by Michael Vu
The Wounded World
by Ariele Sieling
© Ariele Sieling 2014
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author. The characters and situations are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Ariele Sieling, Evan Sieling, and Zoe Cannon.
Font by Markus Schröppel.
www.arielesieling.com
www.zoecannon.com
This book is dedicated to:
Nancy and Peter Sieling
the most supportive, dedicated, and awesome parents a human could have. I wouldn’t be here without you
(both literally and figuratively).
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue10
1. The Multi-Coloured Door14
2. The Bookseller’s Back Room29
3. In the Deciduous Woods43
4. The Square House52
5. Great Forest on the Bay64
6. Questioning the Bookseller81
7. A Dialogue of Worlds94
8. The Village at the End of the Path105
9. The Graveyard of Cadrelle119
10. The Glass Leaf129
11. The Land of Canaan139
12. A Wound in the World156
13. The Other Side of the Bridge168
14. A View of the Whole180
15. The Temple of Life191
16. Out of Orbit208
17. How Much Can You Bleed?216
18. The Only Tomb That Matters229
19. Crushed and Broken234
PROLOGUE
As she watched, the arboreal scene began to quiver and shake; the towering evergreens blurred and the needle-strewn ground glossed over, as if an opaque white curtain had fallen over everything. The colours and shapes, hard lines and soft, slowly dripped, as water droplets over glass – except these water droplets did not reflect the same scene as she looked through them, but a world of grey and yellow, of sand and arid soil. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. The next thing she knew, the forest had completely vanished and she stood in an encampment in the middle of a desert.
All around her people shouted and cursed, camels spit, and children laughed and yelled. She gazed in shock at this place, at this nomadic city of sand. She felt different, somehow, more alone than ever before.
The whole encampment seemed to be in a hubbub with people running towards the center, yelling and calling to one another. As she watched, covers were placed over wagons, tents hastily secured, and livestock herded into frenzied groups.
She swallowed and took a step forward. She had no idea how to navigate this overwhelming chaos.
Without warning, a young man stood before her, a knife in one hand and a piece of cloth in the other.
“You must cover your head and come with me,” he said. “The sandstorm is coming.”
“Where am I?” she asked.
“You are in Canaan, and we are the people of Lorall. Please.” He tugged at her sleeve. “You must come before the sand overtakes us.”
She ran with him, past the screaming children, past the irritated camels, and past the many men and women, who continued to hastily cover their wagons and put away all foodstuffs, tools, and utensils. Many had finished the tasks and were running in the same direction – towards the big tent at the end of the encampment.
The young man lifted the tent flap and allowed her to duck underneath it before him. Her jaw dropped. Under the animal skin tarp was a cavern. A massive stone structure had been carved into the mountains of sand around them. It dropped fifteen feet, and grey stone steps led down right into the center. The main part of the room appeared to be seats, and a flat stage occupied the very center of the floor. People in clothes of all colours sat in groups, talking excitedly, and a group of elderly women stood in an intense-looking circle on a platform at the base of the cavern, centered amid all of the seating. Behind them, more and more people streamed through the door, rapidly filling up the strange arena.
She followed the young man down the massive steps, directly to the cluster of women.
“Another one has come here,” the young man said to the elderly women.
“What is your name, dear?” one of them asked.
“I am Kate,” she replied.
“You have come at a poor time,” the elderly woman continued. She, like the other women, wore a cloth wrapped around her head, covering her ears and draping under her chin and over her shoulders. “We are unable to trade as the storm has forced us to shut down our wares and close our gates.”
Kate shook her head, still feeling dazed and confused. “But… but I am not here to trade. I am looking for my brother.”
All seven elderly women turned to look at her at once, their faces grave.
“Your brother,” the woman stated. She sighed. “The prophets predicted that this year would bring much blight. I see it has begun.” She turned to face the young man. “Gilead, please see to this young woman’s protection until the storm has passed. Then we shall consider this problem.”
At once, all seven women turned their circle inwards, with their backs to the crowd, engaging once more in a hushed discussion.
Gilead took Kate’s elbow. “We will sit over here,” he said, “out of the way, until the storm has passed.”
“I need to find my brother,” Kate protested. “I don’t know where I am or how I got here, but I am looking for my brother and I can’t stop searching until I find him.”
“We will help,” Gilead reassured her. “You are not the first with a missing family. Please be patient. We must wait out this storm.”
Taking a deep breath, Kate nodded. “I will wait out the storm, but if you can’t help me, I must leave as soon as I can.”
“The Covey,” Gilead said, gesturing to the old women, “they can help anyone.”
Kate leaned back and considered her situation: in a desert, surrounded by strangers, about to experience a sand storm, and with no idea where her brother might be. She closed her eyes. If waiting was what she had to do, waiting was what she would do.
