Sirach smiles up at her. “Well, hello,” she says, jovial and effortless despite her labored breath. “We seem to keep meeting under the most dire of circumstances, don’t we?”

THE GOD RUNG

THERE IS NO RULE AGAINST any member of the Planning Cadre, be they a planner or a lowly floor sweeper, leaving the keep and roaming the island outside. The sole reason Dyeawan has yet to explore the island is access. It’s no easy trek from the main hall of the Cadre to the nearest level ground. There are no real paths to speak of; the Planning Cadre uses ropes and pulleys to take in supplies and large equipment.

Edger has told her the impassibility is no accident. He’s also apologized to her for it.

Despite the number of surprises that have filled her hours of late, Dyeawan finds there’s still a wellspring of bewilderment inside her when Edger asks her to “walk” along the beach with him one morning. She’s even more surprised to find ramps of smooth wood have been laid from the doors of the main hall over the rough incline of rocks and tall grass that separate the Cadre from the forest line.

“Were these built just for me?” she asks Edger as she steadies the tender rolling down the ramps.

“These should have been built long ago,” he says, following her. “You’re hardly the only one here with difficulties. And you’ve taught me that I’ve taken that for granted. In many ways.”

It’s just the two of them. Dyeawan wheels herself down the beach with Edger trailing behind. The wind in her hair feels so different from the breeze that blows through the window of her tiny beloved room in the Cadre. It feels freer and wilder.

She realizes she does, too.

“How have you recovered from your ordeal?” Edger asks her.

“I want to swim in the bay more often,” Dyeawan replies without a trace of irony.

“I see. Then you aren’t angry with me?”

“No. I chose to take the test. I know I could have refused.”

“You could have, yes.”

“You knew I wouldn’t, though.”

“Of course I did.”

After a mile or two they reach a rise in the sand. From the top of it a long finger composed of piled stones shaped smooth and flat by centuries of waves extends a hundred yards out into the water.

“I want to show you something,” Edger tells her. “This is very special.”

He helps her navigate the tender up the incline in the sand. Once they’re abreast, Edger doesn’t so much push Dyeawan as stabilize her tender as she rows its wheels carefully over the uneven terrain of the rocks.

“Do you know or remember anything of your parents, Slider?” he asks her. “Where you came from?”