Torly and Yoor were quiet late at night, lying in bed together, lost in thought, lost in the memories of Enim's tales. And lost, quite generally. Holding each other tight, not knowing, not seeing how this could happen, how this could be a part of the world they lived in.

But by morning they were recovering. While Enim was still fast asleep, Yoor brought tea for two to the bedside, nice, hot and spicy, plus small crisp rolls with cream. First rays of sunlight sneaked in sideways through the window facing out over the river, and it seemed hard to feel gloomy. Yoor opened the panes wide and let the morning dance over his naked skin, which began to shimmer in hues of azure tinged with rose, just like the sky above. Yoor snuggled back into bed with Torly, leaning up against the wall as they sipped and munched, squinting out into the gold and white of drifting clouds outside.

Their thoughts were still on the tales of last evening though, even if their mood was irrepressibly swinging back to its usual level. They recounted Enim's stories to each other, trying to make sense of it all.

"It truly is as if the Transition had not reached the Mountains," Torly summed up, setting down her tea.

"Yes," Yoor replied pensively. "Enim put it that way as well."

The thought began to intrigue Yoor. The more he moved the words around in his mouth, the more they began to tug at the back of his mind. There was something there... something that caused an itch inside him.

"The Transition has not reached the Mountains," Yoor repeated, musing. "It has not. Yet. But it will!"

He began to get excited. He sat up straight in bed. "There is a tale in this. A tale that is calling to us, and may be calling to other people as well."

The storyteller in Yoor was going to give it a try.

"The Transition has not reached the Mountains. But it will. It must. And we will bring it there! We can relive history. And the most glorious part of it too! Not just any old bit of history. No, the very best, the most important, the most wonderful part of it all! We will relive the Transition. And not just relive, no, but recreate! We will not just watch it, we will make it happen! No deed more valiant, more worth doing!"

Yoor turned to Torly for support. "Beneath all the glitter and glory that I will inevitably bring to this, there is truth. There is real ground here, underneath. Isn't there?"

Torly wagged her head, black curls falling into her face.

"There is," she ruled.

"See?" Yoor was all aflame by now. "Bringing the Transition to the Mountains is imperative. And easy too, thankfully. After all, everyone we've ever known wholeheartedly supports the Transition. Isn't that right? Have you ever heard anyone say anything else? No. So. There cannot possibly be any obstacles around this time. Who would pose one? Everybody is in favor. The Transition will be just as grand, significant, important and glorious as the first time around, only much, much easier to do," he concluded with much gratification.

"And should any obstacle arise, against all expectations," Yoor began to act out the part, gesturing even while sitting in bed, "we will be there. Like valiant knights, to fight for everything that is good and righteous." He demonstrated with a flourish, then caught himself. "Ah, no. No. The knights were fighting against the Transition, rather than for it, weren't they? I do apologize. I have confused us with our enemies again. I'm sorry. No valiant knights, then, and indeed, no knights at all. Just us. The valiant midwives of the Transition." Yoor bowed his head in solemn greeting.

"Rest assured," he took up his thread, "we are the heroes at the service of history. We will ride across country on galloping horses. We will do all it takes. Whatever that is. What does it take, actually?" Yoor turned to Torly, his eyebrows raised in question.

Torly pulled the blanket up around her leg. "I don't know. And it seems Enim is not sure either. We need to find out what to do."

Yoor considered this. "Find out what to do. Is that a typical heroic activity?" he wondered.

"I couldn't say." Torly licked her finger to pick up crumbs from her plate. "But then, maybe it wasn't heroines who made the Transition happen the first time around. Maybe it was just ordinary people, who did not even know what to do."

"Hmm," Yoor replied thoughtfully. "Quite possibly." He pushed a snow-white strand of hair from his brow. "Even better, in a way. I shall quite like to be ordinary people. Who do not even know what to do. And who then find out, hopefully, or in any case do it anyway. Somehow."

Carefully negotiating his way between the dishes, he eased up to Torly. His hand ran up her naked arm as he snuggled into the curves of her full, round body. "So, my love, shall we lend our support to Enim? Like one valiant citizen to another? To find out what to do? And to do it, even?"

Torly brushed her cheek against the velvety butterfly skin of Yoor's brow. The morning light flowed softly over his hair, bringing out shimmers of pearl and ice.

"Yes." She kissed him lightly. "We shall. We will pledge ourselves to the cause."

* * *

The palace of Varoonya rested securely in the knowledge of its own importance and beauty, a crown on the crest of the hill overlooking the Roon. The wide stone steps leading to the main entrance shone in the morning sun as Enim walked up to where huge double doors stood wide open, inviting, yet impressive if not intimidating at the same time. Enim was used to the type of architecture, though. The Academy of Magical Arts practically intertwined with the palace, sharing its style of awe-inspiring grand interiors. So at least in that respect, Enim was unfazed and able to look around the entrance hall with clear, searching eyes.

All around him people in bright robes busily strode up and down, their arms full of scrolls and books and papers. Large windows beneath a high, vaulted ceiling let light fall onto the polished floor, or gleam off the arms of sparkling chandeliers.

Enim's gaze caught.

On one side of the hall sat an ornate structure made of carved wood, polished with age and care. A succession of little cabins, inhabited by agile figures appearing and disappearing in the windows like statuettes of an old clock.

Aha!

Enim queued up before one of the cabins and was soon ushered up to approach. He placed his envelopes on the windowsill and began to explain. This was another copy of his report from the Mountains, together with—

"No need," the officious person inside said, waving his hand. "I am only passing them on, you know. Have you marked clearly who it is for? Ah, yes. That is just fine. I'll hand it in."

"And, ah, then, how will I hear from them?" Enim put in quickly. "I have added a letter inside requesting an opportunity to explain in person and—"

"Yes, yes," the window's inhabitant cut in. "I can see you have given your address here. That is where they will contact you." And he looked out past Enim to the next person waiting in line.

"But will they?" Enim tried to take up as much space in front of the window as he possibly could. "They didn't, last time. Is there another way to get in touch, maybe?"

"Sure," the scribe nodded, pointing over Enim's shoulder. "Meetings that are open to everyone are on pale blue paper. Just go and see if there's anything that sounds right for your concern."

Enim turned around.

A broad grin came to his face as he realized just what it was he was looking at. He knew it! Of course the palace had open doors for everyone. Of course things were organized in a way that allowed everybody to have a say, to make suggestions or point out problems.

With a few swift strides, Enim traversed the hall and came to stand in front of a large grid teeming with colorful notes.

Each row was a day, Enim soon figured out. Bottom line was today. Pale blue meant open to everyone. Enim gave up on all the other colors and little symbols that must have meant heaps to the people busily shuffling around him, hurrying off to one side or another.

Enim rubbed his head as he perused the papers with narrowed eyes.

There!

'Innovation—New Ideas,' the small sheet read.

Enim was not sure if including all areas of Yurvania in county services was a new idea, exactly. But close enough.

He would take that!

*

When evening came, the designated hall was brimming with people. Hundreds were bustling on the ornate floor or lounging on the broad sills of palace windows, eager to hear the presentations.

Only very brief announcements were allowed here in the plenary, with each person to say just a sentence or two in front of the entire crowd. Then the presenters would all go to their allocated rooms and corners, so that anyone interested could find them there and hear more details.

Enim had taken his place in the queue that slowly and jerkily advanced toward the speaker's dais. He twisted his report into a tight roll and tapped it against his fingers. His eyes were shining. He could see the rapt attention on people's faces, sense their avid curiosity, their vivid spirits. He had an inkling of the wide diversity of backgrounds they had brought to this gathering, these craftsfolks and gardeners, parents and artificers, and most importantly: these scribes from all corners of the palace. Thank goodness Enim had made this trip to Varoonya! Now he would be able to say it, in person, in front of all these people. And then exactly the right ones would come and speak to him: those who were able to help.

Enim advanced one more step, one last time. Then it was his turn.

He climbed the dais.

All eyes were on him.

Enim cleared his throat.

When he spoke, it was with the compelling clarity of a spell, a voice so deep and resonant it reached even the hindmost corner of the room.

*

Deeply immersed in thoughts and conversations, participants moved from one presentation room to the next, from one speaker's corner to another. Enim shifted his weight to the other foot. His gaze followed the lively faces milling past.

There were so many people! So much curiosity, care and vivid intelligence. But there also were a great many topics on offer.

In the first round, no one had chosen to come to Enim to hear more about the Mountains. Nor in the second. But maybe now, in the third, the last?

*

Slowly, the palace grew quiet. Only a few lone figures lingered here and there in the corridors. In the emptiness of the great entrance hall, an old scribe pulled the lowest row off the grid. Another day was over. Another line of meetings relegated to history.

The next day rocked to the bottom.

Enim stepped from the shadows. Determination in his narrowed eyes, he searched the rows for pale blue, noting the meetings of the next day, and the one after that, and after that. Enim was going to go to all of them. Until he had found the one that was right, the one that brought him to the people he needed.

* * *