttered out across the ruined world like a bird. It floated a long way before it dropped on the ground.

The apple seeds are still safe, though. They’re warm and solid against my waist.

It’s a long and horrible first night outside my world. Foul, long-nosed creatures slip out of the rubble, hiss, and nip at each other, then at me. I throw rocks at them when their eyes glint in the moonlight. As I huddle upon the rock, I think of Jake47, Isa19, William2, and all the others, and I know only one thing for certain: I must find William1 and return to Oculum, even though we are both as banished from our world now as anyone ever could be.

Who will tell the children of Oculum the truth about Outside? William and I are the only ones who know.

Slowly the sky grows pink, and I watch the sun reappear on the opposite side of its sinking. I was too scared in my descent yesterday to really look at the world all around me, but now I do.

This world is ruined. The houses are fallen, the larger buildings too, and there is only destruction and garbage as far as I can see. It may have been beautiful once, though, judging by the color of the sky and the few trees that hold fast in the rubble.

There is no movement, no people. There is nothing alive, other than the long-nosed, hissing creatures that appear and disappear in the shadows.

I look down at my bare feet — how I wish I hadn’t thrown my shoes at Regulus! — then I tear strips from the bottom of William’s shirt and fashion shoes. I shoulder my satchels and pull a long, sturdy, wooden staff from the rubble. I slap it on the rock and sweep it through the air over my head.

It will do.

I take in the beautiful sky. It’s strange and frightening to have so much space above me, but I know now that this is how it should be. This is Outside, and it is the truth.

I turn away from Oculum and start across the wasteland to search for William1.

It’s treacherous, and every step I take has to be careful and sure. All is silent but for my own breathing, my footfalls upon the rock and garbage, through the brick and glass and machines that I can’t fathom. I see no one, hear nothing.

And then after a few hours …

… a sound!

It floats on the air, and I cannot name it. It’s not a voice. It’s not a machine. It’s just sweet and comforting, and it calls me. I creep cautiously past a fallen house. I don’t know this sound.

And I stop.

Around the corner of the house stands a beast on four legs. It’s much taller than I am, with a powerful back and chest, a fine head with a long fall of hair.

A man sits at the feet of this creature.

I know he is a man; Mother has taught me that William1 and all the other boys of Oculum will grow into men, but I had no idea what that meant until now. I’ve never seen a man before. The man has hair on his face like William1’s, although much filled out. He is bigger across the shoulders than my friend, as well, and taller.

The man holds a stick in his mouth. He breathes into it … and this is what makes the sound, this stick and his breath! It is sweet and lovely, astonishing. I crouch and listen. The sound tugs at me, makes me want to move my arms, my feet, my hips, but I don’t know how to approach, or if I would be safe.

I’m afraid.

The sound stops. The man puts the sound-maker stick into a pouch at his side, and I see letters on the pouch: J. Briar. A name?

J. Briar stands, brushes off his legs, and climbs onto the back of the beast, who is willing. The creature moves carefully through the rubble with heavy feet, and I watch as the man and beast disappear.

I have seen my first person in the world Outside.

He moves through the fallen houses and streets, and I follow, but the legs of his beast are much longer than mine, and soon he is gone.

I walk on and on over rubble and more broken houses. It’s hot, difficult walking, and despite the cloth shoes my feet suffer, then start to bleed. I have no idea where to go to find William, but I decide that if I see anyone else, I will speak to them. Except for J. Briar, however, I see no one.

Then, in the wreckage of this world, a word peeks from the wall of a standing house: MANN. It’s charcoaled on a wall, and there’s a pointing arrow beneath. There’s another “Mann” written again on a wall nearby, and another arrow. Someone has written this, left this word and this arrow, and I consider: should I trust it? But I have no other guide, no other sign of life, and so I see that I must. I stumble along, catching glimpses of Mann and the arrows, as I follow the path on my bleeding feet.

Then, in late afternoon, I come across my second person in this world.

I watch for a moment, leaning on my staff, astonished.

This person stands over many small children who are laid out on the ground. The children are ill, I can see that immediately. They cough or stare and lie still. The person moves between them, muttering. Then she looks up at me, and I gasp.

A woman. I know the word but again, I’ve never seen one. Other than J. Briar a few hours ago, I’ve never seen anyone older than me. I did not truly understand it.

As soon as she sees me, the woman runs toward me. Her hair is gray and flies all over her face. She’s missing a tooth at the front of her mouth, and her face is not smooth like mine. She dashes to me and clutches me with a surprisingly strong hand. I draw back in fear.

“Girl! What do you want here? Who are you?” She’s ferocious, shouting in my face, but I push her away.

“Please, I’m Miranda1. I’ve followed a trail to this place. I’ve followed Mann.” At the last word, the woman raises her eyebrows and looks me up and down.

“You can’t stay here, Miranda1. You must go.” She sees my bleeding feet, though, and clucks. I immediately think of Mother with a rush of sadness.

“I’m looking for my friend. Can you help me?” I ask, and I must be pitiful, for the woman bows her head and turns to a cart with two beasts attached to it. I understand now: these are beasts of burden, horses. J. Briar had one. I’ve seen the words in the WillBook, just never in life.

She rummages for a moment then returns to me with a pair of boots and a piece of food. She shoves both at me.

“Boots and bread, best I can do for you, girl. Now go! And if you find Mann, you tell him that Grannie says there’s still fever among the Littluns and to stay away.” Then the woman turns from me and dismisses me as thoroughly as if I was never there. A child whimpers in its fever, and she bends to soothe it. Another calls her name, and she soothes that one too, and wipes a brow, offers a sip of water, touches a hot forehead as she creeps among the sick.

I lean on my staff and watch and cannot stop it. A tear drops. And another.

Grannie, she called herself. And she reminds me in every possible way of my own dear Mother, gone forever.

Soon, though, I turn away, since she has told me to go. I strap on the boots, which fit well, then put the food to my lips. She called it bread. I’ve never had anything like this. It’s chewy and hard but softens in my mouth.

I walk away from Grannie and her sick Littluns, as she called them.

I head into the coming darkness, alone, but in my mind I see Grannie bending over her sick children, and I can think of only one thing. It comes to me again and again: Grannie loves them.