Letti’s legs screamed as she swung down from her horse. Thorn and Letti had run as fast as they ever had, charging through the washed-out plains behind the beach. Letti had given up trying to guess where the water would stop, instead focusing on the small groves that punctured the eastern horizon. Finally, after what felt like days, Thorn checked the water and called for a halt. Letti turned the reins, her horse’s mouth frothing, and stared in awe at the vision behind them.
A wall of water stretched perhaps a quarter span into the sky. It shimmered and flowed as if it longed to be free of its invisible boundaries. Still, no fish swam within it. Letti, exhausted, followed Thorn away from the landed sea, leaving with it the last hope that Candor might rejoin them. They were alone.
Letti’s feet found hard ground and she could have bent and kissed it. No mud, no sand, just the earth and its grass.
“Why,” Letti muttered, “after so much riding, are my legs still in pain?”
“Because you are a human.” Thorn answered, unaware that Letti’s query was not meant for him.
“Candor was still sore when we rode.” Letti defended her blood.
“Was she?” Thorn asked, mildly surprised. “I wonder what traits she did inheret from her Fae side. She can’t see in the dark nor does she harbor a particularly heavy physical advantage.”
“She’s graceful. More graceful than any human I’ve seen, you included.” Letti remained defensive. “And she can hear better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Which is not many people.” Thorn muttered. “She’s got a knack for majik, I can already tell that. She should not have been able to heal you in the Kotemor.” Thorn walked forward gingerly. “I took a chance. That should have ended her were she human without training.”
“I can see why you and Candor grew apart.” Letti replied wryly.
“Mmph.” Thorn grunted.
The two walked in silence for a while, before settling in a small copse of trees. They unsaddled their horses, Candor’s looking slightly less exhausted than the other two, and picketed them in the long grass.
“I don’t suppose you have another snakeskin.” Letti said, humor halfhearted.
Thorn shook his head. “I have a travelling cloak buried somewhere in here, but for now, we sleep under the stars and hope it does not rain.”
“What a course of action.” Letti muttered.
Both busied themselves with clearing some space between the trees, packing the grasses down, and building a small fire.
“This seems like a bad idea.” Letti finally said, as she filled the small pyramid with dried grass. “This could set the plains alight.”
“It could.” Thorn agreed.
“And if someone is around, they’ll see us.” Letti added.
“No one is down here.” Thorn shook his head.
“You didn’t think anyone was in the teeth either.” Letti countered.
Momentarily stymied, Thorn sat back on his haunches.
“We’ll light it until the sun begins to drop.” Thorn decided, “then we’ll dampen it. It gets colder than you think on the plains at night.”
Letti did not argue. She did wonder when they were going to have the conversation. Now that they had reached the Citadel, she wanted another goal, another end to reach.
Letti watched as Thorn lit the fire, reminded of their last conversation.
“Why were you going to light that nest?” Letti asked quietly.
“I told you.” Thorn did not look up. “I know some secrets of that place. That tower acts as a lighthouse.”
“That nest bespoke life. Those grass pieces did not end up there by accident.” Letti pressed. “And you were ok with destroying it. What if there had been birds in there?”
“There weren’t.”
“What if there had been eggs?”
“There weren’t.”
“But there could have been.” Letti needed an answer to this question before she continued to trust this man. Candor had her own revelation and had not liked what she had found. Letti did not look so poorly on Thorn, but she needed to know one thing.
“Why is it you seem to treat life so indifferently?” She asked.
Thorn finally looked up from the flames, surprised. “I do not.”
“You do.” Letti said firmly. “You have lines in your head about what matters and what doesn’t. Who matters and who doesn’t. I need to know these boundaries.” Letti looked Thorn dead in the eye. “Who are you?”
Thorn, expression wary, eyed Letti right back. “You and Candor share more backbone than I thought.” He said quietly. “I find utility in life, little more after all these years. There is little gained from mercy.”
“Ah.” Letti’s dark eyes reflected the fire, orange tonight. “I find that troublesome.”
“So I surmised.” Thorn’s own eyes glittered. “I have been on this earth too long to change, Letti. You have the measure of me now. Candor grasped it. She made her choice. I will not be offended if you continue without me.”
“I would have no chance in Icaria without you.” Letti replied. She took a moment to consider, then she cocked her head at Thorn. Something did not fit. “Candor didn’t think you were a bad man.”
“I do not know if that is true.”
“I do not think you are a bad man.” Letti waited for Thorn to lift his gaze. “I do not know what to think.”
Thorn let out a heavy sigh. “There is still much for you to learn about this world, about me.”
“I have no doubt you will teach me.” Letti stood and stretched. “Let us begin. I have no sword now. You must teach me to fight with a dagger.”
Thorn too, stood. Together, they wound through the Aiadar before they began to spar. Thorn showed
Letti how to hold the dagger to attack and how to adjust it when she needed to defend.
“You have little incentive to stay outside the armswing.” Thorn demonstrated. “You would do better getting inside his sword.” Thorn showed Letti how to parry and insert herself behind an attacker’s defenses.
After a few bouts wherein Letti earned several new bruises to accompany the pain in her legs, she flopped onto her pack, pulling out her water skin. Thorn sat down with more grace. The fire had burned low, and the sun curled into the north horizon’s embrace. The sky a mottled purple and pink, Letti finally allowed herself to think of Candor, where she might be, if she had survived.
“She has.” Thorn said softly.
“Is mind reading one of your skills too?” Letti snapped.
“Nearly, after all this time.” Thorn almost smiled.
Letti softened. “I miss her.”
“How long have you loved her?” Thorn asked. He thought of his own pain and quickly stifled it. After all these years, it still refused to numb.
“I can’t remember a time without her.” Letti replied.
“But how long have you loved her?” Thorn asked. He thought of the first moment he had laid eyes on—no. He did not think on that anymore.
“I don’t understand. I’ve always loved her.” Letti considered Thorn, puzzled.
Thorn did not press; this subject had proved too painful. They lapsed into silence. Finally, after the stars glowed above them, and Letti extracted her blankets, she spoke.
“Where will we go now?” She asked. She tried to keep her voice from quavering.
“We will go to Durevin.” The stars offered enough illumination that Letti could see Thorn speak from across the small camp. “We will go up Emak, stopping in villages along the way. And we will discover what happened to your own village. And how it existed in the first place. And,” Thorn finished. “We will see what the trajectory of this political jockeying is.” Letti heard him shift uncomfortably. “This won’t mean anything to you. But such machinations have been foreign for many years in this land.”
“So you’ve said.” Letti murmered. “How will we go?”
“We will skirt the Uradov Forest to the north, keeping out of the sands in the south and the faction fights.”
“What factions?” Letti asked.
“When the witches and nuns were first born in Icaria, one pair began to be worshipped in the south. The witch was treated as a prophet and garnered a large following. When the mad king killed or impressed all the witches, that witch and nun martyred themselves. There have since grown two factions about what that meant and who should lead the flock after they died.” Thorn snorted. “Long ago they decided war was the best way to settle such a dispute. They have been fighting ever since; for centuries. I do not wish to stray any closer to their territory than we must.”
“Why don’t we go straight to Durevin from here?” Letti asked, more for argument’s sake than any real desire to travel across open plains for weeks on end.
“This land is more than its geography.” Thorn explained. “We will try to stay along boundary lines, between peoples.”
“Does someone claim all the land?” Letti asked. She wondered about possession.
“No.” Thorn shrugged. “Not even in the time before the mad king. There are claims and then there is actual ownership. The mad king was the only one unintelligent enough to claim all the land for himself. He never had the power to possess it. It is a nuance, but it is an important one.”
“No creature likes to be owned.” Letti murmered.
“No.” Thorn agreed. “There is no price one can pay for freedom. It is a fighting right, and one for which every being would give its life.” Letti thought of the broken gnome who wouldn’t leave its interlude but said nothing.
After a few moments, Letti said, “We should really name the horses.”
Thorn chuckled. “I’ll take first watch.”
Letti rolled over, not looking forward to a longer watch now that Candor was gone. After what felt like a blink, Letti felt Thorn shaking her awake. She rolled over, pulling her dagger and leaned against her pack. Thorn settled down in his blankets, a soft snoring filling their little camp. Letti observed as far as the night’s illumination would let her, listening to the horses heavy breathing and the soft rustling of the wind across the plains. Feeling herself begin to doze, Letti stood, keeping a blanket around herself as a loose shawl, and began to walk in circles around their little grove. Thorn was right, Letti thought to herself, it’s freezing. Unsure how this temperature change worked, especially as they were never that cold on the side of sea, Letti rubbed her hands and stuck them under her arms. The cold air plucked at her throat on its way to her lungs. She ventured over to the horses, Candor’s standing and swishing its tail. As Letti stroked its nose, she thought it looked lonely.
“What should we call you, then?” She asked softly. The horse huffed slightly, leaning into Letti’s touch.
Over the horse’s shoulder, Letti’s eye caught a flicker of movement. She froze. Noticing her fear, the horse’s ears lay flat against its skull, and its muscles tensed. Trying to soothe the animal, Letti continued to rub its neck, her gaze focused past its body. She wondered if the wraiths were back, or if soldiers were soon to be upon them.
Nothing else moved, and Letti returned to her pack, content to wait for something to draw close enough for her to rouse the alarm. This is not a good system, Letti groused. They’d truly have to be within lengths of us for us to see them. She intended to voice this to Thorn as they walked the next day.
When the sky began to lighten in the south, Letti shook Thorn awake and they ate a small breakfast before mounting their steeds.
The sun rose languidly, with no urgency, and Letti enjoyed the small moments of pink and orange.
“I thought I saw something last night.” Letti began conversationally.
“Oh?” Thorn asked.
“Just a flicker. I couldn’t identify it.” Letti shrugged. “It could also have been a trick of my eyes.”
“It could have.” Thorn agreed.
“Thorn, we don’t exactly have a foolproof watch system.” Letti commented. “We’ll really only see something if it is upon us.”
Thorn nodded. “What would you suggest?”
“I don’t know.” Letti muttered. “I figured you would have a solution in your magic bag.”
Thorn guffawed. “That is not the way of things Letti. This is why you must learn to fight.”
Letti, now grumpy, set her mind on how to create a safer watch, and occupied herself with the task until they broke for lunch. Thorn drew water from the grass, while Letti held the skins, and they climbed back on the horses.
“We should name them.” Letti finally spoke again. Thorn seemed to be perfectly at ease not speaking.
“Alright,” said Thorn. “What would you call them?”
“What is the word for moon in the Fae language?” Letti asked.
Thorn was quiet for a moment before answering. “Layloch.” He said softly. A flash of low light trailed across Letti’s vision for the briefest of moments. “But you should be careful of naming things with the first language. These horses already have names in the first language, names known by the land and by life.” Thorn shook his head slightly. “We cannot offer names to things in the first language that do not mean what they are intended to name.”
Letti nodded thoughtfully. “You should have taught Candor more about her heritage.”
Thorn stiffened. “It was not my place.”
“You were the only one who had that place.” Letti informed the large man. “Peace, Thorn. I just know she returned from the Fae different than when she left for the sewers. You could have guided her a bit more.”
Thorn did not answer.
“How about Enri.”
“A good name.” Thorn grunted.
“Now you.” Letti pointed at Thorn’s horse.
“Bert.”
“Bert.” Letti repeated dubiously.
“Yes.” Thorn scowled at Letti. “Bert.”
“Alright.” Letti thought about her own horse. “I like Ean for mine.”
“Outstanding.” Thorn’s tone was only slightly riddled with sarcasm. Enri, Bert, and Ean.”
Letti smiled to herself. Something felt right about giving the horses names. Perhaps it was that Letti was less afraid of Thorn leaving one of them behind in a fit of utilitarianism now. Perhaps it was just that living things should have names. Letti’s thoughts were interrupted by a small plume of smoke that began to rise towards the sky in the distance.
“Thorn, what’s around here?”
“Nothing.” Thorn frowned, noticing the smoke too. “There are nomads that roam the plains, but they tend to stay in the north between Durevin and Ome Chaer. Rarely do they come down this way anymore.”
“Could it be them?” Letti asked. “Or is it soldiers?”
“There’s not anything down here that soldiers would want.” Thorn sounded as if he were talking to himself. “There’s only the forest and the factions here.”
“Could someone in Durevin be trying to subdue the factions?” Letti asked hesitantly. She knew she was out of her depth discussing intercity politics.
“That would be a waste of time and resources.” Thorn answered flatly. “Nobody can subdue the factions; they don’t listen to any but their own leaders and there would be no reason to. There’s nothing but swamp and sand where they fight.” Thorn shook his head. “Nobody should be here.”
Yet the plume grew thicker. Thorn guided he and Letti further south before stopping. As Letti drank from her water skin, Thorn reached into his pack and pulled out the same contraption he had used in the teeth.
“These are binoculars.” Thorn explained. “I think you remember them.”
“Hard to forget.” Letti muttered.
Thorn twisted a dial and peered toward the plume of smoke.
“Marda.” Thorn spit then handed the eyepieces to Letti. “You were right.”
Letti looked through the two cylinders, marveling at the clarity they provided. A group of figures sat around a small fire, mostly silhouetted for their distance. Letti could just see a dash of blue on each person.
“Durevin.”
Thorn nodded grimly. “We need to get south. Now.” Looping a piece of leather on the binoculars around his neck, Thorn let them hang on his chest. He began to trot, Letti picking up the pace on Ean, and Enri keeping pace behind her.
Every span or so, Thorn checked the soldiers, who had grown ever smaller, their smoke dissipating in competition with the horizon. Sunset began to creep across the land, drawing quickly the mantle of night over their position.
Thorn gestured to a few trees, situated on a small hillock, and the pair stopped, tying their horses.
“Tonight, we spar with our hands.” Thorn declared. “I do not need our blades echoing across the plains.”
Letti nodded and rolled up her sleeves. She was perfectly happy not to face another blade. Her relief was short lived, however, as Thorn proved to be just as adept with his bare hands as he was with a sword. After a few bouts and several soft slaps across the face, Letti was growing increasingly frustrated. While she lost just as often with her dagger or Candor’s sword, the open-handed slaps to her person felt more intimate, more humiliating. Letti ground her teeth together.
After another loss, Letti began to fight with anger. She let it flow through her blood, losing all sense of self. She lauched into motion.
Quickly, Letti found a hand on her throat. She growled.
“That is a good way to get yourself killed.” Thorn hissed. “You must not fight with your emotion.”
Letti growled again and wrenched herself free. Thorn was surprised; he had not expected this from Letti.
“Have you never fought with your hands?” Thorn asked, careful to keep his voice low.
“No.” Letti snapped. “By the time I joined any of Candor’s sparring sessions, she had progressed past hand-to-hand training.”
Thorn nodded. “From now on, we will fight with our hands and fists. You must learn to master your pride before we continue with blades.”
Letti did not argue, but rather flopped against her pack, leaning her weary back against a small tree trunk.
Thorn joined her, stretching as he sat. Darkness had fallen over the land, and as it descended in the north, Thorn and Letti watched in horror as small lights flickered into existence across the plains.
“Stones below,” Letti whispered. “Soldiers all?”
Thorn let out a low breath. “They must be.”
“Here for the factions?” Letti asked softly.
“I don’t know. There’s no one else down here except…” Thorn trailed off.
Letti looked over at him. “Except what?”
“Humans only know the Sakjeden as a myth now, but they still exist, deep in the Uradov.” Thorn frowned. “It does not make any sense for them to be here for the grove.”
“So, they are here for the factions.” Letti surmised softly.
“They must be.” Thorn concluded.
“I count seventeen.” Letti whispered. “But they may be together.” Letti pointed at some paired flames.
“That’s still more soldiers than I’ve seen mobilized in a long, long time.” Thorn repeated. “We need to stop at Garthien’s.”
“Garthien’s?” Letti asked.
“An old acquaintance.” Thorn did not elabrote.
“Another non-friend.”
“He knows all the currents of Icaria. He’s got the greatest information network of anyone in the land.”
“Sounds pleasant.” Letti muttered. “I did not care for your last friend.”
“Zorca is not my friend.” Thorn snapped.
Letti smiled slightly, proud she had gotten under the big man’s skin.
“What do your earrings symbolize?” Letti asked, changing the subject.
“Ask me again sometime.” Thorn replied, not unkindly. “You should sleep.”
Recognizing a dismissal, Letti laid back on her blankets and curled up, preparing for another cold night.
With the stars far above them, Thorn watched many of the fires dampen as the night grew older. He felt a horrible ache in his chest. Something was wrong, something was deeply wrong in the land. He waited a bit longer before waking Letti that night. As she slept, Thorn watched her. She blew a stray curl out of her face every time she breathed. Thorn wrapped himself in his blankets, watching his breath make small clouds in front of him, and waited, feeling particularly paternal.
Finally, he shook Letti gently. As she stirred, Thorn resisted the urge to let her slumber longer. “Time for your watch.”
Letti growled but sat up and pulled on her boots. As she wrapped her own blanket around her, Thorn laid down, hoping he would not dream of things that made his heart hurt.
Letti tried to focus on the glow of each fire over and over again, finally standing once more and checking on the horses. She was beginning to feel the effects of their new watch schedule, and her face felt tight.
Scratching Ean and Enri, Letti looked back toward the west, wondering how far away the sea was, and in turn, Candor. As she peered through the night, she saw the same flicker of black she saw the night before cross into her vision. Instead of trying to focus on that spot this time, Letti allowed her vision to widen, keeping her focus on the entirety of the landscape. There it was again; Letti had not imagined it. A few spots flickered darker than the rest of the night.
The wraiths had returned. Before waking Thorn, Letti waited a few moments to see what they would do. They did not move forward, and after a few moments, they seemed to blink out of existence once more.
Fully awake and adrenaline coursing through her veins, Letti began to pace, before falling into the Aiadar. She wondered if she would ever feel as safe as she had in the village. She wondered if she would ever have a family again. Her parents’ faces swam into her vision, and Letti felt her breath catch. She missed them terribly. Finally, having exhausted herself once more, Letti slumped back against the tree, emotionally and physically spent. Miserably, she waited until morning.
The next week passed much the same, with fires dotting the nights, moving steadily southward, and wraiths dotting the western horizon for brief moments. Caught between the two, Letti was not sleeping well, and often dozed off in her saddle as they trod ever closer to the Uradov.
Finally, one evening, Thorn pointed. “Look.”
Along the horizon a small black smudge began to appear, running as far south as Letti could see.
“There it is. The Uradov Forest.” Thorn’s mouth quirked as he said it, as if he were experiencing a particularly unusual flavor.
Letti, heartened at the promise of trees once more, sat up a little straighter in her saddle. “Do you fear it?”
“Too simple of a question.” Thorn replied. “It is a gentler forest than the Kotemor. It has seen its fair share of trauma, but it has not grown darkness because of it. No, I do not fear it.”
“Then why do you wish to avoid it?” Letti asked. Thorn had not said as much out loud, but Letti sensed he would rather remain outside the wood, if possible.
“It is unpredictable.” Thorn answered ominously. “The paths don’t lead where you think they will. Compasses don’t work between the trees. It is as a large rock in a river, all of Icaria bends around it. You would be ignorant or foolish to trust the Uradov.”
“I see,” said Letti, though she didn’t. She did not feel the same deep-seated dread about the Uradov that she had about the Kotemor. Though I didn’t grow up on their stories, Letti thought to herself.
A few days later, Thorn turned to see Letti sliding out of her saddle, half asleep. Wheeling Bert around, he caught her just before she slid to the ground.
“Marda.” Thorn picked the girl up and shook her slightly. With a snap, Letti began to thrash, reaching for her dagger. “None of that.” Thorn separated himself and allowed Letti to return to herself.
“What are you doing?” Letti’s eyes were nearly feral with lack of sleep.
“I am keeping you from falling out of your saddle.” Thorn explained. “You have not been sleeping enough.”
“We’re both up half the night.” Letti muttered, trotting forward.
Thorn fell into step behind her. “You are not sleeping well when it is your turn to sleep.” He protested.
Letti did not disagree. “Constant threats don’t exactly foster peaceful slumber.”
“Or perhaps it is that you do not feel safe with me.” Thorn was not offended, he simply needed to understand how to ensure Letti found rest. She could not be falling out of her saddle as they walked.
“I think it is less about you and more that Candor is no longer here, and I do feel safe with her.” Letti paused. “I did.”
“I see.” Thorn fell silent for a moment. “Would you consider riding in front of me on my saddle during the day, trying to sleep that way?”
Letti considered. “Just for today.” She was so tired she would have accepted being tied to the side of Ean to sleep.
“Good.” Thorn stopped the little caravan, fastened Ean and Enri to Bert, and waited for Letti to swing herself up on Bert before climbing up behind her. Letti leaned against the big man, and he tied a rope around them loosely. Almost immediately, Letti’s weight changed, and her head grew heavy on his chest. Thorn almost smiled in spite of himself. He’d hoped Letti would recover more quickly from the pain of losing Candor, but he had not expected it to be easy. He sighed lightly, so as not to jostle Letti, and felt her curls tickle is beard.
The day grew old, and Letti still did not stir. Finally, as it grew too late to continue, Thorn shook Letti slightly, and he felt her stiffen into consciousness.
“No sparring tonight.” Thorn murmured. “You go straight to sleep.”
Letti did not argue, and as Thorn unsaddled and watered the horses, Letti crawled into her blankets and curled up against her pack.
Thorn stroked Bert down, trying to comb some of the sweat from his back. Thorn knew they needed to find water to wash sooner than later. There was a small pond in the north side of the Uradov, he remembered, but Thorn did not fancy venturing any deeper in the forest than they had to.
Quickly, in the dim light, Thorn checked the horses’ hooves. Satisfied, he began to run through the Aiadar, stopping mid-pose as something caught his eye.
Thorn’s gut sank; Letti had reported seeing the wraiths almost every night, but Thorn had not seen them at all yet. There they were, at least some of them, trailing to the west. Not half a span away, the dark shapes seemed to shimmer in the starlight. What are they waiting for…? Thorn wondered. He had half a mind to wake Letti and run again, but they had no place to go beyond the Uradov, and that was trading one chaos for another, as far as Thorn was concered.
The wraiths did not move, and Thorn was forcibly reminded of the times he had seen them in the past. Never had they trailed him so frequently. It did not reassure Thorn; he much preferred the feeling of being entirely alone.
Squatting on his pack, Thorn kept his eyes on the wraiths, glancing every so often at the fires. He too felt a tension growing in his belly; if this was what Letti felt every night when she sat and watched, it was no surprise she was having trouble sleeping. Thorn glanced at her latent frame, a curious protectiveness coming over him.
He turned back to the wraiths, furious that their presence was causing Letti hardship, only to find they had disapeared. He let out a breath, unaware he had been holding it. Nothing good happened when the wraiths were around. Someone usually died. Thorn’s hands twitched. Not this time, he thought, not again.
When the moon sat deep in the east, Thorn woke Letti, telling her he had seen the wraiths. She did not seem surprised. “Think they’d follow us into the forest?” She asked, mirth trickling into her tone.
Thorn shook his head; he had no way of predicting the wraiths’ movement. That was part of what frightened him.
As Thorn laid down, Letti took up her vigil, too tired to move. She did not enjoy feeling weak, and riding in front of Thorn reminded her how little strength she actually possessed. It allowed her to remain functional at night, however, and for that Letti knew she needed to swallow her pride.
Perhaps we should be travelling at night. Letti thought to herself and resolved to ask Thorn about it the next morning.
The night passed without incident; the wraiths did not reappear, and by the time the sun was rising, Letti had saddled the horses and tied her pack to Ean. Shaking Thorn awake, the two mounted quickly and began their trek anew. After a few minutes, Letti voiced her suggestion.
“Is there a reason we don’t travel at night?” Letti asked. “It might make more sense, at least until we arrive at the Uradov.”
Thorn considered. “We could.” He shrugged. “I rarely travel at night simply because I prefer sleeping at night. I also can’t see in the dark, and when I travel in the woods, it would just get me killed. But on the plains, it could make sense.”
Letti smiled with relief. She might actually recover now.
“We can stop this afternoon and sleep and begin a reverse schedule tomorrow.” Thorn declared. “We won’t be able to do this when we skirt the Uradov. I want to travel by day around those woods.”
Letti nodded happily. Later that day, the pair stopped, Letti sleeping for a few hours, then Thorn, before sparring as the sun descended in the north. As the soldiers’ evening cooking fires sent nascent plumes into the air, Letti and Thorn mounted and began marching southeast, towards the Uradov Forest.
The forest came into fuller view three mornings later, and Letti was surprised at its darkness. The spaces between the trees were near to pitch black; not much sun had sifted through the branches of the Kotemor, but the Uradov seemed to allow no light to permeate.
“How does anything grow there?” Letti asked Thorn as she bedded down for the morning.
“It’s a little lighter when you’re closer.” Thorn glanced up at the forest, before returning to a small block he was whittling. “The undergrowth is meaner for it.”
Letti did not bother asking what this meant. She was certain she would find out soon enough.
Indeed, as the next day passed, Letti and Thorn watched the soldier camps light up further south than they had anticipated.
“They are quickening their pace.” Thorn muttered. Letti did not bother to reply.
As the sun dawned, Thorn and Letti slowed their horses. Not a quarter span in front of them grew the Uradov Forest. As Letti glanced behind her, she realized there had not been a copse of trees for a long while. It was as if the forest had snatched everything that was not grass and tucked it within itself. Letti did not feel as though this boded particularly well for their continued journey.
“Here is where we return to daytime travel.” Thorn said grimly, turning Bert to walk the side of the woods. Letti followed, grumpy that she would not sleep for a few more hours. She too, however, did not wish to be walking next to this forest at night. Somethign about it felt odd; it was not like the Kotemor. Despite the proximity of its dark interior, it still did not inspire the same dread as the black teeth. It felt old, older than anything Letti had yet experienced, and it felt sad, but it did not feel evil. That being said, Letti thought, no need to enter under its boughs if not absolutely necessary.
“I’d have us travel the day if you’re amenable.” Thorn spoke from Letti’s right. “I know that does not give us much time to rest.” Letti had not noticed he’d dropped to her pace. “And as such, if you would sleep this afternoon, you can take first watch when we arrive.”
Letti agreed, and they tied Ean to Bert. Letti climbed onto Bert’s back and felt Thorn’s warmth squeeze into the saddle behind her. She leaned back, feeling curiously comforted, and let the horse’s swaying lull her to sleep.
When she awoke, Letti climbed down clumsily, then went about unsaddling the horses and watering them. Thorn threw down his pack and fell asleep without bothering to withdraw his blankets or take off his boots. He was exhausted.
Letti could not blame him, and as she watched him begin to snore, she felt grateful. The ache dulled with more sleep and the further she ventured from Candor. Thorn’s constancy had helped, more than Letti had anticipated.
She cast her eyes over the plains, unsettled at how many new fires had popped up in the last few days. Many were further north, as evidenced by their size, but enough were within several span that Letti shrank into the side of her pack. Thorn had insisted they remain right at the forest’s edge, but not against its trees. What difference a few lengths made, Letti was unsure, but she did as she was asked.
A soft breeze ruffled the grass and tickled the leaves, rushing them together in a soft rustle. Letti shivered. A branch snapped within the forest and Letti snatched at her dagger. Carefully, she turned on her pack and peered into the forest. Thorn was certain any threat would come from the north in the soldier camps, but Letti was not so sure.
No flickers of pure darkness had shown themselves that night, so Letti did not have to contend with threats from three sides, but she was not keen on the way the forest began to feel. She sensed as though something were watching her, waiting.
Minutes dragged by, and Letti imagined what the heat of those cook fires felt like. She rubbed her hands together. Another twig snapped, and she heard a crackle close to the ground. Letti’s heart began to pound, her palm slick on her dagger. She began to regret not insisting they stay a few more lengths off the wood line.
Letti searched the space past the tree trunks in vain; if something were coming, it would come without warning. Letti began to feel as though she were hearing things that were not there. Unable to trust her own senses, she began to creep slowly over to Thorn’s prostrate body. Another pair of eyes and ears would at least help assess the situation.
As Letti began to shake Thorn, a dark figure jumped from the woodline, sprinting at Letti with inhuman speed. With a yell and pure instinct, Letti threw up her dagger and caught the hilt of a sword before it fell upon her neck.
Thorn roared to life, waking from a slumber with a sword in his hands. Letti grappled with the assailant, whose hood had fallen back to reveal a man’s face, crazed with adrenaline. His eyes were too wide, the whites too bright, and spittle flew from his mouth, stretched in a grin as wide and horrible as the ghosteaters’.
As Letti watched the sword swing around for her ribs, she ducked and heard Thorn’s sword land with a sickening thud over her head. Two other figures sprang from the woodline, and Letti yelled before engaging the one. Thorn dispatched the other quickly, though not without a scratch to his arm. As it began to smoke, Thorn cursed.
“Do not let the blades touch you.” Thorn’s voice echoed deeply. It was all Letti could do to maintain the man in front of her. Thorn took his head off from the side.
“They can’t seem to grasp there are two of us.” Letti panted.
Letti whipped around as a fourth attacker ducked out of the woods, sword swinging like a scythe. Thorn caught the swing at its height, and Letti stuck her knife in the man’s cut. Doubled over, the man lost his head to Thorn.
“Gather the horses.” Thorn instructed, “I will hold off any others.”
“Thorrrrnnnnn,” a voice seemed to slither from the woods, its existence almost a form. Thorn froze, his expression as bare and frightened as a newborn. Letti’s skin felt as though it had turned inside out; she felt warm and cold in the same places and her hair felt as though it were about to fall out. She grasped her scalp to ensure her curls were in place before running to Thorn and shaking him.
“I will take herrrrr.” The voice snaked between the trees again.
At this Thorn roared to life, while Letti froze in place. The voice seemed to have trickled down her throat, mesmerizing her even as it immobilized her from the inside out with fear.
“Letti. Letti.” Thorn’s voice sounded very far away. All Letti could see was the blackness between the trees; there was something there, no, someone, she desperately needed to see. Once she made it to the treeline, she knew, she would be able to sleep. She willed her feet to move. One step, then another. Letti’s breath grew shallow.
Hands grabbed Letti’s waist, and she felt herself moving backwards, further from the trees. As Thorn whisked her away, several more hooded men jumped from the shadows, and Letti found herself on a horse in front of Thorn. With Thorn’s left arm around her, the fog inside Letti’s mind began to lift, and she cried out.
“Take the reins.” Thorn growled. Letti did as she was told, shaking uncontrollably. Two of the men had caught up to Bert, none seeming to have any interest in Ean or Enri despite their ease of access. Thorn struck both in an impressive overhead maneuver before taking the piece of rope that usually tied Letti to him and tying himself to her.
“Keep your dagger out and cover your ears if you hear that voice again.” Thorn panted.
Alarmed, Letti turned to look at the man as much as she could at a full gallop and in the middle of the night. His face was pale, and he was sweating profusely. Letti could feel his heat against her back.
“Take,” Thorn choked, “take us into the forest and be still.” Thorn used his remaining strength to sheath his sword and wrap his arms around Letti’s waist.
“Marda.” Letti swore in Thorn’s preffered language. The blades were poisoned. Thorn would wake, but it would depend on how much his body had to heal.
“Trust me, Bert.” Letti leaned forward on Bert and tried to put a few more lengths between herself and the attackers. Unable to see over Thorn, Letti had to choose when to turn into the forest. With little illumination on the plains and even less light on the forest floor, Letti saw a small opening in the woods and took it, guiding Bert between the trees. Though the horses slowed; they seemed to sense a path. Letti was completely blind. What little light the stars had provided had adjusted her eyes, and in this searing black, she had nothing and nowhere to turn. She could not see the hand in front of her face.
Breathing labored from holding Thorn’s limp body behind her, Letti trusted Bert, letting the horse lead them through the velvety gloom, and hoping the attackers would not follow. She was not expecting the best, and as a grunt sounded from just behind Bert, he neighed, casting himself back on his back legs, before running forward.
Letti held on for dear life, keeping hold of one of Thorn’s hands with her own. There was nothing to do, no way to stop, nowhere to look.
Finally, Letti felt the horse slowing and popped her head up from his neck. Thorn shifted slightly, and Letti untied herself. Clumsily, she slid down from the horse, praying she landed lightly. She let Thorn lean into her and fall as softly as possible on top of her. Slightly breathless from his weight, Letti scrambled out from underneath him and felt for a tree. Finding one, she dragged Thorn against it before feeling for Bert’s reins and tying them to a branch next to Thorn’s head. Keeping one foot next to Thorn’s thigh so she could find him once she tied the horses, Letti squatted next to the man and tried to get him to wake. He didn’t. His breathing was that of a deep sleeping man, and Letti knew she had no choice but to wait.
She did not have to wait long; feet sounded from the way they had come, and Letti held her breath, willing the horses to remain silent as well. They seemed to understand. As the heavy breathing of men sounded not lengths away, Letti jumped violently at several deafening snaps, followed by howls of agony. She clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking. Tears ran down her cheeks; never had she felt so helpless. Even when she had been at the bottom of the swamp pond near the ghosteaters, she knew someone would come for her. In this moment, there was no one.
Letti waited for the men to find her. She waited for the voice to speak. She waited for anything, any motion, any movement, but found only the sun, hours later, lightening a gruesome scene in front of her. Letti’s first thought in her sleep-deprivation was that Thorn had been right. The forest was lighter than she had originally thought from the plains. The second thought manifested in pure horror. Body parts of the men who had been chasing them hung from various branches almost three lengths behind them. Gingerly, Letti stood, leaving Thorn sleeping on the tree. She patted the horses, checked to see if they had any injuries, then made her way back to the mangled men.
Their torsos lay in a contorted pile behind the horses, their limbs strung up in metal ropes in the trees.
A trap, Letti thought dumbly, but how did we miss it?
She had no time to answer. A trap set meant a trapper, and a trap sprung meant a trapper on the move. Letti sprinted back to the horses and tried desperately to rouse Thorn.
“Come on, please wake up.” Letti shoved the man, slapping his face lightly a few times. Finally, finally, Thorn’s eyelids began to flutter.
“Just get on the horse.” Letti begged. She pulled the large man to his feet, noting the lacerations on his arms and legs. While they had clearly begun to heal, they were emitting a foul, white puss that smelled like dead fish. “What did they do to you?” Letti muttered.
As Letti helped Thorn onto Bert, a snap sounded. Plagued with memories from the night before, Letti looked around wildly, but saw nothing. Instead of mounting Bert herself, she elected to walk before him; they needed to get out of that area before—
“Stop moving.” A hoarse voice spoke so near to Letti she almost fell over. She froze. “Good girl.” The voice crooned.
Out of the trees, figures clad in dark greens and browns materialized, each with a painted face and bark stuck to their persons. Letti gaped. It was quite a sight.
“What are you doing here?” A middle-aged person stepped forward. Letti could not tell from the voice if the person was a man or a woman. Throwing back her hood, Letti discovered she was, indeed, a woman, her head shaved on the sides and hair braided down the back.
“Escaping.” Letti answered softly. She lifted a hand slowly to point behind Enri. “We are travellers. We were skirting the north side of the Uradov, and they ambushed us and gave chase.”
The woman’s face did not change expression, or if it did, Letti could not tell under the paint and lichen. “It is a bold choice to ride into these trees.” She said. She whistled softly and two smaller figures threw off their hoods and joined the woman. “They will come with us.”
The pair nodded, their hair also braided down their back. Letti thought they were young men, thin and lean with early muscles betraying veins along their limbs.
“I am Eryn.” The woman said, voice rounded by an accent Letti had never heard. It did not sing like Thorn’s, nor did it sound like the ghosteaters or any from Ome Chaer. Letti introduced herself and Thorn.
“I’d welcome you, but you won’t like where we’are.” Eryn’s vowels lengthened her words, billowing the subsequent consonents with curious verbal bulges.
“Where exactly is that?” Letti asked, stepping forward as the pair of young men Eryn had called took Bert’s reins from her. “And please be careful. He is not well.”
“He is not.” Eryn agreed. “Put him on a stretcher.”
Four more tree-people rushed forward, pulling Thorn down and dragging him onto a large piece of fabric they then attached to two poles. They were clearly practiced at this maneuver, and Letti was impressed.
“You’re in the territory of the Niran, followers of Niro, first witch, high martyr and protector of the unprotected.”
“Oh.” Letti said meekly. This was a faction, Letti was sure, but it was so far north. Letti was not prepared for this development. “Well met. We should be away, though—”
“No child.” Eryn looked serious as she led Letti through the brush. Letti recognized belatedly that the opening she saw must have been a path of the Niran that the horses could either see or sense. Letti did not know if she should be grateful or wary. She decided on both for the moment.
“We need bodies. The Zondarians are assembling to the east. We will face them soon, and our force grows thin. You will fight with us for the time being, and you will learn to praise Niro, first witch.”
Letti began to understand the seriousness of their situation. She wondered idly what Candor would have thought about being press-ganged into religious servitude. She was also fairly certain that Niro was not the first witch. She was not inclined to inform Eryn and her minions of this tidbit. Twins above, Letti thought acidly, what backwater rush have we run aground on?
Letti heard Thorn groan. She rushed forward, throwing off Eryn’s cautioning hand.
“Thorn.” Letti whispered as she kept pace with his bearers.
“Letti.” Thorn’s eyes flickered open. “I take it we survived.”
“Barely.” Letti confirmed grimly. “Thanks to the Niran.”
A string of new cursewords flew from Thorn’s mouth, and flickers of images of highly unpleasant things flew across Letti’s vision. He had sworn in Fae.
“Not really the time for that, Thorn.” Letti berated the man. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” Thorn flexed his muscles, making sure everything was still where it should be, and Letti tugged on the arm of his lead carrier.
“He can walk now.”
The woman raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but upon a glance over her shoulder called for a halt. “What majik is this?” She asked, making a semi-circle from her throat to her lower belly as if she were signalling pregnancy.
“He’s a quick heal.” Letti explained flippantly. The woman looked at her warily.
“He is one of the Mayebalmok.” Eryn strode to stand by the halted party. “Fae cursed.” She spat and made the same hand motion over her stomach. “He cannot die.”
“Mayebalmok?” Letti asked.
Thorn stood, shook himself, and glanced around at their would-be-rescuers. “Niran?” He asked.
“Yes.” Eryn raised an eyebrow. “You know us?”
“Of you.” Thorn rubbed his beard, eyes calculating.
Letti wondered if he did not trust her assessment of the situation. She instead decided he simply did not wish to alert their captors that she had informed him of their identity.
“Mayebalmok are humans who have been cursed by Fae for something they did in their short lives.” Eryn explained as the group continued, the stretcher having been rolled and strapped to one of the Niran’s backs. “There are few left who walk this world, as the Fae are long dead.”
“The Fae are dead?” Letti asked, puzzled.
“Aye.” The woman tossed her long braid. “They were hunted to extinction when the last of the witches were exterminated.” Eryn shook her head ruefully. “Little remains of real majik now.”
Letti glanced at Thorn who shook his head infinitesimally. Letti simply nodded. “Who was Niro?” Letti tried a new subject.
The entire group stopped, as if on cue. As one, they turned to her. Letti could swear she heard Thorn utter a soft curse.
“My education has been woefully incomplete.” Letti explained. “You must understand and help me learn.”
The group relaxed slightly, but still threw her suspicious glances.
“Lyra would you like to educate our new member?” Eryn asked a younger girl.
The girl nodded, long red hair now visible from under a hood. Her face green and brown from the mud and bark she had attached to it, her teeth looked spectacularly white as she began to speak.
“In the beginning, when Icaria wasn’t—”
“Don’t go that far back, Lyra.” Eryn intoned. “Just tell them about Niro, first witch.”
Lyra nodded, chastised. “When the Fae decided they could trust the humans with their secrets, they began to train witches. Niro was a young man from a small village near the red sea. He travelled to the far edge of the land to find the Fae teachers. He had to cross the ocean, and when he reached the island, the Fae recognized what strength was in his bones, what majik, and so they taught him.” Lyra spoke as if she had memorized the words. “He was first among the witches to be trained, and there he stayed even as other witches came, trained, and returned to Icaria, only to die.
“Finally, as Niro learned of his compatriots’ demise, he discovered a companion in the newest witch class, a woman named Zondaria. She had travelled even further than Niro, from the farside of the silver mountains. And she too, was blessed with the strength to survive.
Niro begged her to join him, to return to Icaria with him as a protector, for he had seen how she crossed the sea. She agreed, and so the nunnery was born. Niro, for when he began his training did not age, finally left the island, many years after he had begun, and set out to make Icaria a better, safer, more just place. He settled in the swamps, not far from his village, and there he and Zondaria began a new community. A righteous community, where majik was used to heal and make whole.” Lyra’s face fell, as, Letti noticed, did Eryn’s. “We are the healers, known round for our potions and salves. We learned this from Niro, first witch, watched over by Zondaria, nun of the south.
“Peace was not to be.” Lyra’s camouflage ran with tears. “After many generations of tranquility, much growth in the community, a small group of people in whose hearts had grown evil, corruption, began to speak with Zondaria. They tainted her. They told her they had heard from the great trees that Niro was dying, and in her undying love for her witch, she went to him to beg Niro for direction. She would do anything, she told him, to heal him. Niro had no idea what she was talking about and assured her that he was in perfect health. Reassured, Zondaria returned to the evildoers and informed them Niro, first witch, was in perfect health. This was the opening they needed; they poisoned her mind. They told her Niro was lying to keep power, that Niro was becoming a danger to the community, that Niro was failing and growing evil like many of the other witches they had heard of.
“Zondaria, heartbroken and infected with this news, went to Niro and asked him if it were true. No, he soothed her, of course not. He had her bring those with venomous mouths to his hall where he questioned them, one by one. When Niro had decided their fate, he struck them down, ridding the community of their foulness. What Niro did not know was that the group told Zondaria before they had their audience with Niro, that he would kill them to silence them. Zondaria, mad with grief and poisoned with false information that her beloved had killed innocents, faced him in their room that night, and slew him where he stood. She then turned her blade upon herself and drove it through her own heart, so as to join her beloved in death.”
Eryn made the circular motion over her body again. “And the treacherous fools who began this demise left disciples.” She spat. “They are who we fight to this day.”
Letti, thoroughly ensconced in the story, failed to realize they had come to the edge of a camp. The tents were covered in the same foliage that carpeted the forest, and Nirans milled around in their green-brown garb.
“Take your packs off the horses, your weapons. But leave the saddles. They will be of use.” Eryn directed Letti and Thorn. They did as they were told, Thorn keeping a watchful eye on their steeds’ destination.
Eryn then marched them across the camp to a larger tent, strung between two trees with low hanging branches. “Wait here.”
Letti and Thorn stood, the latter with his hand loose on his sword.
“Sorry.” Letti muttered.
Thorn glanced at her. “For what?”
“For getting us here.”
“You did exactly as I would have.” Thorn kept his voice low. “Sometimes you can’t avoid the chaos.”
Letti felt a bit better. “Glad you’re healed.”
“Yes,” Thorn frowned. “Those swords were coated in Astarnog.” Thorn glanced at Letti, then away quickly.
“It is a tincture created specifically to incapacitate Fae. It kills humans.”
Letti shuttered. “Who were they? What creature has that voice?”
Before Thorn could answer, Eryn stuck her head back out of the tent. “You may enter.”
Unsure what to expect, both Letti and Thorn traipsed slowly under the canopy.
“Welcome to your new camp, witch-chosen.” A melodious voice spoke from a corner of the tent. A tall man turned, long braid tucked into his belt. “We witch-born are glad to have you among us. Tell me, can you fight?”
~.~
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