Bron could hardly believe their luck. They were saved! They had ended up in the only other settlement besides Omniphrax that opposed the Empire. If the legends were to be believed, the waifs of New Edgelands had a fleet of sumpwood skycraft, treated with no less than twenty coats of stabilizing varnish—enough for the skycraft to withstand the battering, relentless winds below the Edge. Surely the waifs would sympathize with them…would help them get back to Omniphrax, possibly aboard their miraculous skycraft.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Tintifuce, reading Bron's thoughts. Bron shivered. He knew that he must keep a calm, level head while conversing with waifs; it would put him at a considerable disadvantage if he was projecting overly emotional thoughts of any sort.

It felt warmer and calmer inside the settlement. Bron wondered what caused this peculiar anomaly.

"We have constructed our buildings to divert the wind into a ring around the city, creating an area of relative calm within," explained Tintifuce. He suddenly directed his attention to Raziel. "You desire to speak to our leader. Very well. Follow my thoughts."

The four of them set off, following Tintifuce as he occasionally threw his thoughts from his current location. Bron suddenly noticed where the light was coming from; it was shining out of a window at the top of one of the invisible buildings. However, no light shone from anywhere else as far as Bron could see. What was the source of that light, he wondered?

"That is our business," said Tintifuce sternly. Bron jumped; he had to stop his mind from wandering like that.

"Who is your leader?" thought Bron.

"Her name is Kilfitresse," answered Tintifuce. His thoughts seemed to come from a place to Bron's right. He quickly redirected himself, and some shuffling sounds behind him indicated that Durix, Celestia, and Raziel had done the same.

A sudden reduction in the volume of the wind, combined with an echoing quality to Bron's footsteps, alerted him to the fact that they were now inside one of the buildings. Bron listened for Tintifuce, but he was no longer projecting his thoughts. Where had he gone?

Then, another voice spoke inside Bron's head…a softer voice. "Greetings," said the voice. "You are the only outsiders to ever find our city, except…"

The voice broke off suddenly. A pause, and then the voice continued. "Oh, my. So much suffering. I can see it in your minds. Lost in the Deadwoods…enslaved in Great Glade…starving in the prison in Hive…and…being shot down…"

Bron tried to keep his thoughts blank, but his chest was exploding with happiness and warmth. After all this time, they had found an ally…someone who could help!

Another silence. Then, the voice of Kilfitresse spoke again. "You are resilient, strong-willed…you will never give up. Very well then…the best of luck to you."

There was another silence, heavier than the last. Bron was confused. What did she mean?

"That's all?" he thought in reply. "But aren't you going to help us?"

"No." Kilfitresse's thoughts were now curt and sharp. "We will not help."

Bron was horrified. He knew his companions were also thinking the same as he was. "Why can't you help?"

"We are a neutral people," said Kilfitresse. It is what has kept us alive all these centuries. We do not align ourselves with the dictator, Vartolius Xax…but we shall not directly interfere with these matters. We only do what is necessary for our survival."

"But Vartolius Xax tried to kill you all!" thought Bron. "Surely you must support the aims of Omniphrax!"

"I suppose if it came down to the two sides, we would," replied Kilfitresse. "But things are rarely that simple. Down here, there's no room for accommodations and favors."

Bron fought to keep a grip on his temper. He knew that getting angry at Kilfitresse would only make things worse…but he couldn't control the tide of fury in his mind. After all of their suffering, their plans, their failures and setbacks, they had finally found the only other society opposed to the Empire…and were turned away. The waifs had effectively sentenced Bron and his companions to death…and it was so horribly, appallingly unfair!

"That…will…do!" Kilfitresse's voice cut through Bron's head, as cold as the rushing winds around the city. Bron took a step back. "Choose your next thought carefully, Bron Rackis. Kilfitresse continued, menace in her voice now. You have a dozen blowpipes trained on you. My guards are quite ready to put a blackroot oil dart in your neck."

Bron carefully tried to empty his mind…to calm himself.

"Better," said Kilfitresse. "And you, Durix Hentadile. You too. That's it."

Another pause.

"We will not banish you from the city," she said. "You are free to stay here. But do not expect sustenance or shelter. And do not ask for our help again."

"Take ten paces backward," came another waif voice in Bron's head. He, Durix, Celestia, and Raziel obeyed, and they knew from the increased volume of the howling wind around the city that they were back outside.

Bron didn't know what they were supposed to do now. What was the point of staying here? It would only delay death a short while, if they weren't going to be given food or water. And how would he be able to keep the frustration out of his head? He didn't feel it was wise to test the waifs' patience any more.

"Excuse me, outsiders," hissed a new voice to Bron's right. Don't despair, for all is not lost.

"Who are you?" thought Bron.

"I am Verticule," replied the voice. I am communicating my underthoughts to you all. My fellows can only hear my surface thoughts. Try not to think anything that suggests I am telling you anything more than it appears.

"What do you want with us?" thought Bron, confused.

"Nothing whatsoever,"responded Verticule. "Kilfitresse has spoken. You had best leave the Central Courtyard." I am not so short-sighted as my brethren. They may be content not to get involved, but I believe that in doing so they are assisting the Empire, which wants you dead, and whose job Kilfitresse has seen fit to finish.

"Do you mean what I think you mean?" said Bron, excitement flooding him once again.

"I mean what I said: leave the Central Courtyard. Or I will have to call security," said Verticule. Yes; I will help you escape. But first, there is someone I must introduce you to. Follow my underthoughts.

Bron and the others followed, listening to the occasional covert thought up ahead. Verticule led them towards the building with the glowing window. Soon, they were inside, and now they were walking up a flight of stairs.

"There…now we can think freely," said Verticule. "The other waifs never listen in this direction if they can help it."

"Why not?" Bron asked.

"Because they fear our prisoner as much as they detest him."

"Prisoner?"

Verticule swung a door open, and for the first time since Bron and his companions had landed at the base of the Edge cliff, their surroundings became brightly illuminated. Bron had to shield his eyes for a moment. He then looked around. Verticule revealed himself to be a short, wiry nightwaif. But Bron only spared a glance at Verticule before looking in amazement at the source of the light itself.

Sitting on the floor of the small, stone room was an ancient fourthling, with tattered clothes and a long white beard.

"Who are you?" Bron thought to the fourthling, and then realized with embarrassment that he could not read his thoughts. Verticule smiled with amusement.

"This mysterious individual showed up in New Edgelands long before any of us was born," Verticule explained. "Our ancestors were enraged that he was disturbing the ultimate calm of our sanctuary with his inexplicable glow, and kept him here. They did not kill him, because they feared the light, but decided to wait for him to die. But he didn't. He just stayed here, wasting away. Out of pity, we eventually started bringing him food. And here he is, still alive today, but kept prisoner here. I cannot account for his incredible longevity. None of us can; it is another reason we fear him so. But for all I know, he may live forever. And to be condemned to an eternity of imprisonment, unable to die…why, even those lost in the Phraxfields have a better fate. After all, those ancient wanderers quickly lose their minds. Here, he remains sane…but trapped. It is a fate I would not wish upon Vartolius Xax himself…and my own exploration of his mind has revealed a noble soul. I cannot tolerate this injustice any longer."

"So what are we going to do?" Bron thought.

"We are going to get back to the Edge," Verticule replied. "All six of us."