Anilitak waited as patiently as she could, vaguely anxious, listening for some hint of her surroundings. She sat without searching for a chair. She had yet to hear mention of a chair or any piece of furniture. Perhaps such craft was lost to these blind men. Everything here seemed barren and dead, as if built not for bodies, but for voices.

The floor here was cold, as it seemed to be everywhere. She pulled her knees close and let her mind wander aimlessly. She felt no distinct worry over these new strangers, no distrust of Flit, no sense of loss or helplessness. For the moment, she floated along the subtle breeze of events, hoping absently for a direction and an end. Later, she would fret. Now, she was too much hurried and perplexed.

She jumped at the sudden, quiet sound of a door. “Pink,” Flit said.

“Yes?”

“We have something you must feel.”

Anilitak stood and walked unsteadily to him, hands out. Her fingers touched his chest; he took her hand. “It’s only a little ways. The rooms here are small, but interconnected like a puzzle.”

They passed through more than a dozen doors, weaving a strange, serpentine path that seemed to curl back on itself. In the last, Question, Silencia, and Noon were quietly conversing.

“Bring her here,” said Question. “Hold out your hands, Glimpse.”

Anilitak did as she was told. Glimpse? How many names would she need to remember?

Her fingers touched something metal. “Take it. Carefully,” Question said, releasing its weight into Anilitak’s hands. “Tell us what it is.”

It lay across two open palm, heavy and unwieldy. She placed it on the ground and felt along its edges. It was sharp on one side, and at first she thought it was a sword, but the longer she felt, the less that image came to mind. It was a blade of some sort, or at least the imitation of one. It curved into a quarter circle, but the sharp edge was along the concave side, which was odd. It wasn’t a weapon then, at least not any she had ever seen.

“She doesn’t know,” Silencia said. “We’ll have to keep her confined so she doesn’t tell anyone about this. Upwards, restrain her.”

But Noon hesitated. “Give her time. She is used to seeing, not to feeling.”

“If you believe her story,” Silencia muttered.

The shape seemed familiar to Anilitak, like the face of an acquaintance. She tried to fit it into the images in her head. She decided it was a tool of some sort. The blade was smooth, so it wasn’t a saw. It wasn’t an axe, and it was too large to be a kitchen utensil.

“It’s from a plow,” she said suddenly. “It breaks up the dirt.”

“A plow?” Question asked.

“Yeah, a plow. Horses pull them to get the fields ready for—”

“Don’t lecture us,” Silencia said. “Maybe this thing called a plow doesn’t exist. Maybe you made it up.”

“I didn’t make it up!”

“Ignore Doubt,” said Noon. “She doesn’t want to believe. You have spoken the truth.” HE pronounced this solemnly. “I name you Beam, for you have brought us light from above. Now we owe you an explanation, Beam. I will tell you where this blade is from and what it means.”