It was raining lightly. It had rained all the night before. Nothing heavy, but the man needed to walk off the chill.

It occurred to him he'd never checked the perimeter in the rain. Not that he'd ever get his hopes up, but he figured he might as well try. Maybe the monsters didn't like getting wet any more than he did.

As he neared the perimeter, he felt the familiar fear. Well of course, he told himself. Anyone with his past experiences at the boundary would be afraid. He wasn't going to turn back now.

He was close enough to sprint across the invisible boundary. No sooner had he decided to do just that, when they came. Several of them materialized through the perimeter directly in front of him.

He still considered sprinting through them, chancing that he'd slip through their grasp. He shuddered involuntarily. He'd tried that enough times.

He turned about and walked back to his rock shelter. He didn't have to look back to know the monsters were gone. They weren't really malicious. They'd had ample opportunity to kill him over the years if they'd wanted to. They just didn't want him to leave. Decades ago, he actually come up with affectionate names for them.

He knew they weren't real in the normal physical sense. They weren't flesh and blood anyway. But that didn't mean they couldn't hurt him. He had numerous scars to prove that.

The rustle outside the shelter told him breakfast had arrived. He considered just letting the poor creature go today. It wouldn't be the first time, and he just didn't feel like going back out in the rain to catch his meal. But he was too hungry this morning.

He was reluctantly rising, but froze when the animal cautiously walked right into the shelter. It wanted out of the rain too, it seemed.

The man hated taking advantage of the creature's indescretion, but he hated a lot of things about this life. He deftly clubbed his meal. There was no struggle.

Ghoram approached the area cautiously. The large irregular stones gave him the impression of old ruins, but he knew that humans had only lived on this world for a few decades. He wondered if the Oreni had gone through a phase of building physical dwellings long ago.

Ghoram knew the boundary wouldn't affect him, but he was concerned with how the man inside would react to his entry. He tried to still the butterflies in his stomach. If he was right, he was about to meet his fabled great-grandfather for the first time. But of course, his great-grandfather had no way of knowing that.

Everyone back home knew that Grandfather had long ago been triumphant over one of the most evil wizards alive. Thanks to him, that wizard was no longer alive.

Grandfather's banishment here was a last act of petty revenge on that other wizard's part. It had generally been believed that Grandfather had survived, but no one knew where he had gone.

Michael had made his great-grandfather's disappearance a special focus in his studies at the academy. It was fair to say he'd become the world's expert on the incident. It was also fair to say that the hope of one day rescuing Grandfather was the main reason he had been studying to be a wizard. But only after coming to Neuerde, Ghan's Heart, was he able to piece it all together and realize that Grandfather had to be on this world.

Once he had had that realization, he had simply asked Hrumuss about it. Within a day, the Oren had given him directions to this spot.

Ghoram decided on the direct approach. He went forward, shouting, "Hello! A friend approaches!" using formal language, hoping to get the idea of respectfulness across.

As he crossed the perimeter, he felt something odd. He'd understood that the curse would only affect Grandfather. He shouldn't have felt a thing. He decided it was his imagination. He was just being hyper aware of everything in his excitement.

He continued calling out as he sought his ancestor's most likely shelter among all the stones.

"Who are you, that calls me in my own language?" asked a voice behind Ghoram.

Ghoram turned. He was startled by the man's appearance. He didn't look nearly old enough. Knowing however that there was only one person here besides himself, he bowed his head. He was unable to keep the ear-to-ear grin from his face. "I am your great-grandson, Grandfather."

The old man snorted and crossed his arms. "You're one of the giants from this place. I see them from time to time. You cannot be my kin."

"Forgive me, Grandfather. The body I inhabit is from this world. My body is still up there," he said, pointing up at Grossa.

"You're a wizard, then?" the old man asked catiously.

"Not yet. I may never be one unless I can get back home. I haven't learned how to change bodies. Ghan had a hand in my coming here"

"Ghan!" snorted the old man derisively. "I have no use for Ghan. What do you want, anyway?"

Ghoram was stunned. "How can you not believe in Ghan?" he finally asked.

"Oh I believe in him. I know what this world is. It's Ghan's heart. That's the rest of Ghan up there. I just have no use for him."

That didn't help. Ghoram had grown up listening to the stories of this heroic great-grandfather, who was now berating Ghan Himself. It was unthinkable.

Despite himself, Grandfather smiled a little. "You should see your face right now," he said.

"But, " Ghoram faltered.

"I'm sorry. You said you're my grandson. Thank you for coming. What can I do for you?"

Ghoram was at a loss how to proceed. He had not expected his grandfather's negatism. Granted, Grandfather had spent five of Ghoram's lifetimes in this captivity. Ghoram couldn't really comprehend how that would affect a person.

Ghoram looked at his ancestor anew. This man should be incredibly old! He should be over 180 bright night cycles, yet he appeared maybe 60. "How long have you been here, Grandfather?" he asked cautiously.

"Too long!" Grandfather snapped.

Predictable, Ghoram mused, but not helpful. "How many..." He stopped. There were no bright night cycles here. How did Michael's people measure time?

"Ahh?" Grandfather gloated. "No bright nights here! You know how I keep track?"

Ghoram shrugged.

"You've seen the shapes those little sky lights make at night?"

Ghoram nodded.

"I track their movements. They repeat."

"So how long then?" asked Ghoram.

"Too long!" Grandfather repeated. "And yet the days are too short."

"Hmm?" Ghoram had not found the days particularly short on Neuerde. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You seem a bit stupid to be a grandson of mine. Short days means they don't last long enough. Nights are too short to get a decent sleep. It takes me three nights and two days to get a decent amount of sleep."

Ghoram was getting genuinely concerned about his grandfather's sanity. He had been isolated for such a long time, after all.

"So. If you really are my grandson, what now? You banished here too?"

Ghoram actually felt sheepish. "I'm here to rescue you, Grandfather."

"That I'd like to see", the older man snorted.

Ghoram couldn't explain himself. If Grandfather understood his plan (and if he took him seriously), he almost certainly wouldn't let him carry it out.

"Fully understanding the consequences, I hereby accept your curse, and release you," Ghoram said.

"Just like that," Grandfather chucked in disbelief.

"Just like that," an immense, disembodied voice boomed.

Grandfather suddenly shrunk into himself, vanishing as a tiny dot. It was like watching the others use Ghan's chair-travel on the mountain.

Ghoram was now trapped.

This was always the drawback of his plan. He would have to rescue his progenitor before really getting to know him. Then he would take his place.

Now the deed was done. He didn't feel any different. He needed to try out the boundary though. Not in a particular hurry, he picked his way among the large stones toward where he knew the perimeter should be.

He had nearly reached the perimeter when the first guardian appeared. The suddenness of its appearance and its and ferocity startled Ghoram, though it shouldn't have.

His study of this type of curse told him it was entirely fear-based. The guardians would capitolize on everything that scared him.

He knew objectively that there was actually nothing there in any physical sense. But it didn't matter. If they were real in his mind, they were real enough. If he perceived that they injured him, he would be injured. He hadn't missed seeing the scars all over Grandfather's body.

With a shock, he realized he had seen all over Grandfather's body. Like the inhabitants of Neuerde, Grandfather had been naked. He hadn't even noticed before, but now realized he had sent the man back home that way. Back home where public nudity was taboo.

We he hadn't sent Grandfather home, Ghan had. Presumably, Ghan would put him somewhere out of sight till he could cover himself. Surely. Wouldn't he?

Ghan had sent Grandfather seconds after Ghoram took the curse. The curse wouldn't have limited Ghan. He could have sent Grandfather home as soon as he'd arrived here. That meant Ghan had cooperated with the curse. Why? That didn't make sense.

Ghan had verbally answered Grandfather. That meant he'd been listening. "Umm, Ghan?" Ghoram said aloud.

Silence.

Naming the island group on the far side of Neuerde had been a ridiculously drawn-out affair. So much so that the final official name, Eastland, was something of an anticlimax. Nathan was amused that the equally-valid proposed name of Westland had hardly been considered, even though the islands were exactly 180 degrees away - equally East or West. The reason people had thought of the islands as being East was that the V-stols that found them had been heading East.

Equally amusing to Nathan was when, late in the debate, someone pointed out that the continent they had been living on had never been officially named. It had been referred to as 'the mainland', 'the continent', or even 'Neuerde', but had never been named. So the home continent was now officially 'Westland' of course.

Naming the myriad of small islands in the Eastland group should provide years of contention to come. Nathan was glad he'd be staying here. As Historian, he'd eventually have to learn and record those names, but he'd worry about that later.

The number of people choosing to relocate to Eastland was surprisingly small. Once the word had gotten around of who the Oreni were and what they wanted, most people were willing to cooperate with them. Hardly anyone from the equatorial region wanted to move. The arc/trops each lost half their population. Considering that Eastland was mostly equatorial, it appeared people were more interested in in the steady climate than they were in getting away from the influence of the Oreni.

Still, one third of Neuerde's human population represented a lot of bodies to move. Using every available VSTOL and cargo ship available, the process took over a year. Generally speaking, one member per household had gone ahead to prepare a home for the rest.

The agreement had been that the Oreni would leave the Eastlanders alone as long as the Eastlanders kept their polution below reasonable levels. Nathan however, had pushed for one Oren representative at Eastland 'just in case'. He hadn't given up.

Of course, there would be no Oreni at all in the W.U.U. Wagner's Undersea Utopia would not welcome any Oren presence.

Nearly everyone knew about Wagner's outburst at the Oren Summit, and of course his disappearance had been a source of great speculation. His credibility had suffered immensely, and Nathan had frankly been surprised that Wagner had successfully drawn 300 people to his 'utopia'. Nearly 100 had even been turned away. Wagner had wanted to limit his initial population to 300.

Nathan's musings were interupted by a duplicate of himself walking in. Olos seemed to really enjoy walking around in Nathan's skin. Nathan could only hope Olos behaved himself when he did that. He could really land Nathan in hot water otherwise.

"I can't find them," Olos said without preamble.

"How can you not locate Hrumuss and Michael - er, Ghoram?" Nathan asked Olos. "Hrumuss is an Oren!, and Ghoram is a Friend of the Oreni."

"Actually, Michael is a Friend. Ghoram has never really been comfortable with us," Olos observed.

"Really? I wasn't aware of that," Nathan replied. "But you haven't answered my question."

"I do not know the answer."

"You've lost track of a fellow Oren? He could be dead for all you know?"

"No Oren has ever died. I think we would sense that. The energy release would probably be catastrophic."

"Could you please call Hrumuss?"

"I already have. I called when you first asked about him. He is cut off somehow. I cannot explain how that is possible. It has never happened before, as far as I know."

"Ghoram has no real ties to this continent. I thought he and Hrumuss would be good representatives to Eastland."

"I will make a strong effort to find them, but you might want to try someone else for Eastland. I suspect Ghan is involved somehow. If so, we may not find out anything until Ghan is ready to let us know."

Nathan had had the same thought. While he knew Ghan was not malicious, he was sometimes secretive. And he'd already meddled in Michael's and Ghoram's lives to the degree of switching their very bodies. No doubt there was a good reason, but they might not know what it was for quite some time.

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Copyright 1996 by Garvath Publishing
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