Kerrek brightened, thinking about the fool’s gold he had laying 
before him, and thanked York for the fool before him. “Well little 
miss, surely your mother wouldn’t mind if you browsed for but a 
moment.” His tone had changed from scaly and patronizing, 
becoming animated and colorful. “Look at the wonders before you, 
and tell me what catches your pretty eye.” 


She picked up the book. Odd child. “Ah, the wizard’s tome! The little 
miss has a good eye.” She opened the book and gasped. 


“My grandmother showed me these letters!” 
“No!” 


“Yes! She showed them to me before she died. | know the sounds 
they make!” 


What a useless skill. “Then it’s fate, little miss! No doubt your 
grandmother wanted you to take this book, she sent it here!” 


“Really?” “Of course! Bring it to your family, show them what you’ve 
found. This is worth much more than a tired old chicken, sweetling. 
This is magic.” The girl gasped. 


“But, | only have-” She trailed off, looking at the coin. Her eyes 
started to swell. Kerrek got on one knee, so he could look up at her. 
“No, little miss, | can’t interfere with fate! Here, take the book. I'll only 
take the coin, even though the Wizard’s Tome is worth its weight in 
silver? Stupid girl. “Best of luck, best of luck. Run home, run, for 
surely your family will shower you with praise for the magic you have 
brought into their lives!” The little girl started running frantically with 
a huge grin, before she doubled back to the merchant. 


“Wha-* She threw her arms around his waist in a tight embrace, 
before she started running again, clutching the book to her chest. 


“Stupid.” Kerrek rolled up the blanket and tied it to his horse. He 
flipped the coin, caught it, and walked in the direction of the chicken 
coop. 


“Stupid girl!” Her mother shrieked. Her voice boomed in the little hut. 
“Stupid, stupid, STUPID! She hit the girl across the face. “WE 
CAN’T EAT A BOOK!” 


“But the book is-“ “MAGIC?” She slapped her again. “THERE IS NO 
MAGIC, ABIRT-DAMNED, STUPID, USELESS GIRL!” She grabbed 
up the book and hurled it like a disc out the doorway. 


“SLEEP OUTSIDE! SEE IF THE BOOK KEEPS YOU ALIVE!” 


The girl slipped through the doorway, crying. She found the book 


and stared at it, before she pounded it as hard as she could with her 
tiny fist. Some of the others in the village looked out at her from their 
huts. She kept crying while she went around back. A few minutes 
went by before she calmed down enough to open the book again. 
By the light of the setting sun, she sounded out the letters her 
grandmother had taught her nearly a year ago. But it only said the 
same thing, and felt decidedly un-magical. With that, a new wave of 
emotion overcame her, and she cried herself to sleep — 


— and awoke in the most beautiful place she had ever seen. 


It was a Wonderland, with a vivid landscape of trees and valleys, 
and mountains in the distance. Birds colored like rainbows flew right 
over her head, and she watched as amazing animals sprinted 
across the valley below. She looked up, and saw more stars than 
ever before, despite it still seeming like daytime, with two suns in the 
distance. 


“Excuse me, little miss.” 
She spun around and gasped at the man before her. 


He was tall, almost twice as tall as she was, and much older. His 
beard was long, but tidy, down to his chest, and was bright white. 
His hair was the same color, as were his eyebrows, which were 
bushy, and raised as he looked at her. The voice he used was soft 
and deep, but friendly, and he was very calm when he spoke. His 
face was friendly too, with many wrinkles and creases on the sides 
of his upturned lips. 


But most amazing was his cloak. It was a shimmering green, and 
flowed with waves of shades, from a deep, deep emerald that 
almost looked obsidian, to a light leafy olive, and everything in 
between. The girl was stupefied. 


“Hello there.” 


“Are- are you the wizard?” She was stammering, and even though 
he seemed friendly, she wasn’t sure what to make of him. But he 
smiled, and she felt better straightaway. 


“| suppose | am... May | ask who you are, young one?” 
“Aleia.” 


“What a pretty name... Aleia. So, Aleia, do you know where you 
are?” The girl gazed about her shyly. She had never seen the 
animals before, had never seen a sight so beautiful. 


“Am | in Heaven?” 


“Ha!” The old man’s laugh was full, and deep, and wasn’t mean at 
all. It was young. 


“No, my dear, you aren’t in Heaven. You’re far too young to see the 
afterlife. That’s for old men like me. You’re in the book you found, 
Aleia.” 


“The book...” 


“The book. | call myself the Book Keeper, but you may call me 
whatever you like. And in here, | suppose, a wizard is about right.” 


“The book had words in it.” 
“Can you read, Aleia?” 


“My grandmother showed me letters, but | only know some of the 
sounds they make. | can’t read very good.” 


“Would you be so kind as to walk with me Aleia? | haven’t had 
company in a very long time, and would love to speak with a bright 
youth like yourself.” 


So they walked through the marvelous forests and valleys, and the 
Book Keeper answered all of Aleia’s questions. She had found a 
magic book, and was elated at the thought. 


“It was magic!” 


“Indeed. And so you see, Aleia, when people visited me before, it 
was a very different time, when people had all they needed, and 
knew all they could hope to know.” 


“The Old World?” 


“Yes. But I’ve went a long time without any visitors, and am so 
happy that you’ve come here. | do wonder what happened to the 
other man, he hasn't shown up yet... Ah well. He’ll be along soon 
enough. What | want to ask you, Aleia, is if you'll come back again.” 


“Oh, yes, Book Keeper. This place is wonderful!” He smiled an 
elated smile. 


“But you have to promise me something, Aleia.” His expression 
turned somber. “I made a mistake in the Old World, one that | will 
never let happen again... You have to promise me that you'll keep 
being happy in your world. You may visit as often as you like, and 
indeed | hope you do. But you have to remember your promise, and 
live in your world as much as you do mine.” Aleia nodded with 
energy. “Good.” The Book Keeper smiled again. 


“Book Keeper?” 
“Yes, little one?” 
“What did the words say? | don’t know the sounds very good.” 


“It said, ‘A Hero is Born’. How much do you know about the letters 
your grandmother showed you?” 


“Not very much Book Keeper. She only knew a little bit, too.” The 
smile disappeared, and the wizard looked puzzled. 


“| think we'll start there. Aleia, will you let me teach you how to 
read?” 


Those You Leave Behind 


Part One 


His mother often said his father was York. But she was kept so 
drugged by the high priestesses that she rarely knew who her 
callers were, and other times, she said his father was a blind 
fisherman. With bad breath, which had apparently stuck in her mind. 


So Rone didn't take much heed of her words, except to eat sweet- 
smelling herbs when he could. 


Still, there were others who thought he had more than a touch of the 
Saint of Thieves in him. Even as a young child, he was constantly 
scheming to get things that didn't belong to him. He could sweet talk 
the temple cooks into giving him extra scraps, or little treats usually 
saved for the high priestesses and their special guests. The other 
boys and girls would often find they'd come off worse on little deals 
or bets he'd set up, not sure why they'd taken them in the first place. 


Once, he'd been caught lightening the pocket of a High Guard while 
he was enjoying the company of his mother. Priestess Gylia 
forcefully made the point that men expected their belongings to be 
safe inside the temple, and paid well for that privilege. However, he 
noticed how she emphasized the word "inside," and simply moved 
his operations elsewhere. 


Most of what he got, he earned through begging. "Are you my 
father?" he'd ask each man who came in. He'd do his best to ape 
them, to screw up his features to look a little more like they did, 
puffing his cheeks out if they were fat, or sucking them in if they 
were skinny. Sometimes he got a cuff behind the ear, but sometimes 
he'd get a pat on the head and a few coins. Temple children were 
almost never claimed, but the men who visited could be kind 
enough, in their way. 


594-01 and 594-02, who are to be rooed [loose wool plucked 
out by hand] as per guidelines under Document #594-01/02A 
and no attempts at shearing be made on either animal. 


¢ Due to the nature of SCP-594, specifically 594-02, all 
personnel with contact to SCP-594 and its by-products may 
be subject to full cavity searches and all personnel must 
submit to pat down search/metal detector scan before leaving 
the enclosure. 


Feeding of the approved formulated grain-hay mix, outlined in 
Document #594-F, is to be done twice daily with fresh water 
and mineral licks made readily available around all parts of the 
enclosure. Foraging and grazing outside of regular feedings is 
to be carefully monitored. 


Description: Discovered in the Altai Mountains during a routine 
fact-finding mission, SCP-594 is a flock of feral sheep of an 
unknown breed resembling a wild Argali sheep in general build with 
a thick fleece like that of a domestic Merino, around 135 cm at the 
shoulder and weighing 195 kg on average. Gestation and 
reproductive cycles are similar to most domesticated sheep, with 
ewes reaching sexual maturity at six to eight months of age and 
rams at four to six months. They enter a rut twice annually, typically 
in late spring and early autumn, but breeding can occur year round. 
Most ewes give birth to a single lamb or twins, with triplets being 
exceedingly rare (2% of all recorded births to date). Only 
documented case of triplets which survived to full maturity are 
594-01 and his siblings, 594-02 and 594-03. General coloration 
ranges from pure white to dark blue-gray wool with a metallic sheen 
appearing once they’ve reached full maturity, typically 2 years of 
age. Only three animals, the aforementioned triplets, display atypical 
wool colors. Both sexes have horns, with uncastrated males having 
spiraling horns measuring 190 cm in length, the largest documented 
span belonging to 594-02 at a length of 247.4 cm. Females and 
wethers have curved horns measuring 20 cm. The horns, hooves, 
and wool of older animals have unusually high concentrations of 
ferrous metals, along with traces of gold alloys. Examinations of 
newly butchered animals have revealed that SCP-594’s skeleton 
also has large amounts of ferrous metals present within the bone 


However, he was growing older now. The cuffs were more frequent, 
the coins fewer. He would have to leave soon. Temple girls were 
expected to become priestesses themselves, but the boys could 
only stay as eunuchs. Rone was starting to think that this was less 
of a great deal than he'd thought when he was younger. 


So he was considering his career prospects when the old man 
passed by the front of the temple. Rone was not yet a very good 
pickpocket, still mostly confining himself to rolling the occasional 
drunk. But he could see a full, heavy purse hanging from the man's 
side, and what son of York would he be if he could resist that? 


He pulled out a little knife he'd stolen from the kitchens, and hid it 
against his wrist as he approached, trying to look as though he were 
traveling somewhere in quite a hurry, before colliding in the old man. 


His knife flashed out as he bumped into the old man, intending to cut 
open the purse and take the man's money. However, the old man's 
hand shot out and grabbed his bony wrist, twisting until the knife fell 
from his hand. 


Rone immediately began struggling to get away, but he couldn't 
escape the man's grasp. And even as he tried, he saw large, 
muscular men whom he hadn't noticed following at a discreet 
distance. 


"Do you know who | am, boy?" the old man said. His hair was white, 
his eyes yellow, and his teeth nearly as dark as his skin. 


"No, no, please. Just let me go, I'll never do it again," Rone 
promised. 


"lam Lord Totch, the Tyrant's secretary, you little thief!" he said. He 
slapped the side of Rone's head, and pushed him into the arms of 
the waiting men. "Teach him not to steal from his betters," he said. 


Rone ducked his head as the first blows came. 


It was weeks before Rone was recovered. He didn't even remember 
crawling back into the temple. Priestess Heth tended to him when 
she wasn't busy with other duties. Luckily, the men hadn't done any 


real damage. No broken bones. His wits didn't seem to have been 
addled. Once the swelling went down, his face looked the same as it 
ever had. Allin all, he'd gotten quite lucky, and he promised himself 
he'd never be so clumsy again. 


When the last of the marks faded, he sat on the temple steps and 
once again considered his prospects. Thieving was still a viable 
option, he supposed. But perhaps not pick pocketing. Not until he 
learned to be more clever at it. Perhaps he could find an older thief 
in need of an apprentice? 


"Boy, move!" said a familiar face. Rone looked up and froze. 


"Well?" the Tyrant's secretary said. "Out of my way. I'm a busy 
man." 


Rone scuttled over to the side, and the man passed, oblivious to 
whom he'd spoken. 


"He didn't even recognize me..." Rone whispered. He stared 
incredulously at Totch's back. "He didn't even recognize me!" 
Suddenly, he was filled with anger. After all that had happened, the 
man didn't even know him! Suddenly, he felt the need to be on his 
feet. He ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, right past the 
man's guards, who didn't give him any more of a look than their 
master. 


"Who does he think he is?" Rone fumed. How dare they ignore him, 
like he was nothing? He felt like grabbing the nearest person and 
shouting his name in their faces, but that still wouldn't teach the 
secretary a lesson. No, he had to think bigger than that. 


He began to plot, and to think, and then smiled grimly to himself. It 
would take a few days to get the supplies, but he'd manage it. Yes, 
they'd know who he was next time. Yes, he'd make sure of that. 
They'd shout his name from their towers, oh yes. 


Several days later, Rone was prepared. Second story work, he'd 
decided, was much more his style than pick pocketing. So many 
people failed to lock a window if it was high enough. The hardest 


part was getting the clothes, but finding one of Lord Vere's servant 
boys at the bathhouse had given him all the opportunity he'd 
needed. 


Now, it was time to put his plan into motion. 


Rone walked into the mansion with a determined expression and a 
piece of paper in his hand. He caught a glance from one of the 
servants, but was otherwise ignored. He quickly made his way up 
the steps of the tower towards the Lord’s office. 


On his way up, a door opened, and a bearded man glared at him. 
“Boy! Where are you going?” he asked. 


“U-up to Lord Totch’s office, sir,” Rone replied, beginning the speech 
he’d prepared. “I’ve a missive fr-” 


“Take this,” the man said, stuffing a small satchel into his hand. 
“Well? Get going.” 


“Yes sir!” Rone said, turning quickly away. He continued up the 
stairs. 


The office was empty when he carefully opened the door. He 
breathed a quick sigh of relief. That should make the rest of it easy. 


He paused to open the satchel, and found it full of papers. He 
couldn't read, so he ignored them, though he’d likely be able to sell 
them later. He only needed to be able to write one thing today. 


He opened the window. He saw the Tyrant’s balcony across the 
way. The entire balcony was lined with bars, keeping thieves out, 
but letting the Tyrant look out across his city.