The Wall Between Our Worlds

Chapter Two (Part Two)

When Krimson returned to her house, she found that the stranger had woken up—and he had managed to sit up, too. The blanket was still over his lap—thank the Creator—but Krimson wished his entire body were covered; his half-nakedness invited her to stare. Staring of that nature was inappropriate.

He wasn't as muscular as Farron, but he was toned enough to attract any thinking female. The thin blond hairs on his chest had a certain character about them...

I shouldn't be thinking like that, she berated herself. Tearing her eyes away from him, she took Larek's clothes from her backpack and tossed them at him. He would have to figure out how to dress himself despite his wounds. Krimson was not going to help him.

"Thank you," he said.

She heard his struggle behind her as she started to prepare a simple meal that consisted of a few vegetables and some dried meat. She would have preferred fresh meat, but she hadn't had time to hunt since she discovered the stranger. And her house didn't have a cold storage system that let her keep fresh food in an acceptable condition. Still, dried meat was edible enough.

When she dared to look at the stranger again, he had managed to squirm into the clothes. Good. Very good.

She handed him a bowl of food.

"Thank you." He bit into one of the vegetables, and Krimson could tell from his face that even chewing was painful for him. He didn't complain. She liked that. Complaining didn't do anyone any good. "My name is Trep," he said.

Krimson didn't respond.

"Trep," he said, pointing at himself. "That's my name."

Krimson tilted her head and pointed at herself. "Twep."

A grin lit up his face for half a second. Krimson had to stifle her own smile. Sure, he might be a Builder—and the Builders were all lunatics who thought the Growers were ruthless savages—but at least he provided some entertainment.

"No," he said. Again, he pointed at himself. "Trep." He pointed at Krimson, his eyebrows raised.

"Twep."

"No. I'm Trep. You're name is..."

"Twep."

He sighed. "Okay. That's not going to work. Uh... never mind." He pinched the bridge of his nose and started talking to himself. "Okay... if she can show me where the flyer is, maybe I can salvage the communications array... no. No way it survived the river." He murmured a word that Krimson was sure was a curse, though she had never heard it before. "Maybe if I can find a way home quick enough, I won't have to get sick. There has to be a way."

There it was again. The talk about getting sick. What, did he think that Grower food was poisonous? Interesting.

"I don't know how I'm going to get home, though," he went on. "The Divide Control is designed to withstand a lot of abuse. If I can find it, I guess there's a slight possibility I could repair it. I'd have to find the tools, too. And a way to power it. Or I could wait for rescue. No. They won't come unless they have confirmation I'm alive." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "It's not possible. I'm going to die here, and so is the poor girl who rescued me." He looked at Krimson again. "I'm so sorry."

Okay... I think that is enough. "I have no plans to die anytime soon," she said.

He blinked. He stared. "I'm hallucinating."

A smile curled her lips upward. "Unless you see dancing Weeper Poms around my head, I doubt you are hallucinating."

He chuckled—and then grimaced as he put a hand to his ribs. "You speak my language?"

Krimson nodded. "I said nothing because I thought it was amusing. My name is Krimson."

"You thought it was amusing?" Again he tried to laugh—and stopped as pain overtook his face. "Okay... I see how that could be funny. Actually, that's hilarious. I would be laughing more, but it hurts. How... how do you speak my language?"

"Before the natural Wall fell between the hemispheres a few hundred years ago, all of the tribes spoke different dialects. Communication was difficult. The Universal High Elders decided that we should all speak a common language. They chose the Western language because it is so simple. The tribal dialects still exist, but we commonly communicate in your tongue."

"Ah. Interesting. I never would have guessed. Krimson... you're amazing. How far did you drag me?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps ten miles or so."

His eyes flickered over her, taking in her long dark hair, green eyes, and the rest of her body. It wasn't a lascivious gaze; rather, it was a curious examination. "You must be strong. What are these clothes made of?" he asked, touching the shirt she had brought for him.

"Leaping Heart Root. The fabric is what we usually wear in the cold seasons."

"Huh. It's cozy. I thought you would all be wearing tanned animal skins."

"And grunting to one another like savages?"

"Um..."

Krimson found another smile. "I daresay we are nothing like what you thought we are. I hope that you are nothing like what I have been told. Why did you say we will make each other sick?"

"Our physiology isn't compatible. Two hundred years ago, when the Great Divide—I guess you call it the Wall—was down for a few years, millions died because of the Divide Diseases. Just breathing the same air... we're risking that we'll make each other ill to the point of death."

What have they been teaching you? Krimson raised an eyebrow. "That is ridiculous."

"I know it sounds silly, but—"

"Who told you that?"

"My teachers at school. And history books."

Krimson shook her head. "You have been lied to. The problem was not that our physiologies are too different. The problem was war. The Builders became greedy for land when the natural Wall between the hemispheres fell. For the first time in history, the Eastern half of the planet was open—seemingly, it would be easy to conquer. Because they did not want their most destructive weapons to ruin the ecosystem, they attempted to eradicate the people by means of biological weapons. But what they did not realize is that the Growers know far more about plant life—and poisons—than the Builders ever did. Our people struck back with an even more powerful biological weapon. When the Builders realized that they would lose the war, they put the mechanism in place for the artificial Wall that currently divides the world."

Trep stared at her, and Krimson knew he didn't believe her.

She shrugged. "However, I was not present for those events. It was centuries ago. Perhaps I am wrong. But I can tell you that we have historical documents that detail the attempts of my people to make peace with yours before they embarked on the path of war."

He kept staring. "That... this is nothing like what I expected from... Growers. We call you Easterners. You... I.... I don't know if what you're saying is true. I don't know why..." He shook his head. "I... I wish I could believe you."

"I wish you could as well. But do not waste a lot of energy worrying about it. Anxiety will not make you heal any more quickly. I am going to go hunting now. If you need to urinate or defecate, do it outside and bury it. There is a shovel just outside the house. There is also a bathing area outside. If you wish to bathe, tell me when I return and I will heat the water for you. I do not know when I will be back, but it should not be more than a few hours. Rest well, Trep the Builder."