Free Arcene: The Island by Al K. Line Page A

money. Everything used to be about money. Virtual digits floating around the world that dictated people's lives and made them sad. Working hard so they could buy cars, and houses they made it to in time to sleep, where children were safe but never seen as there was always more money to be made so bigger houses could be bought that they would then spend less time in.
    Arcene never understood why people didn't just go live in the country and forget about all that stuff, but she supposed you had to be a part of it to understand the motivations behind the actions of people that lived in a world when it was crowded and life was very different to anything she had ever known.
    Her thoughts had drifted again, as they often did when she experienced relics of that ancient past, and now here she was walking along a road that was no longer a road, just a flat expanse where the grass was shorter and trees erupted in strange places, making it look like some kind of manicured strip of garden.
    The road vanished inland, obliterated by forest where nature did what it did best and reclaimed the artificial construction, but as it headed down the steep slope to the village below it was still mostly visible.
    They wandered down the winding, narrow road, twisting and turning as their route cut into the hill, but heading down to whatever remained beneath. Arcene caught glimpses of the houses that still stood, stared into roof spaces where tiles were long gone, fallen to the ground in piles, now covered in weeds.
    She took in the splintered rooftops, wooden beams jutting up into the air, home to seagulls and white from centuries of their droppings. Then the view was lost again as they turned a corner, only to be revealed moments later, this time a little closer, and so the same thing was repeated as they descended.
    At last, they were in the village proper. A ramshackle collection of ruins, some burned to the ground, others relatively intact, windows smashed but buildings still standing, doors open where properties would have been raided by those desperate for food or shelter countless generations ago. But the buildings were few and far between on the hillside, the majority crowded around the harbor, forming a semicircle on the lowest level, facing out to sea and the island.
    It felt nice to be on flat ground — after the day she'd had Arcene was overdue a little normality and steadiness. The climb down had been straightforward but she felt out-of-whack, unbalanced, like she was still being pulled this way and that by forces out of her control.
    How was Fasolt doing? Was the balloon still airborne, even without the basket floor, or had he landed somehow and returned to look for her?
    Arcene thought about trying to find him, to search out a suitable bird in the sky and fly away to look, but it held too many dangers. He would be far away, the storm would have seen to that, and taking up residence in a creature any distance from her own body always made her feel exceptionally ill. No, he would be fine, he knew she was strong and independent.
    And she'd felt his mind touch hers as she crashed into the trees, and again when she landed in the pile of leaves. She'd signaled to him, told him she would see him at home, and then he retreated from her presence, sticking to the agreement made that they would never intrude in each other's minds — it was taboo, you had to be your own person.
    So, Fasolt would stick to their agreement made in The Noise. He would go home, she would make her own way, and he would battle with the balloon as long as it stayed airborne. It was silly for them both to be delayed, and anyway, he knew what she was like and that she welcomed the chance for adventure on her only trip away for years.
    She put such thoughts aside, willed herself to focus on the present, and as her hair whipped about her face and she inhaled deeply of the salty air, she took stock of her surroundings and let everything else fade away.
    It was all about living