Anya limped through the woods, following the path of the coin. Her hand was wrapped in a blood soaked bandage, it dangled by her side. The pouches on her belt had only a few usable pills left, as they had dissolved into one another after the snow had melted into them.

  The fog remained thick, the night pressed onwards — even if she could have seen the sky there would have been no indication as to whether it was moving, as she had seen that there were no stars present to gleam such movement from.

  She decided to take a rest and collapsed against a tree. Her canteen had ample water still, and the soaked through nutrient bars Kite had given her were still edible. However she had been given no tent, partly because the outpost had no such equipment, but also because the journey she was intended to make was supposed to be short enough to make within a day.

  A faint burning smell entered her nostrils. She jumped up and searched around her for a sign of flame. Yet the fog remained at its deep red, and there was no light to be gleamed. The smell persisted however, and a realisation struck her.

  She used her functioning hand to quietly click her fingers by her ear, verifying that she her sense of hearing had not also been warped. She checked her pouch for pink pills, noting that there were three and deciding to save them for a later point when the sickness was of greater concern.

  She pressed onwards. The smell of burning grew stronger and stronger, yet she resisted the urge to take a pill. The ground began to slope downwards, and suddenly Anya was descending on an increasingly steep slope. She was forced to use both hands to the best of her ability to balance herself on the incline. A sharp twang of pain rocketed up her arm each time she used the bloodied hand.

  The trees grew sparser, until eventually the descent flattened and she was walking over a flat plain of damp grass. The grass however, was solid and brittle. It shattered like glass as she walked on it.

  The coin beckoned her forward, and she cut herself a few times searching for it in the sharp grass. The blood dripped behind her in a sparse but noticeable trail. With each flip the coin began to rise higher and higher into the air. Until eventually it flew so high that it disappeared into the fog above, and she could not see where it came down to land. It was as she was searching through for the coin that she realised — she was deaf.

  Finally, she took one of the small pink pills. Her senses returned to her. The burning smell was replaced by the thickness of the fog, and she could now hear how the glassy grass cracked and crackled as she walked through it, and how every sound echoed wildly across the plain.

  Where Anya’s footsteps emanated to, a piercing shriek returned, and the sound of shattering glass rapidly approaching. She ran.

  She ran across the plain as and a cacophony of shatters and screeches filled the air. The grass was difficult to sprint through. Her steps were made uneven by the blades.

  The fog subsided, and she was met by the stone wall of a sheer cliff-face. To either side of her the plain stretched endlessly. The sound behind grew louder. Out of options, she unholstered her pistol, aimed it at her leg — and pulled the trigger.

  She was lifted slightly off of the ground, yet one bullet was not enough. Placing the barrel against her other leg, she put another round into her body.

  The monster burst out from the fog, a pale spindly body. With the rattling jaws of its skull head it snapped up at her, as Anya floated through the fog to the top of the cliff.

  She grasped at the ledge, eventually getting a hold of it and clambering up onto the ground, which had returned to soft dirt. The levitation rounds were still in effect, so she dug her fingers into the earth and anchored herself as she waited for the force to dissipate.

  Gravity returned to her legs, and she flopped onto the ground. She laid in the dirt, gazing up at the pitch black sky. A small and faint amber moon shone down on her, its light was like a mimicry of warmth.

  Anya rolled over and crawled back to the cliff. Blood floated over the rounds still in her legs, their residual effects taking away just enough weight to allow her to move. Peering over the edge, she saw the forest below — a thick blanket of fog from which the tall trees pierced like a field of needles.

  She could smell the dampness of the ground. She could hear the soft breeze that swept over her. Her vision became blurry. She had lost a significant amount of blood. A sense of peace washed through her, yet she was not ready to die yet.

  Laying next to her in the dirt was her pistol. She crawled towards it and picked it up. With the last ounce of strength in her working arm she aimed the barrel skywards, and fired into the black night.

  Flashes of vision came to her as she dove in and out of consciousness. Lanterns. Robed figures. She felt herself being carried, descending back into the fog. Voices chattered around her.

  “Not a mimic — she’s got a courier’s bag.”

  “Clothes are damp, must’ve got caught on the mountain.”

  “Is there a Doctor at base? When’s the next one coming round? I guess we’ll have to patch her up ourselves.”

  Anya awoke to another wooden ceiling. The lights were a more familiar orange glow. Her vision came to her slowly, and her body ached all over. She rose from the bed, still barely able to move her legs. Using the wall to support herself she crept over to the door. She noted the slimy residue that seemed to coat the wood.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  As she moved to grab the handle, a woman walked in. Anya was startled and fell to the floor, crying out as she hit the hard stone tiles.

  “Sorry, didn’t think you’d be up yet,” the woman reached a hand towards Anya and helped her back to the bed.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m with the Travellers Foundation,” she pointed to a small silver badge on her collar, “the better question is who are you?”

  “Courier, I think. I came from one of your outposts.”

  “You think? Which outpost?”

  Anya scrambled to find the note amongst her pockets. “Alpha… Alpha something…”

  “Alpha-one? Alpha-four?”

  “Alpha-one. I had a package what happened to it?”

  “So the case is yours then, I’ll get it for you.”

  The woman left. From the brief moment that the door was open Anya could see that it was brightly lit in the outside room, and that there was a group of people having a conversation. She returned shortly with the case.

  “It is not uncommon for travellers to find the lost bags of unfortunate couriers. If it is really yours then only you can open it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  The woman paused. “They are bounded to your perception, you will become more susceptible to the sickness but in return the item is kept safe from it. If we were to open it without your input — well it may have consequences for anyone bound to the case. You were not told this?”

  Anya took a moment to comprehend the woman’s words. “Maybe, it was a lot all at once.”

  “How long have you been in the Tanglements?”

  “A day maybe, I don’t really know.”

  “If it feels like only a day then it is probably only a day, a month and I would be unsure. Who put you on a Courier’s mission after less than a day in the Tanglements?”

  “There was a Doctor at the outpost that suggested it.”

  The woman sighed. “Doctors are powerful people, yet they often think themselves equal and expect the same from you as you would from them. No matter, let’s see what you were tasked with delivering.”

  Anya placed her thumbs on the locks and carefully lifted the case open. It was packed with various pieces of equipment and supplies. There were machines Anya had never seen before, and numerous small leathery pouches marked with symbols she could not recognise. Along the edges were dozens of small pill bottles.

  “Ah, these were needed, yes.” The woman nodded and took the case from her. “Thank you, I presume you have not been registered?”

  “Registered?”

  “I suppose this Doctor wished for you to be tested. Come, if you wish to join the Foundation we can make that happen.”

  Anya was led from the room and through various hallways. Unlike the city outpost, this appeared to be a small compound that was partially buried. At certain points they were walking through caves, their path lit by a velvety red glow marked across the cavern walls. Eventually they came to a small office, deep underground. The woman knocked on its iron door, and they were beckoned inside.

  It was warm inside, with a fireplace and yellow wallpapered walls. In the centre of the room was a large stone desk, behind which sat a thin man in a blue hued uniform. The woman stood tall in his presence.

  “A recruit from the new outpost in Alpha-One, sir. Ready to register.”

  “A recruit? Not Kite’s new apprentice I hope?”

  The woman glanced towards Anya.

  “Uhm, no sir.”

  The man laughed and stood up, he walked around the desk to meet them. “I am only joking. Under what name is she to be registered?”

  “Iris sir. She has made one successful deliver already.”

  “I see. Thank you, you may leave.”

  The woman left the office.

  The man walked briefly back to his desk to retrieve a large book and a quill. He dipped the quill into what appeared to be a well of blood.

  “Do not worry, it is from the trees. One must live in harmony with the instance lest they wish to fall victim to the sickness.” He opened the book and flicked to a particular page. “In the Foundation we use a system of names, everyone is given their role and a number to distinguish. You are free to use any other nicknames you may have amongst your peers yet this will be your official name with the Foundation. Do you understand?”

  Anya nodded.

  “You may know me as Arc-7, I am the overseer of this base. Do you know what the mission of the Foundation is?”

  “You help out lost travellers?”

  “Not only that, but we aim to connect the societies of the Tanglements. Where the Cartographers Association has mapped these realities, we shall help those who wish to survive in them.”

  “So what will I do?”

  “As a Courier you will be tasked with transporting the supplies that are needed to fund these endeavours. You will work to reinforce the connections between disparate communities and maintain reliable communications between outposts. Is this a responsibility you wish to have placed upon you?”

  Anya felt as if she should think about the decision she was about to make, yet there was little for her to base any such thoughts on. She was in a strange existence, with hardly even a name to safely call herself. “Yes.”

  “Then as of today — day 253 of cycle 34 — I shall be registering you under the role of Courier, formally known in the Foundation as an Iris. You will be required to give me the first letter of your Tanglements name. This document will be kept securely.”

  Anya whispered the letter.

  Arc made a swift stroke with this quill and closed the book. “You have now been registered as Iris-31. Welcome to the Travellers Foundation.”