Two of Three
Anita’s hands lost their grip on anything but air. She swayed, but she seized rope rail before the cliff fell away under her feet. The darkness seemed to hit a wall a long, long way across from her. She tripped back from the edge, hyperventilating.
The sky flashed. Anita’s hands flew to shield her eyes against the symbol lit on the opposite cliff. It was like two triangles kissing or a bowtie. A long, deep note sounded and lingered, a horn of alarm.
“The rune of emergence. They’re coming.”

Can you see the hunger written on the faces of the people?
They are mute.
They cannot see themselves,
And no one breaks the code of silence.
Let the dead bones lie in their graves.
The gettysburgs, the teaparties in boston, the morning stroll of
the Blacks to lincoln’s shrine—they are over.
Let dead men lie.

“No, no do not wipe away the tears.
We should never have shed them.
We have so much—big houses, sturdy jobs, and families—
Let dead dreams lie.
Do not awaken them.
Do not break the silence.”