Chapter 2: Harrowing
The Harrowing was meant to be a secret ritual to anyone who had not either gone through it already or stood as templar guard during the process. Yet there was more to it than that. All apprentices knew that the mages were forbidden from offering words of advice, but what they never taught directly, they conveyed more strongly through example: The Harrowing was a deeply personal experience. It was as easy to express to others as it was to lay bare all one's weaknesses before an audience of strangers.
Callie's eyes fluttered open to a bleary image of a room. Just as quickly she closed them again and tried to will the real world to resolve itself back into the Fade, just as it had the first time. Her fingers twitched, trying to find the texture and weight of a vanished staff. The familiar gray stone of the Circle's walls closed away the wide open sky she'd walked under like a bell jar. She hadn't been finished – she wasn't given even a moment to consider everything that happened – she never had a chance to say anything – she...
She was going to miss Mouse.
She didn't exactly miss the demon he turned out to be, and she didn't regret refusing him, but she already dearly missed the friend he had been. It was all a trick – she knew that. He had been using her the entire time – she understood and saw it now perfectly. That part didn't matter. There was the demon, and there was Mouse, and the realization that she would never see her friend again left her feeling more bereft than the loss of the first weapon she had ever earned the right to call her own, more than the loss of her first view of open sky in years.
"Allow me to welcome you to the Fade."
That, more than anything, was something she understood keenly could never be shared with anyone, let alone the parts where she actively sought help from spirits and demons. She could already imagine it, trying to find the words to explain how she'd found rapport with a being who shamelessly tricked her for its own ends. Even in her thoughts, her attempts to reason through it fell flat, yet she couldn't convince herself it wasn't true. She sighed softly. The Fade was not a place of reason anyway. Perhaps she was a bit mad. Perhaps they were all mad there.
"Callie, are you alright? Say something, please..."
She turned her head to face the one sight in this real, harsh realm that was welcome right now, rushing straight to her. The one person she could, if only in her own mind, call family. "Jowan?"
His black hair was a mess as usual and drooped over his ears, suggesting a missed trim. He didn't have an ideal, chiseled handsomeness, but he couldn't be called plain either, and there was a frankness in his expression that made him easily approachable. He smiled widely and his shoulders sagged with relief. "I'm glad you're alright. They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night."
There was no way to tell the time of day without windows to let sunlight in. Glancing around, she could see piles of clothes still lying by people's bunks from the day before, with her own being one of the few that was neatly folded rather than tossed together in a lump. Some of the girls complained, mostly light-heartedly, about the messes they all left around just before laundry day. After the strange hues and impractical curves she'd seen in the Fade, all Callie could think was that at least the purple bed sheets and mounded dirty robes added spots of color and shape to the tower's pale masonry.
She slowly sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side, noting that she was still fully dressed and her eyes felt quite puffy, as though she'd overslept a great deal. She'd worn her best day robe to the test, too, the only one with no fraying hems, the color hardly faded from its deep blue and purple. Now, she saw ruefully, it was twisted around her and horribly wrinkled. Kicking back her heel revealed her shoes under her bed, though she didn't much want to think about who might have removed them for her.
Jowan lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by the other girls wandering the room, who were either taking breaks from studying or retrieving belongings. "I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"
She tried not to grimace. Of course he wanted to get right into it. She looked up at Jowan, who looked back at her with open curiosity, and she felt gripped by uncertainty.
They were best friends. It was only natural that he'd ask after something they spent endless days speculating about in hushed tones together, but this wasn't just a question between friends anymore. It was a question from an apprentice to a mage, and the faces of both the first enchanter and knight-commander, staring straight into hers with undivided attention, loomed in Callie's memory. The first rule of the Harrowing was that no one talked about the Harrowing, and she would now be held accountable for that. She was, as she had not been a day ago, liable for the things she said, and that made her hesitate.
"Oh, Jowan," she sighed. "It was...harrowing." It was poor humor, the best she could think of on a moment's notice, but the sincerely serious furrow in her friend's brow made it surprisingly better.
"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked. He sat down next to her, gesturing nervously, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "I know I'm not supposed to know...but we're friends! Just a little hint, and I'll stop asking, I promise!"
His anxiety struck her. Callie felt herself standing in front of the first enchanter again, silently begging him to say just a little more about what she was about to go through, why there were so many templars around them, and why they were looking at her like they were marching her toward her execution.
She gripped the edge of her bed and her voice seized in her throat. The look on Jowan's face, like she held the answers that could save his life, made her want to run. The walls around them, the bell jar separating her from the sky, suddenly felt far too close. Was there a way to petition for a demotion back to apprentice? Was there a way to turn back time and go back to being the little girl who looked to Jowan for all the answers, not the other way around?
It dawned on her that she didn't want to be a mage, not if this was what it meant. No one ever told them that to become mages, they'd have to walk blindly into a trap, one filled with informed enemies at one end and merciless blades at the other. A terrible image shaped itself in her mind: The day Jowan was called for his test, she would be expected to stand helplessly by and watch him happily walk into the same trap.
"It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?"
"I had to enter the Fade," she heard herself say, after which her jaw clicked shut. If anyone found out he knew...
"Really? That's it?" he asked, looking perplexed, as if entering the Fade were as easy as settling down for an afternoon nap. And that was what they all thought, wasn't it? That was what they were taught – raised – to believe: that the Fade was something visited in dreams, something they did every night without problem. Something they had been reassured over and over again that they could experience safely due to their studies, as long as they stayed in the tower and maintained discipline.
"They don't want you prepared. If you can resist it when forced like this, you can do it anytime."
The reasoning behind the secrecy of the Harrowing was sound, she had to admit. Callie understood the spirit of the rule as it was meant, but something about it troubled her all the same. How had Mouse put it?
"Thrown to the mercy of a demon when you're at your weakest. 'For the safety of all.'"
That was it. They were set up to fail. It was good intentions planted on a weak foundation, one where apprentices were presumed guilty and had to prove their innocence against a crime no one would define for them. No, worse! A crime they were deliberately told they would not have to worry about committing as long as they followed orders. Valor was right. The Harrowing was a cowardly test. Even Mouse found it distasteful, and what stronger sign was there of a broken system than when both predator and prey commiserated about their situation?
Resentment smoldered in her chest, urging Callie toward defiance. "And if you get possessed, they kill you."
If she expected a shocked or appalled reaction, all she got was a simple nod of understanding. She might as well have told Jowan they were having porridge for breakfast. Her grip on the bed tightened.
"That makes sense. They want to see if you can resist a demon and stop yourself from becoming an abomination." Now he looked dismayed. "And now you get to move to the mages' quarters upstairs. I hope I get there someday."
Callie didn't understand, and her stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots. Forget the blighted mages' quarters, she wanted to scream! The walls and floor would still be gray and flat. She'd still hear templar footsteps stalking up and down the echoing corridors at night. There would still be either no windows at all or windows set too high to look through, where she'd get only the faintest glimpses of bright blue or of twinkling stars trying to peer back in at her.
The worst part was that she'd wondered just yesterday what her new room might be like if she passed her test. Now, with images in her head of rolling hills falling sharply away, of twisted trees and arched rock formations stretching up with no ceiling to stop them, she saw as though for the first time how much everything in the tower looked the same. With the memory of a stranger telling her things no one else ever had, confiding in her about people and a place that had been her entire life for as long as she could remember, she saw for the first time how little she actually knew about the Circle.
"Don't worry so much about it," she said quietly, wishing Jowan would drop the matter. He got up and paced restlessly in front of her.
"Easy for you to say. I've been here longer than you have." He sounded frustrated, and she felt a twinge of guilt. Everyone had been so happy for her when her Harrowing was announced. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."
That got Callie's attention. "What are you talking about?"
He stopped in place and looked at her. "The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility...or you die. That's what happens."
Her eyes widened. "They're not going to kill you, Jowan," she assured almost breathlessly, unwilling to even think such a thing. If he was a little behind her in some of his studies, he was nowhere close to being the worst student in the Circle. The first enchanter had no reason to deny him his Harrowing. But then, even if he took it...
"The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out."
For a moment, she couldn't quite breathe. She tried very hard not to look at the walls.
"They might not. But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad...maybe worse. You've seen Tranquil around the tower, like Owain, who runs the stock room." He frowned deeply, his hands clenching at his sides. Callie hadn't known Owain well; he was several years their senior and always preferred to spend more time with the boys than the girls. But she knew he'd been Jowan's friend, and that he'd undergone the rite only a few months ago. "He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just...nothing in him. It's like he's dead but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless..."
He looked so haunted. Why had he never said anything about this before? Why had she never noticed, never asked? They all knew that the Tranquil in the tower were mages who'd been cut off from the Fade, severed from their magic, their dreams...and their emotions. In some ways, they were more frightening than templars. At least with the templars, you always knew exactly what they thought of you and where you stood with them. The Tranquil were...as hollow as scarecrows.
"How awful," she breathed.
"Apprentices can ask to be made Tranquil if they fear the Harrowing," Jowan continued. Callie nodded. She recalled how she'd been asked, after the announcement of her test, if she was ready to face it or if she would prefer to explore other options. "But the Circle also forces Tranquility on those they feel are weak. And sometimes they force it on apprentices they think might be too...dangerous as mages."
He should have known that she knew all these things, but he seemed lost in his rambling now, like he was talking more to himself than to her. A sense of warning prickled her mind.
"Jowan, just because they're taking their time to announce your test-"
"No, nevermind. I shouldn't waste your time with this." He shook his head, and his gaze refocused on the present. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."
Callie opened her mouth to say something more, then sighed. He clearly didn't want to continue the discussion, and it would be no use trying to force him. "What for?" she asked instead.
"He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting. We can speak later."
"Yeah. Sure." She watched him walk out of the women's dorm and hoped his worries would ease soon. The Harrowing was supposed to be enough of a worry without compounded fears of even worse alternatives.
"Did you hear anything? Is she alright? Is she awake?" Her ears perked in the direction of not-quite-hushed words from the corner of the room. It sounded like Lisandra.
"Why do you care?" returned a sardonic voice. "Are you best friends now?" Ah, Arielle. In a place as small as the tower, no one really had any choice but to find ways to get along with each other. Still, some people got along better than others.
"I'm just curious! That templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he'd ever seen! He says she's very talented and very brave."
"Well, he would, wouldn't he?" Callie drew herself in self-consciously, then more so when she realized that Cullen must have helped bring her back to the dorm while she was unconscious. His doe-eyed glances were no secret to anyone, but they usually had the grace not to say anything about it.
"I just know I'll be terrified when my time comes. Like Wendell was. He threw up every day for the next week just thinking about it..."
Callie didn't listen further. She stood and headed for the bathing room and the vanities therein, determined to at least wash her face, clean her teeth, and straighten her hair before seeing the first enchanter. While she was busy tying her dark curls over one shoulder, though, she looked longingly at the partitions which granted the bathtubs some privacy. Sleeping in her layered day robes left her feeling horribly rumpled. If only she didn't have to rush, she would have loved a soak, even a cold one.
...Why did she have to rush, anyway? Callie hadn't questioned the order at first; everyone always listened to the first enchanter. But he should have understood that she just woke up, after her Harrowing no less. She hadn't even eaten since luncheon the day before, having skipped dinner before the test on his recommendation. She should at least be granted enough time now for a bath and a meal before having to jump to attention like a templar.
She frowned. Even if she thought so, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting so long. She'd refrain from eating until afterwards...but she would give herself the luxury of washing up. If it wasn't a full bath, she still managed to sponge herself down with cool water and rinse the night away. She didn't dally in the tub, but she didn't hurry herself either, and she used the time while the air dried her off to straighten her robe.
From one of the skirt pockets, she pulled out her little scarecrow, and she was glad to see he'd made it through her Harrowing as unscathed as she had. She should have been too old for dolls, and to be sure, she didn't let anyone know about him anymore. But he was one of her only two faithful companions in the world, and she could never bring herself to give him up. For many years, she'd even taken to secretly calling him Little Jowan, the best example she could dream of for the kind of friend who would look out for her. Really, considering what the Harrowing ended up being, it almost seemed portentous that she'd brought her little guard along. Maybe he truly had helped her safely through it.
He'd changed over time, as she supposed she'd changed all the way from child to mage. Inevitably his woven husks always became brittle and snapped, though she usually managed to hold him up well with his colorful ribbon "clothing." The first time she couldn't, she'd taken him sadly to the first enchanter, because the thought of making a new scarecrow had felt like giving up the old one for a stranger. "Ah, my child," he'd said kindly, plucking away some of the doll's loose fibers. "Everyone changes with time. What's important is that we carry with us the experiences which will help shape a stronger future. Make a new body for your friend and tuck these into his heart, so he will never forget the scarecrow he was before."
Callie smiled at the memory, running a gentle finger down her scarecrow's lanky arm. She'd lost count of how many bodies she'd given him over the years, but the little girl inside her delighted with the knowledge that no matter his shape, he was still her dear friend.
Could she say the same for Mouse? Scarecrow had no mouth for lying, while Mouse had been a masterful liar indeed. And yet the best lies were the ones filled with as much truth as possible, so much that they very nearly were the truth, if you just looked at them a different way.
"It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."
Callie donned her robe again and fetched her soft leather boots from under her bed. Her desire to linger in the dorm quickly turned into impatience to leave, because she could barely take a few steps without someone coming up to her with a beaming smile, congratulating her on her Harrowing. Her stomach twisted each time she made herself smile back and thank them politely, because the awe and excitement on their faces made her want to scream that it was no accomplishment.
"I'm terrible at spells," Mava said wistfully. "You're lucky you're so talented."
"It's practice more than anything," Callie told her. "And aren't we lucky? There's nothing for us to do here but practice."
"I heard you completed your Harrowing in record time!" Gavin, one of her tutors, praised.
"Ah...yes. I heard that too." Callie studied him while he chuckled, searching his face for any hint of empathy, any sign of unspoken understanding. He went back to his book without quite meeting her eyes again, and she saw nothing. Did the Harrowing fade from memory after enough years, like a dream? Or after so many years, did mages manage to convince themselves it had been a respectable business?
"Jowan's been acting weird all day. Have you seen him?" Alarion, another apprentice, asked her.
Callie blinked in surprise. "Um, yes. I talked to him earlier. I'm not sure where he is now, though." He thanked her and continued on his way. She watched him go and tried to ignore the concern she felt.
She had to go to the front of the tower to reach the stairs, but she stopped by the door to the entrance hall when voices filtered out from inside.
"Will there be another Harrowing tonight?" It must have been the templars guarding the Door. Their helmets always made them sound oddly tinny.
"Don't know. Greagoir hasn't said anything. And shh! We're on duty."
"There's no one here."
"Someone's always watching. I swear it's like the walls have eyes." Callie smiled sourly. The templars had no right to say that about anyone else. The eyes were theirs.
"Hey, did you hear about that apprentice they're going to send for–"
"Shh!"
An apprentice? He'd already asked about a Harrowing; what else would an apprentice be summoned for? In any case, no answer was forthcoming, so Callie advanced into the hall. It wasn't a large space and was left fairly plain to discourage people from lingering, which would have made the templars nervous. Only a few stands on the side of the room displayed trinkets which had been gifted to the Circle over time. As she'd thought, the only people present were the two guards flanking the Door. She'd seen it and them – or other guards just like them – almost every day on her way to and from lessons. Today, something about the sight of that Door made her feet root themselves to the ground under her.
She didn't realize she was staring until one of the guards cleared his throat. "Yes, is there something you need?" It was the one with all the questions. When he spoke to the other guard, he'd sounded attentive and curious. Now he sounded uninterested, as though putting in the effort to talk to her was a great bother. She didn't bat an eye; the templars were always like that. But if she had his attention...
Callie couldn't seem to take her eyes off the Door. Tentatively, she turned away from the stairs and went closer, eyeing it as though she'd be able to read something in the dark wood grain.
"What's out there?" she couldn't help but ask.
There was a short pause. Maybe she'd surprised him. "Ferelden. It's not very interesting. Mostly farms. The occasional river."
Not very interesting? To him, maybe. Callie remembered the lake and the hills surrounding it from years ago, before Anders put an end to their weekly outdoor exercise sessions by escaping across the water. Those hills had always seemed to her to be as distant and untouchable as the Black City in the Fade's sky, and Anders something like a legendary hero for reaching them. Other than that, she had only a vague, distant memory of tall green leaves that danced and rustled in the wind above her, with an endless stretch of blue beyond. No such green things grew on the tower's rocky island, so Callie always thought she must have come from a farm, though she couldn't say for sure. What must it be like to be surrounded by a veil of green, to have an entire country to roam and live on...
"Can I leave the tower?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was asking. At once, she felt quite silly and wished she could take them back.
"No, you may not," the guard intoned dismissively, utterly bored with her. "I am surprised you ask. I would have thought you'd be used to this idea by now."
Callie wanted to agree with him. What had gotten into her? In all her times passing by this same place, the thought never grabbed her as it had now. Keeping them in was the whole reason mages were brought to the Circle in the first place; there was no use pretending or yearning otherwise.
"I'll follow, if that's alright. My chance was long ago, but you...you may have a way out."
Then she felt a spark of indignation, fueling the same sense of defiance that made her tell Jowan about the Harrowing, that made her ignore instructions to see the first enchanter immediately.
"Why can't I leave? I've passed my Harrowing." She was almost taken aback by the boldness in her tone, but she didn't let her gaze waver from the gleaming eyes she could just see inside that iron helmet.
"Only mages on official Circle business are allowed to leave the tower, and the first enchanter has not informed us of any mages leaving the tower today." The guard wasn't impressed at all, and that only made the spark Callie felt glow hotter.
"I should get going," she said stiffly, though she knew he wouldn't care. She was already striding back to the staircase when she heard his unenthusiastic farewell behind her.
"Maker smile fortune on you."
This strange restlessness didn't sit well with her. As she climbed the stairs, she tried to give herself a firm mental shake, telling herself to get a grip. It was all just an aftereffect of the Harrowing, she was sure. In any case, just because she didn't like or agree with the test itself, that was no reason to start going off on everything else in the tower. Up until today, she'd been content. More or less. She needed to find a way back to that.
When she reached the second floor landing, her feet stopped again. She stared down at them, telling herself not to look across at the stockroom. She had delayed seeing the first enchanter enough, and if word reached him that she was awake, he'd surely be wondering where she was. All she needed to do was put one foot in front of the other until she reached the corridor. As soon as she took the first step, her head lifted, and she saw Owain standing by the stockroom door.
He was fairly average as far as looks went, neither thin nor thick, with full cheeks and a receding hairline shaved very close to his scalp. His stillness at his post was so perfect that his discipline could have made the templars jealous. As people walked past, his eyes followed them only long enough to determine if they were coming in his direction or not. Then he stared vacantly into the air in front of him until the next person came near. Callie drew in a shuddering breath. All she had to do was walk away, and he would ignore her too.
She looked past him into the stockroom, the wildest place she'd ever seen up close beyond her indistinct memory of greenness. Inside, she knew, were all sorts of colorful, oddly shaped items, from dried herbs either tied up in bundles or ground into powder, to raw lumps and refined rods of stone and metal, to lyrium powder and charms covered in glyphs. The herbs always fascinated her most; since childhood, she'd devoured books in the library about trees and herbs, mushrooms, flowers – marveling at the idea that simple plants could produce such varied and lovely and useful things. From there she'd studied soil, rock formations, and how the earth shaped itself to support life, wanting to know why nothing more than small ferns would grow on the island. Visiting the stockroom became something of a treat.
Reluctantly, with a feeling she was pushing her bounds a little too far, Callie walked up to Owain.
"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items," he greeted placidly. "My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"
Callie gave a small, hesitant smile. "Is that how you greet everyone?" She meant it as a light joke, but she sounded timid.
"Do you find my greeting disagreeable? I apologize, but I am not inclined to change it. Do you need something?"
"Oh!" she started. "I didn't mean to suggest you should change it. I just...was...wondering." He didn't respond. She cleared her throat. "Actually, what I wanted to ask was...are you really a Tranquil mage?"
"I voluntarily submitted to the Rite of Tranquility. I was unwilling to undergo the Harrowing. I find this state agreeable." Agreeable sounded oddly ambivalent, but then that was the point, wasn't it? Callie pursed her mouth, looking at every dip and line of his face. She remembered a man who was very expressive, but now he displayed such an economy of action that it left him only slightly more animated than a nutcracker doll.
"What is it like?" she asked.
"I see the world with clarity. I remember the days when my mind was filled with inconvenient and seething emotions. Now things are simple."
The complete lack of inflection in his voice made her want to squirm. She didn't know what to say. If he was...content, that should have been enough. It should have been good. So why did it feel disturbing to talk to him like this? "But you don't care. About anything."
"I care about performing my duties to the best of my ability. Other matters would only serve as a distraction from that goal."
That...bothered her. She knew for a fact that if a templar walked up to him and declared his duties were to change immediately, he wouldn't hesitate in the least to change with them. She'd seen it, the day the Tranquil who previously ran the stockroom began dusting shelves while Owain stood in her place. Like they were interchangeable. Callie searched his gaze, which held not coldness but rather the stillness of apathy. It was easy to imagine that gaze growing vacant again as soon as she was gone – out of sight, out of mind. Was his entire mind so rooted to the present, stuck in place like an island in an empty sea?
"They can't be possessed. As if that is worse than losing yourself. You don't want to lose yourself here. Being nothing would be easier than this."
Nothing. "It's like you're not even a person," she whispered. She hadn't meant for him to hear, but evidently he did.
"My body is similar in form to yours, possessing an equal number of limbs, appendages, and internal organs. I perform the same physical functions. My mind is capable of higher thought processes. Am I to be denied personhood because I do not feel as you do?"
Callie opened her mouth, closed it again, and repeated the process. Her hand moved over her skirt pocket, brushing over the shape of her scarecrow.
"A person is more than just physical parts," she contended.
"I have thoughts and memories. I remember my past, my childhood in the tower, and my apprenticeship. These experiences defined me. My lack of emotions simply adds to what is already there."
"Ah, my child. Everyone changes with time."
But it didn't feel right. He talked about his memories, but how did he measure their substance? The only experiences by which he defined himself were in the past, and now his lack of emotion was a perpetual present. That wasn't change – it was stagnation. His memories weren't even his first concern; he portrayed himself first as a collection of parts, like a doll someone had stitched together. Like...like how the demons had seen her.
"At last, I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul."
"You are a smart one."
Callie ducked her head. She thought she was beginning to understand, and wished she didn't. She wished she'd kept her distance and left the Tranquil to their work, like everyone was always encouraged to. Owain was a vessel for others to fill and drain, soft clay that would remain forever pliant and never solidify into a shape of its own, never change with time. He had his brain, but no heart. She preferred the little scarecrow in her pocket to the one standing in front of her. Yet how did he come to care so much about the matter?
She didn't want to keep thinking about this.
"My statement was rude," she stammered. "I apologize." That was true enough. Right or wrong was no justification for behaving obtusely.
"I do not have the capacity to be offended. Still, I believe I am a person."
She nodded and glanced back up at him, unhappily remembering Jowan's worries. "What was...what was becoming Tranquil like?"
"It is difficult to describe. I would perhaps compare it to being plunged into a pool of ice-cold water."
She bit her lip. "What happens during the Rite of Tranquility?"
"I was ordered to never speak of it. I cannot go against the Circle's wishes."
Callie frowned. Was it a secret the same way the Harrowing was a secret? Secret things in the Circle didn't have a good track record. "Thank you, Owain. I, um, don't need anything right now."
"Very well."
She turned to go, unsure whether she was satisfied or not for having given in to her curiosity. She felt no less disquieted. After a few steps, she turned back.
"Owain." She struggled to find words for a moment. "You do remember me, don't you?"
"Of course, Callie. We have known each other for many years, if not well."
Author's Note: The next chapter will update in a week's time. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think of the story so far.
